therealricksanchezpleasestandup.
He’d been called into the headquarters just before it all happened.
Rick was sure to slink back into his portal the first moment that he saw a rush of opposing forces rushing through the halls and almost killed him.
Rick Sanchez wasn’t going to be there for that–he wasn’t paid to help defend this shitty company. He was just here to vend them shit that he supposedly made just for them when in reality he’d been stealing various weaponry from all kinds of dimensions.
All that acting of being exhausted when he’d stumble into the rooms where he was to show off the recent invention? Always a show. Always fake and staged.
But right now, as the portal opened up just right outside of one of the main halls leaning to Moira’s wing, he’d be wondering if he would even get any more chances to pull off such stunts.
The door leading to her lab is what ignited curiosity and led the seventy year old man to slowly try and open the door, only for it to fall right off the hinges and fall forward into the room, revealing a handful of corpses, plenty of rubble and remains, small inklings of leftover flames, and smack dab off near one of the darkest parts of the room, there she was. The only other living figure in the room, curled up and clutching liquid therapy in hand.
Stepping over various shards and rubble, he makes his way over to and stops just in front of her.
He gives the room one last look around. Nothing has changed in the last minute. This is real. It happened.
The room is not even recognizable from what it once was. No one would be able to look in here and ever guess that it was once a lab.
Despite her aloofness, he doesn’t leave.
Instead, he extends a hand towards her. An offer to assist her, to help her at least stand up.
Silence right now for a moment she might have thought he’d be talking the most.
She expects a great many things from him -- a pleased, sarcastic remark. Outright laughter. All she’d seen the insufferable man capable of within the time she knew him. Her tongue a poisonous, barbed whip ready to lash out at the first prod against her wounded state. But it seemed he still intended to continue the tradition of being irritably unpredictable.
The hand that came into view was proof of that.
Her drunken tirade drew to a halt, jaw clenched tight and eyes staring hard at the outstretched palm. Instinctively, she mistrusted the seemingly amiable gesture -- tempted to slap the offending appendage out of the way. To stand up on her own and shrug it off and demand him out. But she knew full well the odds of standing in her inebriated state were catastrophically low. On so many levels, Moira wanted to simply waste away and wallow in her misery. But now she couldn’t stomach the idea of prolonging it. In front of him of all people.
“ -- I see. ” Came the slow rumble, mismatched eyes narrowing their focus as she met his gaze once more. Lips set into a grim line and shoulders tensed up, she seemed near ready to fight. But instead only defeat crept its way onto her features. Exhaustion as she lifted a hand to clumsily grab his own.
“ Perhaps you w’ll make better use of their resources sho’ld they rebuild my lab. I doubt it -- ten years. Wasted. Truly ‘nough t’make me wretch, ” a low growl as the woman came to a full stand, posture holding up remarkably well for someone well past their own alcoholic tolerance. And hers was quite the substantial amount. “ No matter. Early retirement only means I shall create ‘n incurable, tissue eating organism ‘n hold the world ransom. Or buy ‘nother doberman. I’ve not yet decided. ”
A pause, eyes heavy lidded and watching him with a surprising sharpness.
“ What’of you, then? What plans for this laughable organization. ”
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