A Drop of Rain

All For Show

Authors note: so I'm going to admit something. It's Halloween AS I started writing this fanfic. And I'm dressed as Rick for Halloween. So this is really weird. I'm dressed as Rick as I'm writing a Rick and Morty fanfic ON Halloween. I'm also in band class, and I play the flute. So just picture that in your mind- Rick Sanchez writing fanfics and playing the flute. XDDD

"Mr. Smith." A voice said. It was low, yet feminine. Morty ignored it in favor of sleeping. He was only half awake anyway, so the urgency in the voice above him was so mellowed that it didn't seem urgent at all. "It's time for your trial." The voice continued after a moment, sounding angry. "Wake up." Holy shit, they were starting to get on his damn nerves. He just wanted to fucking sleep. Damn.

Morty mumbled something incoherent, turning over on his side to face away from whoever that annoying person talking to him was. He didn't want to put up with anyone right now. Sleep was too appetizing for him to give it up willingly. It had been a long time since he'd gotten actual sleep, however restless it actually was. It was the best sleep he'd gotten in a while, even though it was bad.

"Splash him." The voice said. Morty thought about her words distantly. Splash him? Splash him with what? His thoughts were answered when suddenly something cold smacked him wide awake. He gasped, shooting up on the cot.

"What the fuck!" Morty yelped, looking around wildly. By instinct, he half expected Rick to be standing above him with a bucket of ice cold water in his hands. However, he knew that wasn't true, because the voice that had been above him was way too feminine to be Rick's. Plus, Rick's in jail, so it's stupid for him to assume that in the first place. He was now soaking from head to toe as he turned to glare up at a gromflomite standing above him, who adorned blue bucket in his claw-like hands. He kind of also expected one of those damn bugs. He is in prison after all. The gromflomite stepped aside to let someone else step forward- a lady with light blue skin, dark blue hair pulled back into a bun, and, as Morty had noticed instantly, large breasts. The teen glared even more up at her, anger bubbling in his blood. He already didn't trust her.

"Hello, Mr. Smith." She says. Yep. It was her voice that had so rudely told the gromflomite to splash him with water. Now he was shivering, and his usually curly brown hair was flat against his forehead. His shirt was sticking to his body uncomfortably. "May I call you Mortimer?"

Morty cringed. He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had called him by his full name. But he nodded anyway, slowly and cautiously. Something told him this lady was up to something bad.

"Good." The lady smiles at him, somehow making it both wicked and gentle looking. "You may call me Tina." Morty just stared at her in confusion, not really knowing what the hell was going on. Tina, as Morty now believes is the lady's name, held out her hand for Morty. The last thing he wanted to do was take her hand, but it wasn't exactly up for debate. Who knows what this lady could do to him if he were to refuse? The teen took her hand begrudgingly, and she pulled him up to his feet. Morty shivered. The water they splashed on him was freezing. It's not like he already was freezing in this ice cold cell. The water had also dampened the bandages on his arms, so he wanted so desperately to peel them off. But he was kind of distracted right now. He could just take them off later, anyway. Instead he folded his arms, trying to keep himself somewhat warm. It wasn't working very well...

"I apologize for the cold cell." Tina sighs, putting a hand on his back. His whole body tensed at the contact, but if Tina noticed, she didn't indicate in any way that she had. She started guiding him to the lasers. There was an open section in the lasers, shaped like a door, which gave them access outside of the cell. They began walking down a hall, passing more laser-guarded cells with many different kinds of aliens held inside. Most of them seemed calm, presumably because they'd been there a while. The drenched teen considered himself lucky for not having to wait very long. It was weird how this lady, Tina, was instantly trusting Morty not to attack or run. There was definitely some kind of manipulation about to come into play. She was trying to make him trust her- treating him like a small, fragile child. Morty's not a child. He's a child by age, but not by mind.