#scarlet reacting to some drunk idiot at a bar: !!! FIGHT ME!

[wildwcmen]

hcppiier‌

shuni was always looking for a reaction. it was how they had the most fun with people. saying, doing things that would make them react. people who lacked given them reactions were ones they usually bothered at even more. only seeing it as a game to get them to finally break and react somehow. so they will play along if she was going to be stubborn about it. 

“ not picky, that’s something.” they hummed at her words. shuni had some.. trouble relating to either masculine or feminine. always been a blur of them both. though they didn’t think much on it any longer than just that. they could be whatever scarlet wanted them to be, that was the fun part of being what they were. “ eh ? of course i can do animals. ” she wanted to see a cat ? shuni paused for a moment, before grinning. she didn’t say which kind of cat, now did she ? 

wasn’t but a moment later did they seemingly torn from the clothing the had now and turned into a large tiger instead of some petty house cat. the details of their eyes remaining however. the black sclera and red iris. other than that, they came off as a regular tiger that was somehow suddenly in the middle of a park.

scarlet was expecting a house cat, of course. her creativity only ventured into the music that she made, and never had she envisioned the idea of a tiger in a park. she smiled excitedly at the idea of getting to pet a kitten, as though she didn’t have her own cat waiting at home. of course, shuni had other plans.

her eyes widened as the tiger appeared, but that was really the only reaction they got from scarlet. “nice,” she commented, nodding her head as though approving of the ridiculousness of this all. if she weren’t so reckless she might have feared for her life, but as it was she took a few steps closer and reached out to pet the tiger on the head.

[radioactivedelorean]

Human Sample #13

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Chapter 13: What A Fool He Was

The prisoner check-in was a huge area maybe two or three hundred yards long and about half that distance wide. All sorts of creatures were walking around, some in cuffs and some in uniforms. Ford had a collar around his neck and was being led along by a Gromflomite towards the desk. Ford’s wrists were cuffed together, he had shackles around his ankles and the guards had even gone as far as to give him a muzzle. It wasn’t particularly tight, still allowing him to speak, but it made it impossible for him to bite anybody. Ford wasn’t entirely sure why the guards felt that it was necessary, but here he was.

He was brought up to the main desk where a receptionist - Ford recognised the species as an Ixion - looked over to them. Ford avoided the receptionist’s gaze and stared firmly at his feet. The guard holding the chain of the collar addressed the Ixion. “This is Stanford Pines of Dimension 46’\,”

The Ixion nodded and punched a few letters and symbols into a computer. “Wanted for murder, assault, armed robbery, evading capture, threat to public safety and unauthorised interdimensional travel.”

“Hey! That wasn’t my fault! My brother pushed me!” Ford snapped.

“That’s what they all say,” The guard grunted. The Gromflomite looked back at the Ixion. “He was handed over by Rick Sanchez of Dimension E-292. As a result of this, Sanchez E-292 shall be pardoned for his lesser crimes of robbery and vehicle theft.”

Again, the receptionist nodded and typed something into his computer. Ford let out a heavy sigh. Part of him thought he was in some sort of bizarre fever dream, where none of this was really happening. The rest of him was scolding him for being so much of an idiot as to trust Rick in the first place. The scientist didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself. How could Ford have ever believed otherwise?

Ford’s right hand was pulled forward and all six of his fingers were pressed against a pad of ink. His fingers were then pressed against a piece of paper, then a scanner. His fingerprints appeared on a monitor, along with his name, his date of birth, his home dimension and a long list of his crimes. The receptionist typed away at the keyboard while the guard wiped the excess ink from Ford’s hand.

The Ixion finished whatever they were doing on the computer and gestured for the Gromflomite to move along, passing over some documentation. The guard did so, dragging Ford over to another part of the chamber. Ford had no choice but to go with the guard willingly. He couldn’t fight, not with these chains all over him. He had no weapons, either, something the guards had thoroughly made sure of. Ford was brought over to another room, where he was shoved down into a rough, plastic chair far too large for him. Another guard, this one a male Gazorpazorp, removed the cuffs from Ford’s wrists and rolled up the left sleeve of the orange jumpsuit the human was wearing.

Before Ford had time to react, the guard had strapped him down to the arms of the chair and held a rather large tattoo gun. Ford cringed. He’d already had enough tattoos for one lifetime. The horrific image of his ‘muse’ was still engraved permanently all over his back. The Gazorpazorp held the needle of the gun against the skin on Ford’s forearm and turned it on. Instantly, Ford felt a sharp, pricking sensation on his skin. He let out a sharp hiss and turned his head away. Blood beaded on the spots where the gun had made contact. A second creature, one Ford didn’t recognise, wiped the blood away with a paper towel.

Eventually, Ford felt the gun be taken away and he looked back. He was mortified to see that a barcode had been etched into his skin, the flesh reddened and still bloody. Underneath the barcode, near his wrist, the code ‘46’\ - S.F.P’ had been etched, representing his home dimension and his initials. The guard removed the straps from his arms and he was dragged to his feet. He was hauled from the room back into the main check-in area. He was brought over to a set of elevator banks and shoved inside. The elevator plummeted downwards. Ford gasped, feeling as though his stomach had dropped out his legs.

When they arrived, Ford was brought down to what appeared to be a large block of showers. A guard stood outside the doorway. Ford was hauled through by one of the Gromflomites while the others stood guard outside. The muzzle over his mouth was removed, as were the cuffs, shackles and collar. The guard pointed at the clothes Ford was wearing. “Strip.”

Ford swallowed, one hand rubbing his neck where the collar had rubbed. “What?”

“I said, strip. Take your clothes off.” The guard held up a blaster.

Ford bit his lip and averted his gaze. He pulled the sweater off and tossed it onto the floor. One by one, he removed the clothes he was wearing until he was left in just his boxers.

“‘Strip’ means completely,” the guard emphasised.

Ford went scarlet, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He was already uneasy enough with his body exposed, showing off a large collection of tattoos and scars. He turned his back on the guard completely and pulled his boxers down to his ankles, kicking the clothing off into the pile on the floor. He kept his legs crossed slightly and his hands over his groin.

The guard grabbed Ford’s arm and brought him over to the showers. “Hey, I don’t like this any more than you do, pal, but it’s my job, unfortunately.”

Ford screwed his eyes shut, his face warm from embarrassment. A moment later, he felt hot water pouring over his body as the shower was turned on. A mixture of blood and dirt was washed from his body and down the drain. Once he was clean, the guard tossed Ford a towel, a pair of plain white shoes and a jumpsuit.

“Get dressed.”

Ford rubbed himself dry with the towel and kept the fabric around his waist. He pulled the jumpsuit on and toweled his hair dry. When Ford was properly dried and dressed, the guard led him out of the showers and back towards the elevator. He was shoved inside, where he was immediately cuffed again. They left the muzzle off, this time.

The human was dragged from the elevator as soon as it arrived on the correct floor. Head still spinning, Ford was brought over to a large set of heavy-duty iron doors, where two Gromflomites stood guard outside. The guard on the left pressed a few numbers into a keypad and the doors slid open, allowing the guard holding onto Ford to bring him forward. He was led down the hallway to an empty cell. The door was unlocked and he was promptly shoved inside.

Ford landed with a harsh grunt on the floor of the cell. Before he had the chance to get up, he was pinned down and held there. The rattle of a chain could be heard before something was firmly fixed onto the shackles around his ankles. The cuffs on his wrists were removed. The chain attached to the collar was attached to the chain between his ankles. The weight on his back was removed and he scrambled to his feet, just in time to see the door of the cell swing shut and one of the guards locking the door. Ford instinctively took a few quick steps forward. The chain around his ankles pulled taught, stopping him from reaching the bars. He knelt down and tugged at the chain, trying to tear it off him. He had no luck - it was fixed firmly into the wall.

Growling in frustration, Ford let go of the chain and sat down on the floor. He scratched at the skin beneath the collar. His struggling had caused the skin to become irritated and it was uncomfortable. He allowed his eyes to drift around the cell. It was tiny, far smaller than either of the enclosures back at that awful zoo. It was less than ten foot by eight foot, maybe seven foot high. There was a rickety, metal-framed bed against one wall with a thin, stained mattress on top of it. Ford walked over and sat down on it. The sheets were almost paper thin and the pillow was lumpy. There was a sink and a mirror on the back wall, next to a cubicle in the corner that Ford could only assume housed a toilet. The cell itself had stone walls and a concrete floor. The metal bars running across one wall were thick and a gentle buzz told him that they would give him a nasty electric shock if he touched them. The chain was bolted to the centre of the back wall near the floor.

Ford fell onto his back, his arms spread out over the bed at his sides. What the hell was he supposed to do now? There was no way in Hell he was getting out of here - not on his own, anyway. The truth had fully sunk in by now. Rick was the one who did this to him. Rick handed him over to the Federation. After all they’d done together, Rick had still decided that a large sum of cash was better than having Ford around. It made Ford feel sick to his stomach. He’d loved Rick and this was how Rick repaid him? Keep him around long enough to make Ford believe that he cared, then toss Ford aside like yesterday’s newspaper?

A cold, dead weight settled in the pit of Ford’s stomach. This was all his fault. He’d been an idiot and he’d trusted Rick. It was clear as day that the scientist didn’t care about anybody but himself. How Ford could have been enough of a fool to trust him in the first place was a mystery. Rick was a selfish, arrogant jerk. Ford decided he’d had enough of trusting people. He’d been chewed up and spit out too many times. If Rick ever came back, if he ever visited Ford, Ford wasn’t going to give him the time of day. Rick wasn’t worth a minute of Ford’s time.

It was Ford’s turn to be selfish.

-----------

Rick stared at the blank television screen, a whiskey bottle in his right hand. He took large swigs from it every so often. His eyes were bloodshot, a wad of used tissues clenched in his other hand. He was drunk. His eyes were unfocused, his head fuzzy. He’d made the worst mistake of his life and he was absolutely certain Ford would never forgive him for this. Rick would never forgive himself, either. He’d made a horrific mistake and the relationship he’d had with Ford had been completely shattered.

Rick took another swig from the bottle and grunted, finding it was empty. He threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered. The small fragments of glass landed amongst the fibres of the carpet. The remaining droplets of alcohol from the bottle dripped down the wall and onto the carpet, leaving small stains on the fabric. Two more empty bottles sat on the floor beside the sofa. He was dealing with this the way he dealt with everything - with alcohol.

Rick looked over at a photograph sitting on the side table. It was of himself and Ford at a party. Rick had brought Ford along to a party being hosted by one of Rick’s friends, Squanchy. Birdperson had been the one to take the photograph. Rick was utterly shitfaced and had one arm draped around Ford’s shoulders. Ford was rather tipsy, his cheeks flushed and his arm around Rick’s waist. They both had sloppy, unabashed grins on their faces. Rick clenched his hands into fists, a lump forming in his throat. He picked the photograph up and held it in his hands, running his thumb across the embossed wooden frame.

Ford stumbled over, a red plastic cup clenched in one hand. Rick looked over to him from his position on the couch, next to Birdperson. Ford’s eyes were slightly glazed over and he was blushing slightly. Rick snorted. “You’re a fucking lightweight, Fordsy.”

“Am not!” Ford protested. He swayed on his feet, some of the drink from his cup being splashed onto the carpet. Rick got up and stood in front of Ford with his arms crossed.

“Your face says otherwise,” the scientist smirked.

“It appears your hexadactylic friend appears to have consumed more alcohol than the volume his body is able to cope with,” Birdperson said. “It would be wise, Rick, if you prevented him from having any more to drink this evening.”

“Birdperson’s right, Fordsy,” Rick plucked the plastic cup from Ford’s wavering grasp and set it down on the coffee table. “You’re drunk, and one of us has to be able to drive us home. And it ain’t gonna be me.”

Ford hiccupped and rubbed his eyes. “‘M fine, Rick. Promise.”

Rick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to cra-uurp-crash here tonight. You’ll kill us if you fly the ship.”

Ford groaned and stumbled forward. Rick caught him under the arms before he could topple over. Rick slung an arm around Ford’s shoulders to keep him upright. “Seriously, you’re staying here until you’ve slept th-uurp-this off.”

One of Ford’s arms crept around Rick’s waist. Ford looked at Rick through his hazed vision. “I love you, you know that right?”

Rick rolled his eyes again and smirked. “Yeah, I know. Love you too,” Rick leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ford’s mouth. Ford pulled away, grinning like an idiot, his eyes half-lidded.

Birdperson stood up, a small camera held in one hand. “If you would like, Rick, I could photograph you and your partner here for you to save as a memento.”

“Yeah, go on - uurp - then,” Rick grinned, standing side-by-side with Ford, one arm draped around his boyfriend’s shoulders. Ford kept his arm around Rick’s waist.

Birdperson held the camera up to his face to focus it. “Alright, on the count of three. One.” He put a finger on the button. “Two, three.”

“Wubba Lubba Dub Dub!” Rick grinned as the camera flashed. A moment later, the photo was printed out onto photographic paper. Birdperson passed the photo to Rick and put the camera down on the table.

Rick sighed, looking at the expression on Ford’s face in the photo. The guilt that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach began to boil again, making him feel sick. Rick narrowed his eyes and threw the photo across the room. The glass frame shattered upon impact with the wall, but the photo remained untorn. Rick leaned right forward on the sofa, his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands.

“Wubba Lubba Dub Dub.” He said miserably.

-----

Ford sat on the bed cross-legged, picking at a stray fibre sticking out of the knee of his jumpsuit. These colours were hideous, but he supposed that was the point. They made him stand out in a large crowd, meaning there was no means of him simply just walking out of here. He’d already tried for hours to get that stupid shackle off his ankle, but it wouldn’t budge. The skin underneath it was now red and it itched horribly. Ford had tugged and tugged to the point where the skin had actually burst and started bleeding. He’d given up after that. There was no way he was going to be able to get that thing off his leg. Even if there was, how would he get out? He was locked in, surrounded by guards and he had no weapons.

Ford let out a sigh and let his hand fall to his side. There was no point in fighting it. He’d hit the end of the road. He’d either have to spend multiple years in this place, only to be released as an old man, or live the rest of his life and eventually die here. The latter seemed like the more likely option. He fell backwards onto the bed, lying on his back gazing up at the ceiling. He could hear other prisoners shouting and fighting in their restraints up and down the hall. He rolled over onto one side and stared at the wall.

Rick had put him here.

That was the one thought that kept swirling through his mind. Rick was responsible for this. Rick had handed him over for a large sum of money because Rick didn’t care. Rick didn’t give a damn about anybody but himself. Rick was prepared to step on anyone and everyone necessary in order to get what he wanted.

Ford had, for a brief period of time, really enjoyed being around Rick. It was that which was making his so hard. Ford had really thought that Rick cared about him. He’d been wrong. Still, that didn’t stop Ford from wishing Rick was here now. Even though most of him utterly loathed the scientist, part of Ford’s brain missed him. He missed having someone to talk to. Someone to build projects with. Someone to go out with. Someone to just be there for him, be there with him.

Who was he kidding? Who would ever want to hang around with a freak like him? It’s no wonder Rick handed him over. Anybody in their right mind would have instantly handed him over for a ton of cash.

Why Rick, though? Why did it have to be the first person he’d actually loved? Was it something Ford did? Was this his fault? No. Rick was to blame here, not Ford. Rick was selfish. He didn’t care about anyone but himself. That was obvious. Ford had been an idiot to have ever believed otherwise.

Ford felt hot tears burning behind his eyes. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face furiously.

“Damnit, Rick.” He murmured, picking at a stray flake of paint on the wall with his fingernail. "Don't leave me here."

-------

The beginning of this fic was based off the bonus part of this post by @looloolalalol - it has come quite a way since then.

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