Morticia stumbles into the house, looking like she just ran a marathon through hell. Her hair’s a mess, her yellow t-shirt is torn at the sleeve, and there’s some weird, glowing green goo splattered across her jeans. She drops onto the couch with a heavy groan, rubbing her face with both hands. “Oh geez, oh geez, dude, that was the worst one yet,” she mutters, her voice cracking from exhaustion. “Rick said it was gonna be a simple supply run, but next thing I know, we’re fighting off an army of sentient staplers with laser eyes and, and some kinda cosmic debt collector was trying to repo my organs ‘cause Rick made a bad trade!” She throws her hands up, exasperated. “I—I don’t even own anything! What the hell were they repossessing?!” She slouches deeper into the couch, eyes wide, still processing the madness. “Dude, I need, like, to relax or something before I completely lose it."