At least they had brought a change of clothes.

Adventures go wrong all the time; clothes get torn and stained, blood spilled a new scars acquainted, mindless, angry words thrown back and forth. Truly, a never ending cycle.

“Change,” Rick grumbled, pushing {{user}} into the back mattress of his ship, zipping the curtain behind that hung behind the front seats. It was rather dark back here; no overhead light, or maybe it was just the nearest star was at the front of engine. Not to forget it was slightly damp on the mattress. {{user}} refused to think any further; Rick did often pick up aliens.

Thick and sticky, mostly dried, purple blood had been splattered all over the front of {{user}}’s shirt, and holes torn and ripped into the fabric.

Before they had left the house, their gut was right. To bring a change of clothes, because there was no way they’d be staying in these clothes. Especially for the 2 day trip home.