A little early Christmas present for the wonderful friends I have made this year :) there are far too many to tag all of them but if I've spoken to you this year, know that I love you! And also thank you to everyone who supports all of my content, those silent sweethearts who consistently like my posts. I notice you and I appreciate you!
I've drawn some of my people's favourites :D we have kitty Rick for @ravenousscorpian and @kitten-wrath , doofus Rick for @rixxy8173571m3w1p3 , Harley Rick for @rickstexaschick (her OC), eyepatch Rick for @hoodoo12 and of course! C137 for everyone else! The one who brings us all together! :P
I hope all of my friends and followers have a wonderful Christmas. Be safe, be merry, be happy! Love you guys ❤️❤️❤️
I had a really wicked dream one night about @dorklyevil‘s assassin boys Eyepatch and Scarlip and I really had to expand upon the idea. Originally, I planned it to be just a one shot chapter sort of thing, but it really grew into it’s own thing and I’m aiming for a total of three chapters for this. The thing about them not using their portal guns and EP being super paranoid in times of pressure were my own HCs for them.
Eyepatch and Scarlip Ricks are @dorklyevil
Naomi is my own character from my own RaM fic that I’m currently writing.
Enjoy!
--
Life was never boring for Scarlip; he lived fast, and would probably die faster. But tonight was a slow evening, and he’d been having an even more sluggish week. There hadn’t been a job for a few days and Eyepatch was away on a solo mission. So what was a man to do to occupy his boredom but to fill it with drink? There was a bar not too far down the street that he could walk to, and it was the perfect night to enjoy a stroll; slightly chilly with heavy clouds rolling by above. A storm was so close, he could almost smell the fresh perfume of rainfall.
The bar had that quiet buzz of couples huddling together in booths to sip their drinks and share a pseudo-private atmosphere away from home. Hanging pale lights kept it dimly lit to see the romance of deep brown furniture and smoldering red accents of the bar, chairs and tables, while the soft clinking of glass accompanied the live, five piece band playing smooth music in the corner. Scarlip took a seat near the end, by the musicians and ordered a Kir Royale. As his drink was being made, he heard the thunder claps overhead and shortly after, heard the rainfall plopping on the sidewalk as someone came in from outside.
A younger woman wearing a stunning red dress under a thick black shawl stood by the door, her long dark hair and clothes plastered to her. It must have been pouring outside by now if she had already been soaked through. Someone brought her a small towel from the back and she dabbed her face and squeeze dried her hair as best as possible before coming to the bar. She sat towards the middle and ordered a French 75.
Scarlip watched her over the top of his drink and he could tell she felt his gaze; with the monotony of couples around him, this woman was the most interesting thing here. She had removed her shawl to show off her lovely shoulders, eyes darting over to him occasionally, not even pretending to be coy about her interest. When his glass emptied, he got out of his seat to move to one down from hers.
“May I?” he asked. With her permission, he sat and ordered himself another glass of Kir Royale, waiting for her to make a move so as not to scare her away. In his peripheral, he could see her watching him unbrokenly through half lidded, smoky eyes. Her interest had definitely piqued at the mention at his drink of choice; perhaps she liked French cuisine? If so, then she was in for a hell of a meal.
“That’s a drink you don’t hear often around here.”
As if on cue, a long stem glass was placed in front of him, and he took it up with his thin, elegant fingers before turning to her with a slight smirk, taking note to highlight his accent. “I-It is a classic from where I hail.” A well timed, decadent sip of the drink kept her eyes on him. “A French 75 isn’t so common either, mon amie.”
It was her turn to smile as she said, “Les français ont bon gout (The French have good taste).”
Colour Scarlip stunned, the surprise evident on his face, making the woman burst out in laughter. “Vo—ous parlez français (You speak French)?”
“Oui. Mon arrière grand père a enseigné à ses enfants, et ils ont enseigné les leurs, et cetera (My great grandfather taught his kids, and they taught theirs, and so on).”
Scarlip held out his hand for hers, brow raised in a suggestive, playful way. “Have y-you got a name, ma cherie, or shall I just call you mon coeur (my heart)? Because you may have very well stolen my heart.”
She laughed again before sliding her smaller hand into his. “You can call me Naomi. What about you, monsieur? What shall I call you?”
He bowed his head and delicately ran his lips over her fingers before looking up through half lidded eyes and a smirk, replying, “You can call me whatever you like.”
They spent the next hour and a half having a full conversation in just French, earning everything from strange to inspired looks from those around them. By the time both of their drinks (his third, her first) were empty, the storm had come finally in full force. Heavy pellets pounded at the building, silencing all conversation as everyone turned their attention to the ceiling.
“Oh dear,” Naomi murmured, “The last time a storm like this passed through, the district lost—“
As if on cue, the dim lights hanging overhead cut out, causing several patrons to gasp in surprise. The music stopped and for a minute the whole place was shrouded in complete darkness and silence. In the gloom, Scarlip could feel Naomi moving closer to him, perhaps in a sense of looking for security. When the lights still didn’t come back after another thirty seconds, people started pulling out their cellphones and waking the screen or turning on the camera lights to cut through the blackness. The proprietor came around to see if everyone was doing okay and assured the room that they were working to figure out what happened.
In the scattered light of phones, he could make out Naomi’s silhouette just slightly; she was definitely much closer and looking straight towards him. “Look—Looking for comfort, ma cherie? If so, you’ve come to the right place.”
A low chuckle rolled from her throat. “My, you’re a completely different person in the dark.” Her personality had changed too. The obscurity seemed to bring out a different side of people, and Scarlip was liking it.
The pair continued to stay at the bar, making conversation in low voices, the air between them feeling more intimate than their menial topics portrayed. Thirty minutes had passed and they had scooted so close together now that her knees were practically pressed against his stool and his were open on either side of her legs.
“Alright everyone,” the manager suddenly announced, “I’m sorry but we can’t seem to get our electricity back, at least any time soon, so we’ll have to ask you all to leave.” There was a chorus of disappointed ‘aws’ and murmurs that met him, but guests started to get up in staggered waves, paying bills, gathering things and getting ready to face the storm.
Naomi eyed Scarlip for a moment before touching the tips of her fingers to his. “This might be forward, but how about we go back to my place?”
He chuckled, “Cherie, you aren’t forward enough. I was expecting you to ask me that forty-five minutes ago.” He paid for their drinks, but as they were getting ready to leave, his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call.
“Oui.”
“Where are you?” Eyepatch’s voice rang through from the other side. He sounded irritated.
“Mo—oon ami! Ça va (Doing okay)?”
“Ugh, are you drunk? Where are you?”
“I’m at a bar, a-about to leave.”
“Are you coming back? There are things we need to discuss.”
“Non, I met someone. We’re going to her—“
It was as if he wasn’t even waiting for an answer when Eyepatch cut Scarlip off. “No, come back right now. We really need to talk.”
Getting annoyed himself, Scarlip turned away from Naomi, speaking a little lower. “Well what is it? Surely it can wait until tomorrow.”
“No, it can’t. Get back. Now.” There was a click on the line and the call ended. Normally Eyepatch didn’t demand things of his colleague, because he knew it would go nowhere, but it sounded urgent.
Turning back to Naomi as he pocketed his phone, Scarlip sighed in annoyance. “Sorry, cherie. We will have to reschedule, it seems. Something’s come up.” He thought he saw annoyance flash across her dimly lit features, but perhaps it was just the dark playing tricks.
“Oh, well that’s disappointing… Is everything alright?”
Scarlip shrugged, but remembered she probably couldn’t see him. “W-Who knows? My—euh—co…worker wanted to talk to me immediately about something.”
“I… see.” Naomi hung her head a little, shoulders slumped. The assassin hooked his finger under her chin and made her face him, even though they were still sitting around in the dark.
“Don’t be so glum, ma cherie. Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call you when I have time and w-we can go out for drinks another day, and maybe even dessert,” he smirked at the implication, and while he couldn’t see her face, he was sure she was rolling her eyes. That was the usual reaction he got to that sort of line. It never hurt to try though.
Grabbing hold of his hand and pulling away, she countered, “Sorry to say that I’ve been in the dating scene a while and I know that trick. I give you my number, I hope and wait for you to call, you never call, and I’m disappointed. Why don’t you give me your number instead?”
Scarlip had to chuckle at that. He’s done that to several people before, both on purpose and on accident. But he liked the moxie of this woman, so he agreed and watched her lit up face as she programmed his number into her contact list. “I-I’ll be waiting for your call.” He took her hand, kissed her knuckles ever so gently, and together they walked to the door. It was still pouring out, so he wrapped his jacket around her head and shoulders. When she tried to protest, he told her this was just another reason for her to call him to meet up again and winked, then walked off into the night.
When Scarlip returned to his shared domicile that operated as a bunk house for missions in the area, soaked to the bone, Eyepatch was sitting by the front door, waiting with Melissa, his beloved rifle under his arm.
“Mon dieu (My god)!” Scarlip fake gasped, as he stood in the open doorway. “W-W-Were you waiting to kill me? And here I thought we were becoming such good friends, and maybe something more.”
Having no patience for his nonsense, Eyepatch grabbed the front of his turtleneck and yanked the other assassin in before moving to close the door with a peak into the night and a snap of the wood. Then he turned on his companion. “Where the bloody hell have you been? You couldn’t have come any faster?”
Annoyed, Scarlip began pulling his sweater straight again. “What are you talking about? It was only ten minutes from the bar to here.”
“You fucking loon! In those ten minutes, you could have been killed! I told you to hurry but I bet you didn’t even take into account the urgency of the situation.” As he talked, Eyepatch was making sure all the locks on the door were secured and even went as far as to push the chair he was sitting in under the doorknob for extra measure before activating the security system from his watch.
The Frenchman rolled his eyes. “What are you—“
“I have reason to believe that someone’s put a hit out on us.”
After a stunned moment, Scarlip began to laugh heartily. “Th-Th-That’s ridiculous. We are the best assassins in all the multiverse. What fool would try to come for us? K-Krombopulous Michele? That old bug knows we’ll kill him and that ugly girlfriend of his in a sn-snap.” He burst into another fit of laughter, almost crying in glee at the ridiculous thought as he stripped down to his underwear out of his wet clothes. When he calmed down and looked up at his partner, he realized Eyepatch was still just standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, annoyance plastered on his face. Sighing, Scarlip made his way to the kitchen to fix himself a drink. “Alright, alright; why do you think we’re being ta—argeted?”
“At the mark’s office—they had our faces pinned up on the wall for games of darts, like that dumb cliché in movies.” Eyepatch saw Scarlip roll his eyes in disbelief but he pressed on anyway. “After I sniped him, I had to sneak in—had to know what that was all about. The man that I was after had documents on us; photos, alliances, sensitive information. Seems he knows us, hates us. There was a card attached with a number, so I called from his phone, but it was a dead line.”
“Mon ami, don’t you think you’re being—“
“Don’t say I’m being paranoid! For a professional assassin, you don’t seem to recognize the very OBVIOUS signs of a hit job.”
Sighing, the Frenchmen put his glass down and crossed his arms. “D’accord (okay), so w-what do you want us to do about this? Eh? Say we are being hunted, huh? Th-They could be right outside our door right now. Are we just going to stay cooped up in here forever?”
“Don’t be a fucking prick. I’m going to have to think of a plan to get us to a new location, but until then, we’ll have to lay low until I figure something out. You,” Eyepatch jabbed a finger into his counterpart’s chest, “just don’t leave until I know our next move.” And with a glare, the Englishman stalked off down the hall of their hideout.
Three whole days they’d been stuck in the house. Scarlip hardly saw Eyepatch at all. He was dug deep in the planning room, five o’clock shadow sprouting on his chin, hair a mess, his usually composed outfit a sweaty mess. He was down to his slacks and under shirt, and hadn’t showered at all, the poor paranoid waffle. The first part was the getaway; the most obvious answer here was to portal out, but they were completely off the grid. It had been a very long time since they used a portal that not even the Citadel knew of their whereabouts, which was just fine for their line of work. The next part was where to go. Going home was out of the question as Bucky was there, and they could lead their own tail to him. The Frenchman wanted to help but his friend was always the better one with plans, and besides, he couldn’t really say he cared; an assassin being confronted with his own assassin would be interesting to say the least.
Three whole days, Eyepatch was holed up in the planning room, and three whole days, Scarlip was lazily sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels. Even with interdimensional cable, TV got boring, quick. Just as he was about to doze off for the third time that day, his phone buzzed on the table next to him, the jolt of it waking him from limbo. It was a text from a number not registered in his directory.
(???) Hey cutie, it’s Naomi, from the bar. Wanted to know if you’d like to meet up for dinner tonight.
Scarlip smirked as he read it. He’d forgotten all about her, but now that she was brought to his mind again, he was reminded on how good her company ended up being, and how cute she was, even with her wet hair and dress. He replied back:
(Me) Sorry, ma cherie, I’m afraid I’m stuck at home taking care of something today; can’t make it out.
(Naomi) :( Ok
(Me) Don’t be sad, ma cherie. Why don’t you come over?
(Naomi) :) Really?
(Me) Sure, you can come now if you want. Bring alcohol. Here’s my address.—
(Naomi) Oh, you live pretty close by.
He was busy writing a reply back when Eyepatch entered the room. “Ugh, I think my head hurts more from all my paranoia than it does from just thinking out a plan. I need something for this headache. What are you doing?”
Without looking up at him, Scarlip replied, “I’m texting, w-what does it look like?”
“Well, instead of doing that, why don’t you come help me devise a plan to move us safely to the next hideout?” Filling a glass with water, and popping two pills into his mouth, Eyepatch continued, “Who are you texting anyway? I’ve—“ he gulped down his mouthful, “—never seen you be friendly enough with anyone to have an extended conversation.”
Scarlip snorted. “You think you’re so funny, huh? While you’re right about that last part, some do find my demeanor cha—arming.”
“Whatever, just come help me.” The Englishman dismissed the conversation and went back to the planning room.
It was annoying when he got dismissive like that, so just to spite him, Scarlip decided to annoy him right back. “I invited someone over.”
The footsteps coming back were practically stomps as Eyepatch returned as quickly as he could. “You WHAT!”
“I said, I invited someone over; you should probably clean up. We’re having drinks!”
“You goddamned buffoon! Do you understand how much danger we’re in? And you’re inviting someone over to have drinks?!”
“Calm down, mon ami. I-It’s just some bar girl I picked up the other night. We’ll drink, fuck, and she’ll be gone before you know it. A-A-And besides, in the very slim chance that she tries something, we are in our territory. Home field advantage, or whatever that dumb saying is.”
Eyepatch’s anger was almost palpable. His fists were balled and shaking, teeth clenched, nostrils flaring. “You’re a fucking moron.” And with that, he stomped off down the hall.
Scarlip grimaced at the slamming of a door, but quickly snickered it off. He really pissed him off this time. Whoops.
Almost fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door, which Scarlip eagerly answered (three days alone and bored make you eager for anything, plus she had alcohol). Naomi, more than a foot shorter than him, was still as cute as ever, long dark hair draped over one shoulder with what seemed to be his jacket slung over one arm. She looked even better holding a paper bag with the neck of a wine bottle poking out of it. He invited her inside and as they settled down on the couch with a couple of wine glasses, she placed the jacket in his lap.
“Thanks for letting me borrow this; that was really sweet of you. I’ve had it cleaned so it shouldn’t smell like me.”
Scarlip smirked and then folded it over the side of the couch behind him. “Well that’s a shame, I-I think you smell absolutely lovely.” He took her hand in his and lightly feathered a kiss over her knuckles, just like at the bar, making her eyes light up. He turned back to the wine and popped it open.
“Aren’t you going to go put your coat away?” Naomi asked.
“No, I can do it later. You’re here now.”
As he was about to pour the first glass of wine, the lights above flickered suddenly for a few seconds before going out completely.
“Ugh… w-what is he doing now?” Scarlip muttered. He was going to get up and investigate, but the lights came back just as he moved to do so. “Oh. Perhaps it was nothing.” He poured them both half a glass and was about to make a toast until he was interrupted yet again by loud, hurried footsteps coming down the hall.
“Scarlip! SCARLIP. We have to go, our security’s been—“ Eyepatch stopped dead in his tracks when he came upon the two. The one eye not covered by his patch was widened in absolute surprise. “Naomi,” he half gasped, half whispered.
The woman stared back at him, eyes just as big. “…Rick…!”
A heavy silence dropped upon them as the two stared at each other, Scarlip bouncing his own gaze back and forth between the two. “So I-I-I guess you two know each other,” he said, taking a long gulp of his wine.
“….Yeah, yeah we do.” Eyepatch gulped, taking a step forward. “What… are you doing here?”
“I—Well I met—“ she gestured towards Scarlip, “we were at the bar together and I—“ She was fumbling over her words, clearly embarrassed to be insinuating at a hook up.
Scarlip looked at his partner smugly over his almost empty glass, as if to nonverbally finish her sentence in the most lewd way possible. Eyepatch ignored him and stepped as close as he could to Naomi with the couch still between them. Clearly he forgot about whatever security issue he came stomping out of the inner chambers for; it seemed he only had eyes for Naomi, until the sound of shatter glass came from his left.
The two whipped their heads around. Scarlip had collapsed sideways on the couch, wine cup pieces scattered all over the ground.
“SCARLIP!” Eyepatch was immediately on him, shaking his shoulder and shouting in his ear; and suddenly the security risk came slamming back to his mind. When he turned to Naomi to tell her to run, the lights shut off again and he felt his heart stop just a split second before a heavy blunt object came down upon the back of his head and he too fell into darkness.
I keep forgetting to post this 😂 The deck-building game, "Close Rick-counters of the Rick Kind" has a sequel in "The Rickshank Redemption"! It has given us the official names of our beloved SEAL Team Ricks! 💙
I got more stuff to draw tonight, but I had to finish this first. It's the eyepatch Rick from the Seal Team Ricks that @hoodoo12 adores. I hope you like him. I did it cause @hoodoo12 has been a great friend through everything and I really am grateful to know someone like her.
