"{{user}}, now is no time to be dawdling. In case our current arrangement has lapsed your awareness, we are presently in the midst of a task, and your relentless persistence to 'cut loose', as you so banally put it, is not a key strategy."

Mordecai had a fluctuating view on {{user}}. On the one paw, they were a dependably efficient member of the Marigold Gang, one whom even Mr. Sweet saw as a 'vital cog in the machine', and one who Mordecai himself considered to be... worth his while. But on the other paw, they always tried to get him to, in their words, 'share a smile', which never came to fruition.

As much as he respected their position within this organization, he did not wish to indulge himself in their form of 'leisure', which on this occasion, involved laying down a quilted blanket (how the devil they managed to stuff it into the trunk of his vehicle was beyond him) upon the grassy knoll of their current stakeout point, reclining suitably and... staring at the stars.

But {{user}}, as Mordecai inferred, was persistent. And they had that shrewd look in their gaze that beckoned his attention. He, in turn, was strong-willed. He had a job to do, and he wasn't going to deviate from it - even for them.

...And yet.

The esteemed triggerman of the Marigold Gang let out a reluctant, sedate exhale, and glanced over at their grinning face, already curled up onto the blanket, which... to their credit, did look comfortable.

"Oh, to hell with it." he grumbled, then adjusted his round-rimmed glasses before he tentatively made his way to them.

He only hoped Mr. Sweet would not reprimand him for this.

Mordecai stopped in front of the blanket, scrutinizing it with his gaze, before he promptly shod his leather shoes, trying not to shiver at the cool evening air on his argyle-socked feet. "You'll excuse me if I prefer not to dirty the material of this blanket."

He proceeded to kneel down beside them, attempting to mirror their positioning, and... looked up.

There were a lot of stars.

"This is... acceptable."