The little shit’s standing over him, having lit up a cigarette like he’s goddamn Clint Eastwood. Dammit the little jizz dribble may as well be Clint Eastwood for all he knows, gone off and got old and cocky. Cocky Mortys always spelled trouble and here was Trouble with a capital T and a fucking gun.
A fucking gun. What Rick in their right mind would give a Morty a gun, even an old bitch of one like this? As soon as he gets back to his own Morty he’s going to give that little chicken shit a good reminder who’s in charge here, right as soon as-
His portal gun is shot from his hand, the crushing weight of a foot on his chest. Well joke’s on him, now he’s just going to get vaped by the force field on his body. Old lips turn up into a smile as he chuckles, eyes closing against the light,savoring the moment as ash falls onto his face. He opens his eyes to see eyes a hand negligently tapping ash from that goddamn cigarette.
“I-i-I meant it, Rick.” That verbal stutter was still there, but it wasn't charming or pathetic anymore. It was as ice cold as his own voice, and his eyes matched. “You’re not supposed t-to be here. R-Ricks don't come to my dimension.”
The gun is pointed in his face now, whatever this little shit was planning, he was savoring every minute of it. Monologuing like any victor would do to rub salt into the word but there was his weakness, he had a few tricks up his old sleeves. This Morty was toast.
“Y-y--you think y-ya-you’re hot shit don't ya Morty, w-well gramps still has a th-thing or two ta teach you!” He twists under the foot, only to find his limbs shot off with dead precision, that cold look never fading.
“Cl-class is dismissed, old man.”
“T-T-T-that’s-”
Rick never got to finish his sentence, a hole residing were his brain should be. Moonrock picks up the discarded portal gun, sending the miserable mess back where it came from.
“Your line?” He says softly, not stuttering now. “It used to be, Rick. It really used to be.”