Summer Smith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somethingwithturquoise) wrote2017-08-23 11:03 am
somethingwithturquoise) wrote2017-08-23 11:03 am
Somewhere outside of what used to be Seattle, Earth Dimension [Unknown]; 08/23.
And so there was another chase across the barren landscape of what used to be the Pacific Northwest, only this time, it was just Rick and the giant ball of Isotope 322 being chased by the Death Stalkers and his grandkids.
"Grandpa," Summer shouted from the passenger side of Hemorrhage's rig as they nearly pulled up next to him, "you're being stupid! Just surrender, and our friends will give you mercy!"
"Kiss my ass, Summer!" Rick shouted back, firing a few lasers. "Your friends have no mercy! They're lame!"
"Death Stalkers!" Hemorrhage called over his intercom. "Bring me his flesh leather!"
A man lept onto the hood of Rick's vehicle. He barely had time to let out a war cry before Morty drove up and swiftly shot him in the head. "Sorry," he said into his own intercom, "but can we not kill him? C-Can we just take him prisoner?"
"When did I lose control here?" Hemorrhage wondered.
"Listen to me," said Rick. "Both of you kids need to get out of this environment so we can properly deal with your parents' divorce! Alternatively, I have a freaking portal gun, and I can leave the two of you here forever!"
"Why does it have to be such a dramatic choice?" asked Morty. "Can't we arrange a thing where we spend weekends here or or visit home to do laundry?"
From the rear, another truck rolled up, this one equipped with machine guns that started shooting at the back of Rick's buggy, which worked very well as a last straw.
"All right, you know what? Fuck it!"
Rick shot his portal gun into the ground. The front end of his vehicle fell in, while the tail end remained, sticking out just enough for the vehicle behind him to crash into it and spin up into the air. Because there hadn't been enough trucks and cars spinning wildly and crashing gloriously into the ground yet that day.
Leaving Summer and Morty behind. Possibly forever. Because fuck that noise.
______________________________________________
There they were. Summer and Morty Smith, stuck in post-apocalyptic Earth, abandoned by their Grampa, dealing poorly with their parents divorce and Morty had a monster arm with a mind of its own. Summer was just....going to let Morty deal with that for a moment. That arm had a lot of pent up aggression and a vendetta it needed to fulfill, but he seemed to be doing okay with it in theThunderBlood Dome. Summer thought it might be best if she did a little damage control, with the one person left that she thought maybe she could depend on in this Rick-forsaken world.
"Hey," she said, coming into Hemorrhage's tent as he tinkered with an engine, getting frustrated and throwing his wrench in anger. "Sorry my Grampa stole your god and ruined your car."
"We don't apologize," Hemorrhage sighed, "and we have no god. But this cracked drive shaft brings me great pain. There is no deeper bond than the one between a Death Stalker and his car."
"What about the weird guys on leashes, then?" Summer asked.
"They're more like interns."
"Cool," said Summer, as Hemorrhage pulled a wrench from his...well...it couldn't have been his pocket. There was no room for pockets in that cute little fetish number of his, but he reached back and pulled it from somewhere, and started banging it idly into his palm, "cool."
There was an awkward moment, neither of them knowing what else to say. And Hemorrhage dropped the wrench. It hit the floor with a small tink, and they both bent down to reach for it, hands overlapping, the metal of his bucket clunking against the flesh over her skull. Summer looked over, catching Hemorrhage's gaze.
At least, she thought she did. Again, she couldn't really see what he was doing behind that mask. But she knew what she felt.
"Sorry," said Summer sheepishly as they both straightened, her hand lingering near his wrist.
"It's...okay."
"Can I..." Summer reached her free hand over to gently touch the side of his helmet, softening her expression, making the spark of her longing known, "see?"
But he pulled back, turning away from her, but her hand remained on his arm. "No one has seen my true face and lived."
"Well, I'm not afraid to die," Summer said breathily, gently turning him back toward her, pleased to find that he yeilded to her touch, "and I don't care what you look like."
There was a moment of hesitation, or perhaps it was a mere moment of drama, as Summer stood before Hemorrhage, to savor this last moment of not knowing what lurked behind that mask. Hemorrhage then reached up, hands on the side of the bucket. Summer gasped as he began to pull it up from his head, to reveal...
"Oh."
"Hmm?"
"I...just..." Summer seemed to struggle for a moment, but she recovered with a faint smile. "I didn't expect you to have a mustache."
Hemorrhage, his face significantly paler than the rest of his tanned and exposed body, with his light blonde hair buzzed at the bottom and long on top, frowned. His shoulders sagged. And so did his equally blonde mustache.
"You hate it."
"No!" Summer insisted, smiling encouragingly again. "I like it. I guess...How do I explain this? A metal bucket is, on a certain level, a kind of mustache, in that it's a specific facial accessory. So, it's kind of like....Do you guys have the phrase hat on a hat?"
"I can shave it," Hemorrhage offered.
"No. I like it. And obviously what I like shouldn't matter. It's you!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, a-and nothing does matter. Obviously, I know that. I'm not weak. I'm just thinking...well, why not get rid of this? You just kill everyone that sees it, and it's and it's hot under here, wh-which, by the way, is why I shave the beard part. So, right there, I'm making a decision based on vanity, which is what I was trying to avoid with the whole bucket over the head because who am I and why am I grooming myself? Why don't I just wear a tie, right? I mean, it's like that guy you killed when I met you, with the burnt dolls on his body. I haaated that guy, because, why? Why are you doing that? And how can you not see how fake that is? And the whole time, I'm the same thing. I'm just a fake mess, and there's no escaping it because--"
He was rambling. Ohgod, was he rambling. Summer needed to put a stop to this, because what the hell was this and where did that come from? This was not what she signed up for when she came here. Thankfully, she knew of a really, really good way to get a cute guy to shut up.
She kissed him. She threw herself at him and gave him little choice but to kiss her back. One of Hemorrhage's hands found the small of Summer's back; his bucket clattered to the floor as the other joined in, and she pushed him back on the table behind him. And as she crawled on top of him, a man in a leash and a black hooded mask crawled in through the door.
"Hey, I'm doing a coffee run--" he started, but he didn't get far before noticing the hot and heavy make-out session going on. "Neeever mind," he sang, quietly backing right back out and giving them their privacy.
[[ Part 4 of 4! Continued from here, here, and here! There's more tomorrow, but I figured I'd leave ya'all on the cliffhanger. Can be open to any calls, texts, or ooc, though Summer might be a little, uh, distracted for a bit, ahem]]
"Grandpa," Summer shouted from the passenger side of Hemorrhage's rig as they nearly pulled up next to him, "you're being stupid! Just surrender, and our friends will give you mercy!"
"Kiss my ass, Summer!" Rick shouted back, firing a few lasers. "Your friends have no mercy! They're lame!"
"Death Stalkers!" Hemorrhage called over his intercom. "Bring me his flesh leather!"
A man lept onto the hood of Rick's vehicle. He barely had time to let out a war cry before Morty drove up and swiftly shot him in the head. "Sorry," he said into his own intercom, "but can we not kill him? C-Can we just take him prisoner?"
"When did I lose control here?" Hemorrhage wondered.
"Listen to me," said Rick. "Both of you kids need to get out of this environment so we can properly deal with your parents' divorce! Alternatively, I have a freaking portal gun, and I can leave the two of you here forever!"
"Why does it have to be such a dramatic choice?" asked Morty. "Can't we arrange a thing where we spend weekends here or or visit home to do laundry?"
From the rear, another truck rolled up, this one equipped with machine guns that started shooting at the back of Rick's buggy, which worked very well as a last straw.
"All right, you know what? Fuck it!"
Rick shot his portal gun into the ground. The front end of his vehicle fell in, while the tail end remained, sticking out just enough for the vehicle behind him to crash into it and spin up into the air. Because there hadn't been enough trucks and cars spinning wildly and crashing gloriously into the ground yet that day.
Leaving Summer and Morty behind. Possibly forever. Because fuck that noise.
______________________________________________
There they were. Summer and Morty Smith, stuck in post-apocalyptic Earth, abandoned by their Grampa, dealing poorly with their parents divorce and Morty had a monster arm with a mind of its own. Summer was just....going to let Morty deal with that for a moment. That arm had a lot of pent up aggression and a vendetta it needed to fulfill, but he seemed to be doing okay with it in the
"Hey," she said, coming into Hemorrhage's tent as he tinkered with an engine, getting frustrated and throwing his wrench in anger. "Sorry my Grampa stole your god and ruined your car."
"We don't apologize," Hemorrhage sighed, "and we have no god. But this cracked drive shaft brings me great pain. There is no deeper bond than the one between a Death Stalker and his car."
"What about the weird guys on leashes, then?" Summer asked.
"They're more like interns."
"Cool," said Summer, as Hemorrhage pulled a wrench from his...well...it couldn't have been his pocket. There was no room for pockets in that cute little fetish number of his, but he reached back and pulled it from somewhere, and started banging it idly into his palm, "cool."
There was an awkward moment, neither of them knowing what else to say. And Hemorrhage dropped the wrench. It hit the floor with a small tink, and they both bent down to reach for it, hands overlapping, the metal of his bucket clunking against the flesh over her skull. Summer looked over, catching Hemorrhage's gaze.
At least, she thought she did. Again, she couldn't really see what he was doing behind that mask. But she knew what she felt.
"Sorry," said Summer sheepishly as they both straightened, her hand lingering near his wrist.
"It's...okay."
"Can I..." Summer reached her free hand over to gently touch the side of his helmet, softening her expression, making the spark of her longing known, "see?"
But he pulled back, turning away from her, but her hand remained on his arm. "No one has seen my true face and lived."
"Well, I'm not afraid to die," Summer said breathily, gently turning him back toward her, pleased to find that he yeilded to her touch, "and I don't care what you look like."
There was a moment of hesitation, or perhaps it was a mere moment of drama, as Summer stood before Hemorrhage, to savor this last moment of not knowing what lurked behind that mask. Hemorrhage then reached up, hands on the side of the bucket. Summer gasped as he began to pull it up from his head, to reveal...
"Oh."
"Hmm?"
"I...just..." Summer seemed to struggle for a moment, but she recovered with a faint smile. "I didn't expect you to have a mustache."
Hemorrhage, his face significantly paler than the rest of his tanned and exposed body, with his light blonde hair buzzed at the bottom and long on top, frowned. His shoulders sagged. And so did his equally blonde mustache.
"You hate it."
"No!" Summer insisted, smiling encouragingly again. "I like it. I guess...How do I explain this? A metal bucket is, on a certain level, a kind of mustache, in that it's a specific facial accessory. So, it's kind of like....Do you guys have the phrase hat on a hat?"
"I can shave it," Hemorrhage offered.
"No. I like it. And obviously what I like shouldn't matter. It's you!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, a-and nothing does matter. Obviously, I know that. I'm not weak. I'm just thinking...well, why not get rid of this? You just kill everyone that sees it, and it's and it's hot under here, wh-which, by the way, is why I shave the beard part. So, right there, I'm making a decision based on vanity, which is what I was trying to avoid with the whole bucket over the head because who am I and why am I grooming myself? Why don't I just wear a tie, right? I mean, it's like that guy you killed when I met you, with the burnt dolls on his body. I haaated that guy, because, why? Why are you doing that? And how can you not see how fake that is? And the whole time, I'm the same thing. I'm just a fake mess, and there's no escaping it because--"
He was rambling. Ohgod, was he rambling. Summer needed to put a stop to this, because what the hell was this and where did that come from? This was not what she signed up for when she came here. Thankfully, she knew of a really, really good way to get a cute guy to shut up.
She kissed him. She threw herself at him and gave him little choice but to kiss her back. One of Hemorrhage's hands found the small of Summer's back; his bucket clattered to the floor as the other joined in, and she pushed him back on the table behind him. And as she crawled on top of him, a man in a leash and a black hooded mask crawled in through the door.
"Hey, I'm doing a coffee run--" he started, but he didn't get far before noticing the hot and heavy make-out session going on. "Neeever mind," he sang, quietly backing right back out and giving them their privacy.
[[ Part 4 of 4! Continued from here, here, and here! There's more tomorrow, but I figured I'd leave ya'all on the cliffhanger. Can be open to any calls, texts, or ooc, though Summer might be a little, uh, distracted for a bit, ahem]]