Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

St. Louise, Missouri, 1926

You’d stepped off the train in St. Louis and never got back on. Only you knew the reason why. You worked a series of odd jobs that earned you just barely enough to keep a roof over your head. Then, at last, you got work at a radio station called JAZCAT. You were thrilled. Your dream to write and produce your very own radio drama was that much closer. Little did you know that events were about to be set in motion that would send you on your own adventure, full of mystery, excitement, danger, and discovering the love of your life.

Chapter Text

At last, at last, you’d gotten a job in radio! True most of it was janitorial work and bringing people their lunch and coffees, but everyone starts somewhere. You were in a good mood. Good enough for a celebratory drink. And you knew just the spot!

Freckle

You were practically skipping down the sidewalk. You’d just walked out the door of your new place of employment, happy as a clam. Plans were already formulating in your head about what to wear to the secret speakeasy that night, if you should spend money on a cab to or from the place, or both. It gave way very steadily to day dreaming about your future as a successful and famous writer for radio. People across the country tuning in everyday to listen to your words, your vision, your-

  “Oof!”

Aaaand you just walked into some poor sap with an armload of groceries. That was now spilled all over the ground. Nice job, you chided yourself.

  “I’m so sorry,” you said, bending down quickly to help pick up the scattered produce.  

  “N-n-no, no, it was my fault,” came the timid response “I w-wasn’t watching where I was going. You don’t need to do that.”

  “No, please. I wasn’t really looking either, I-“ Your hand was on an apple. Another hand was on your hand. It was soft, a warm orange, and, as your eyes trailed up the arm, belonged to a very cute tabby.

The both of you were quiet. Staring a few seconds longer than needed. And then, without warning, he snatched up the bags and ran off with his striped tail puffed. He left you with an apple and wondering what you’d done to cause that reaction.

Ivy

For as long as you’d been going to the Lackadaisy, a few months now- finding that club pin was a gigantic stroke of luck- you thought the cashier girl who manned the register in the upstairs cafe kind of liked you. It was only a suspicion though. She probably liked everyone. You liked the thought that she liked you specifically though. She was pretty darn cute.

But, she was also pretty darn spoken for. When she wasn’t behind the counter, the only other times you’d seen her she was in the arms of a young man, dragging him across the dance floor with a bright sunny smile lighting up her dark furred face. Curiously, it was a different guy each time. Sometimes you wondered about that.

Mitzi

You were just there for the drinks and the music. You didn't know or actually care that much who owned the Lackadaisy as long as you could satisfy those desires. Until you saw her for the first time.

You were in just the right spot, looking at just the right time to see her come through the door at the top of the stairs. She was lit perfectly from above, the light glancing off her silky fur and wavy hair. Her curvaceous figure was elegantly wrapped in a purple dress that trailed only slightly behind her, delicate weavings of flowers decorated the garment. A fluffy white fur boa draped across her shoulders. She descended the stairs with a poised grace befitting royalty. Emerald green eyes landed on you all of a sudden. You felt frozen to the spot. Painted lips upturned in a dainty smile. You felt your face heating up under your fur.

  “Ah, here she is,” a man’s voice cut through the fog in your head. A man in an expensive tuxedo stepped towards the beautiful woman. When she reached him, they kissed. He turned back to the people behind him, “Gentlemen, this my wife, Mitzi.”

Mordecai

People watching generally was a good way of coming up with story ideas and characters for your plays and novels. And, oh boy, you were definitely writing this one down.

A very dapper looking tomcat in a suit and spectacles had the most sour of expressions on his black and white face as he stood stock-still on the dance floor while a lady, his supposed dance partner, went through the steps like a normal person. An obstinate rock jutting out of the sea of rushing, roiling movement. It was too funny.

His sharp green eyes darted about the room. He seemed to want to look anywhere but at his poor date(?). They darted to you. You gave your friendliest smile and raised a glass to him. He glared all the harder at you. You burst out laughing.

Nico

You decided you’d only splurge on drinks. Hence, you were walking to the Lackadaisy in your nicest getup rather than getting a cab. Admittedly, not the safest method of travel.

Case in point: you suddenly heard yelling and a ruckus from an alleyway not far up ahead. You slowed down, approaching the corner cautiously. You were going to peak around when two burly tomcats went rolling over top of each other right in front of you, causing you to jump. The white one came out on top and just started whaling on the other guy’s face.

You don’t remember making a sound, but you must have, because suddenly, the white cat’s grey tipped ear flicks in your direction. You’re staring at golden eyes with a wild look in them. The next second, you’re sprinting down the street in the opposite direction. Definitely getting a cab next time.

Rocky

The music was a big reason why you loved the Lackadaisy so much. It was the same band every time, and they were all talented. This night, they appeared to have finally gotten someone new. Yes, the grey cat in the blue suit was certainly a new addition. Not that you were complaining. You liked violin music. It was good the band was expanding their repertoire. You watched the new guy with interest. He was much bouncier and livelier than the rest. Going so far as to do little dances with his music…

And dancing right up and over the edge of the stage, complete with a well timed violin screech before he met the unforgiving floor. Face first. You weren’t sure if you should laugh or feel sorry for him.

Serafine

You were walking back to your apartment in the wee hours of the morning. The alcohol you’d ingested was going from pleasant buzz to siren of slumber. Good thing you didn’t need to be anywhere in the morning. Your whole body felt ready to drop.

Under a streetlight, you spotted another cat. Fluffy white tail, wearing a suit and lighting up a cigarette. You didn’t realize it was a woman until you got closer. When she glanced at you you offered a little smile in passing.

Something that sounded an awful lot like gunshots went off somewhere nearby. Adrenaline began to fight your drunken dreariness as your ears pricked up, straining to hear more, anything that might indicate if you were in danger or not. You turned back to the woman, a “Did you hear that?!” look on your face.

She flashed a toothy grin at you that made a chill go up your spine.

That answered your question. You turned and kept walking away as fast as you could.

Viktor

You were enjoying the cheerful atmosphere of the Lackadaisy and sipping away contentedly at the contents of your glass when he walked behind the bar with a heavy box full of bottles. You were close enough to see the muscles in his arms flexing while he carried it. Well, damn if that didn’t get your attention.

He was very tall. Orange brown fur, a bushy tail, and he was dressed sort of like a dock worker. He placed the crate on the ground. When he straightened up and turned, you saw that he had an eye patch. There’s a story there. Maybe you’d get to hear it one day.

Judging by how he growled at you when he caught you staring…that day might be a long ways off.

Wick

Sometimes you think the Lackadaisy caters specifically to the well to do and ignores the rest. Most of the guests wear clothes that would’ve cost you a whole month’s salary, to say nothing of the drink prices. Nobody ever called attention to your cheaper attire, but you felt like you’d gotten side-eyed more than a few times by some upper-crust people. You ignored it the best you could. You had as much right to be there as the rest of them…even if it was technically illegal…god, finding that club pin really was nothing short of a miracle if the clientele had to belong to some level of class to receive one.

And sometimes you think you’re the only intelligent person in the room. You watched with a mix of bemusement and second-hand embarrassment as people who probably had enough money to buy your entire apartment building three times over licked the red limestone cavern walls of the speakeasy. With their tongues. And paid a fee to do so.

  “The Leaders of Industry, Ladies and Gentlemen,” you muttered to yourself.

  “Yes, quite,” a voice said next to you. There was a siamese tomcat in a top hat and well tailored suit standing near you. You had no idea when he got there.

“Honestly, just because it’s called limestone, that doesn’t mean it tastes like lime! It’s more of a…a…” He trailed off when he noticed the look you were giving him. “You weren’t actually talking to me were you,” he said.

You shook your head.

“Right then,” he pulled his hat lower over his eyes and walked away. You stared after him, wondering if you’d seen his face somewhere before. He seemed a little familiar.

Zib

You were more than allowed to have a favorite band member. And, listen, red is eye-catching. If you didn’t care for saxophone before you started attending the Lackadaisy, you sure had great appreciation for it now.

You didn’t know his name, so in your head he was “The Red One” since the band all had similar clothes but each was dominated by a different color. And the saxophonist wore his scarlet suit well. That he was extremely easy on the eyes didn’t hurt either. Most nights, he lead the Brass Boys through an evening of lively instrumental jazz tunes for the patrons to dance to delightedly. Sometimes, on rare special nights, he’d sing.

You lived for those moments. That he was singing tonight was just icing on the cake for what a wonderful day you’d been having. You hung on every note as his voice drifted through the cavern sweetly. After the final note, the audience thundered with applause. The band, graciously, took a bow. As was custom.

You were clapping right along with everyone else when his gaze suddenly landed on you. He smiled, and winked.

You were still blushing when you got home.

Chapter Text

St. Louis, Missouri, 1927 

Roughly a year later, things at the JAZCAT Radio Station had improved slightly. You were trusted enough to clean the in-house band instruments now. And you finally got to be on the microphone! True it was only to read out the weather report, but, baby steps, right? Sure would’ve been nice if you’d gotten a pay increase with your added on responsibilities though.

On top of that, your boss wouldn’t even look at any of the scripts you’d written. You’d tried everything you could think of to get him to just read one of your works, going so far as to sneak a sample script of one of your dramas into his usual paperwork. Not a peep. Just more “did you get my coffee?” 

Ugh. You could use a drink. 

Freckle 

The Lackadaisy club wasn’t what it used to be. You remembered how the caverns used to buzz with music and chatter. Now it was as quiet as a cemetery. The only sounds being hushed conversations from the very, very few patrons left. At the bar you were asked if you could wait a few minutes to order as the next shipment of liquor still hadn’t arrived yet.

Admittedly, that did put you off. No music, no people, and now no beer? Then what was the point? Maybe you should’ve gone to that Marigold place after all. You told the bartender never mind then, and picked up your coat. 

   “WAIT!” 

A bright orange tabby in green came hurrying out of nowhere, clutching an armload of bottles he was fighting not to let slip onto the floor. 

  “We’re here! I mean, it’s here, uh-“ He reached the counter, and set the bottles down as carefully and quickly as he could. He pointed at them. “Booze!” 

You didn’t know how to respond to that. 

So you just kept staring at him without a word. He shrank a little under your gaze. That’s when it clicked for you. 

  “Oh!” You smiled, “I remember you!” 

  “You do?!” His voice cracked.

  “Yeah you’re the apple guy! Well, you left me an apple when you ran off. It was a while ago so you probably don’t remember.” 

His ears went back and he looked at the floor shyly, “I remember. I was getting groceries for my mum.” 

He remembered you too! That sparked a tiny glow of happiness in you. 

  “My name’s (Y/N), by the way. If you’re done for the night, would you like to join me…?” 

  “Freckle.” 

  “Freckle?” 

  “My name’s Calvin, but everybody calls me Freckle. And, I think there’s still some unloading to- 

Some shouts and what sounded like a crash came up from one of the off-shooting tunnels. Freckle looked towards the noise and sighed. 

  “On second thought. Maybe I will stay here with you for a little while.” 

Ivy 

    “It’s you!” 

You froze as the glass door to the Little Daisy Cafe closed behind you. The cashier girl was pointing at you as though accusing you of some heinous crime. What were you guilty of? You had no idea. 

  “Me?” 

  “You came back! I didn’t think you would, not when everybody else left,” her smile was dazzling. 

  “Well, I’ve always been pretty fond of this establishment,” you held your head a little higher as you approached the counter. “And the people here too.”  

  “Great!” She leaned over the counter, “Then you can be my dance partner tonight!” 

  “I- what?” 

She was already unlocking the secret door behind the pantry shelves to the Lackadasiy. Soon as she got it open, she wrapped her arm around yours and started pulling you along. 

  “What’s your name?” She asked. 

  “(Y/N)” 

  “I’m Ivy. Ivy Pepper. Atlas’ Goddaughter.” 

She had those kinds of connections to the owners?! There was no time to think about it. Ivy was very determined to have some fun. The Lackadaisy atmosphere was grim, and the two of you were going to liven it up. 

Mitzi

JAZCAT read the city obituaries on the air every Sunday. That was how you found out that Atlas May was dead. Murdered, in fact. You avoided the Lackadaisy for a long while after. You didn’t want to go only to see her mourning and miserable. You found that you couldn’t stay away forever though. You had to see if she was okay. 

The Lackadaisy was almost empty, and far too quiet. A mere shell of its former self. Even the alcohol had been downgraded. It was obvious from the taste in your glass they weren’t able to get their hands on the good stuff anymore. That above everything was going to be the final nail in the coffin. Unless something changed. 

And then suddenly, there she was. Mitzi May just walked up and sat down at the bar right next to you! A million thoughts were racing through your head. Do you say hello? Do you play it cool and let her initiate conversation? What if she doesn’t? What if you’re too cool and you come off as a silent werido? But what could you say that wouldn’t make you sound like a werido? What if- 

Her green eyes turned to you, and that same dainty, yet devastating smile, graced her painted lips, and it was that first night when she was at the stairs all over again. You gulped, gripping your glass a little tighter. As if the cold of the ice cubes would keep you grounded. 

  “Well hello there,” she purred. You’d forgotten until that moment she was from the south. Her accent made you melt. “Haven’t seen you around here for a spell.”

You tried to respond with a “Yes Ma’am” or something, but the words wouldn’t leave your throat. You settled on more of an affirming hum instead.

  “Where’ve you been Sugar?” 

  “Um, wor- working, Ma’am.” 

She laughed lightly, “Call me Mitzi, please, and what do you do (Miss/Mister)?” 

  “(Y/N). I work at the JAZCAT Radio Station.” 

She seemed very interested in that. Which was great because it was something you could speak about that made you sound competent. All in all, the night couldn’t have gone better. 

Mordecai 

Your co-workers told you how to get into the Lackadaisy. They told you how to get into the Marigold Room at the Maribel Hotel too when that became the most happening gin joint in St. Louis. 

It was a different atmosphere. A lot more gambling going on then there was at the Lackadasiy. The Marigold Room felt more like a casino than a bar. That kind of ruined it for you, to be honest. You didn't have the wherewithal to be a gambler. Your bolder coworkers, however, were not so deterred and you offered them moral support at the card tables while nursing a glass of your chosen poison. As your glass emptied, so did their wallets. Down to the last dime. 

It was their own stupid fault. You’d tried to warn them, but alcohol and brashness were never a good combination. It would’ve served them right to leave with their tails tucked, however, you happened to like your coworkers. So you decided you’d better win their money back for them. Your grandmother, may she rest in peace, in her younger years was a real card shark. She’d taught you every trick in the book. One would think that would make gambling a breeze. Instead it often lead to more trouble. The House doesn’t care if you’re cheating or not. It despises losing. 

Granny’s warnings about overindulging were ringing in your head as you started gaining curious onlookers from your winning streak. You hadn’t recouped your friends’ losses yet though, so you couldn’t leave. It didn’t help that they were rather loudly egging you on, making remarks of disbelief, “Why didn’t you tell us you were this good?” 

Well, one good reason sat himself across from you and bet double or nothing. A ridiculous amount that accounted for your friends’ losses and then some. He did it very casually too, as if he’d just been remarking on the weather. People around the table went quiet with anticipation. You could tell, this black and white tomcat with glasses, dressed in a perfectly tailored and pressed suit, and in possession of the most piercing green eyes you’d ever seen, wasn’t a patron. This was the guy the casino sent out to get its money back “the legal way”. He didn’t smile at you. In fact his face was blank, bordering on disinterested. Notable since these sorts generally loved pretending to be kind to you as they robbed you. At any rate, there was no backing out now.

About mid-way through you realized he was using the same tactics you were. Which was a good news/ bad news moment. Bad because he likely knew what you were trying to do as well. Good because the fastest way to loose at this game was to loose track of the card numbers in your head. You had to find a way to distract him. 

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in the Marigold Room before,” he said evenly, a faint hint of a Boston accent. 

Before he distracted you.

  “First time,” you nodded. 

  “Yet you are clearly rather skilled…?” 

  “ (Y/N). I’ve had some practice at other places.You know, like the Lackadaisy.” 

  “Lackadaisy?” That was the most emotional he’d sounded so far. You nodded again. 

  “Before it went under.” You dared to look up at him. He seemed mildly annoyed.

The picture of him back in that sea of movement looking like the definition of affronted popped into your head. The laugh was out of your throat before you could stop it. 

His ears flattened in annoyance, “And what, may I ask is so amusing?” 

This. This was your window of opportunity. You held onto that mirth, dragged it out as much as possible. 

  “I just remembered, you were there too once, with this poor, poor young thing. You made her do all the work, dancing her heart out, while you just stood there like a bump on a log. You old Sourpuss.” 

  “That was not my idea,” and he launched into some kind of rant about how dancing was just some absurd flailing about and something about ficuses. Meanwhile, you kept chuckling purely to keep him angry, while maneuvering your cards and signaling the dealer as casually as you could. 

  “It’s hardly a laughing matter.” he snorted. 

  “I’m sorry, it was just funny.” 

  “Sir,” said the dealer. 

  “What?” he snapped.

  “You’re turn, Sir.” 

   “I- oh.” 

He made a valiant recovery effort. But ultimately, victory was yours. 

Cheers erupted around the table. Your friends especially were the loudest. You heard people shouting about the defeat of Mordecai Heller. Was that his name?

Well, if it was or wasn’t, the death glare he was shooting you wasn’t inspiring laughter. If anything, a sense of impending doom settled over you. Your friends must’ve felt it too, as they went silent beside you. Without saying a word, yet in sync, you gathered up your winnings, all but sprinted out the door, and practically jogged to the nearest home of one of your coworkers. You were all permitted to stay the night without question. 

Nico 

The Marigold Room had certainly been interesting, and the liquor worth the price. Now, tipsy and tired, you were ready to head home. You had a busy day tomorrow. And this time, you’d remembered to get a cab. 

You slid into the backseat of the car, grateful for the ride, and gave the address of your apartment to the driver. There was a strange pause. You wondered if he’d misheard you. 

  “Right away,” he said cheerfully.

He had an accent. You couldn’t place it yet, but you liked it. As he continued making small talk with you, you realized it was cajun. 

  “Good idea to call a cab. No idea what kind of crazies you might see out at dis time a’night.” 

  “Oh yeah, there was this one time I was out walking at night through town and these two guys just rolled out of alley in front of me, beating on each other.” 

  “Hmm, what’d they look like?” 

  “I only got a good look at one of them. White fur, some grey around the ears, big bushy tail, I think he had a scarf, and…” 

  “He was devilishly handsome?” 

No. You were trying to find the words to describe the horror you’d felt when those golden eyes turned on you, like a wolf sensing a rabbit. Only, when you looked at the rearview mirror, they were staring at you again. 

Ice gripped your heart. You couldn’t stop your fur from puffing up. 

   “This,” you gulped, “this isn’t my cab, is it?” 

   “Nope!” He barked out with a laugh. 

You wanted to curl up on the floor and cry. How did you get into the wrong car? Were you really that damn drunk!? And now you’re trapped with a psycho at the wheel! You felt the edges of panic start to creep up. 

   “Awww. Dere, dere, now,” he cooed. “Honest mistake, I’m sure. ‘Course, I still expect to be paid on arrival. 

If that was all he wanted, fine by you. 

   “Name’s Nico, and who do I have the pleasure of chauffeuring this fine evening?” 

   “Y/N.” 

  “Nice to meet you. Dis’ll make for a good story to tell my sister when I get back.” 

At your apartment, you stepped out of the car to pay him at the window. 

  “One last ting, a little something so you know where to find me if you ever wanna chat again,” he dropped a flower into your palm, said good night, and drove off. 

It was a Marigold blossom. 

Rocky 

Before leaving home, you’d flipped a coin: Heads for Marigold, Tails for Lackadaisy. 

Tails. 

Looking at how empty and sad the speakeasy had become, that was the last time you’d let fate tell you where to go. One taste of the wares they were selling cemented your decision. God, what was in this stuff? You squinted at what was left in your glass, hoping you hadn’t just swallowed radiator fluid. 

Something flopped itself on to the bar next to you. It was the fiddler in blue from the in-house band, leaning on his arm, and aiming a big toothy grin at you. 

  “Joy of joys! Welcome back esteemed patron! Glad to see not all our clientele have abandoned our sweet matron.” 

It took you a second to process what he’d said. The rhyming had caught you off guard. 

  “Uh, yeah, I like this speakeasy. It’s the best for…getting sleazy?” 

Oh you regretted that the moment it came out of your mouth. It was so stupid. A long suffering sigh escaped the bartender. 

 “Hey! My forte is prose, not poetry alright? Sorry for trying,” you said.

He just rolled his one eye and went back to whatever he’d been doing. The fiddler though, he looked almost manic with excitement, hopping up and down like a kid on a sugar high, blue eyes gleaming with something you weren’t sure you wanted any part of. 

  “Nobody’s ever rhymed back at me before! Can we be friends? Oh, please oh please, can we be friends?” 

He was in you personal space and pleading. The little voice in your head was saying no. No. There’s something wrong about this guy. NO. 

And yet. The desperation seemed to imply that he didn’t have much in the way of friends. You felt kinda sorry for him. Maybe, you could…try it? 

Thus, against your better judgment, you said sure. 

To which the fiddler exploded with euphoria. In that he screamed for joy. Loudly. You were pretty sure people on the street upstairs heard him. Oh, what have you done? 

  “I’m Rocky Rickaby. Fiddler, Rumrunner, Rhymer, and Jack-of-all-Trades!” 

  “(Y/N), writer and Radio station employee.” 

  “(Y/N),” he slung an arm around your shoulders, his smile became sly, “this is the start of a beautiful friendship!” 

Serafine 

The Marigold Room was in the Maribel Hotel….somewhere.

You just had to find the right door, say the password, and you were off to a nice night of vice indulgence. If only you could figure out which door that was. Your coworkers’ description had seemed like enough to find it by yourself at the time. You felt awkward standing in the lobby of the hotel like a lost child looking for their parents. You could ask for directions, but that was risky. How were you to know who was safe and who’d rat you out to the cops? 

  “Need some help there, Cher(ie)?” 

The voice sounded nice. When you turned though you were standing face to face with that gator grinning lady cat from that night that was etched into your memory. Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out. 

She seemed amused. 

  “Mmmm, I think I know what you’re after. Follow me,” she beckoned you with a graceful hand as she started walking towards one of several hallways. You debated only for a few seconds before jogging to catch up. 

A minute went by wherein the only noise between you two were your shoes and her heels clicking along the polished tiled floor. You felt maybe you ought to say something. 

  “Uh, so, do you come here often?” you asked. You really didn’t mean that as a pickup. 

She chuckled softly, “You might say dat. My brother and I do all our business here.” 

The door turned out to be a lot more hidden than you realized. It was a big panel of wall with a painting of, what else, a field of marigolds on it, that slid open to permit entry.

  “Miss Savoy,” the doorman said with a bow as she passed. You followed close behind. 

  “Savoy?” you echoed curiously. She nodded. 

  “Serafine Savoy. Come around here often enough and you’ll know what dat means. And you are?” 

  “(Y/N).” 

  “I bid you adieu (Y/N), until next time.” 

She vanished into the shadows and cigarette smoke.

Viktor 

The Lackadaisy was still in business, if only hanging on by a thread. There were maybe six or seven guests hanging around? Wait, nine. Three college age kids were hiding behind a pool table. They huddled together like soldiers in a trench, dreading to leave their places for fear of enemy fire. 

   “You guys alright?” you asked, an eyebrow raised. 

You didn’t see what they could possibly be fussing about. 

   “Yes,” said one of the girls. 

   “No,” said the other one, pouting. “We can’t get drinks because of the dumb bartender.” 

  “He won’t sell to you?” you said, incredulous.

Awfully late in the game to worry about drinking age when every age was illegal now. The first girl shook her head, feathers in her headband swishing. 

    “It’s not that. He’s just…um…” 

    “Scary,” said the boy. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is that all? Oh he’s not so bad. I’ll prove it. I’ll fetch some drinks for the lot of us, how’s that sound?” They perked up immediately and agreed to give you the money to purchase what they wanted. With a little more swing in your step, you sauntered on over to the bar to collect the prizes and win the adoration of some random students. You saw the bartender was ducked under the counter, doing something. You oh so confidently leaned over the polished mahogany. 

  “Garson,” you called, “a moment please.” 

The bartender stood up. And up. And, oh dear god, it’s Eyepatch! 

Now you understood where the students were coming from. 

He growled, showing teeth. His incisors looked about as long as your little finger. 

  “Vat you vant?” he said gruffly.

Your tail didn’t puff. You were very glad for that since you had an audience watching. Your smile was glued on your face as you pretended you weren’t scared. 

  “Just a round of drinks, my good fellow. For myself, and my new friends” you thumbed behind yourself. 

He looked past you and sneered. You could only imagine what the students must be doing. Probably retreating under the pool table again. He lined four crystalline glasses along the counter. As he was filling them with ice, you asked a question. 

  “What happened to the other guy?” 

  “Gone,” was the curt reply. 

A dozen ways to interpret that. You chose to entertain none. Remembering you had a reputation on the line now, and so far he hadn’t tried to kill you, you dared be a bit braver. 

  “Well, in that case, I’m (Y/N). What’s your name?” 

Finished pouring the drinks, he set the bottle down with a thud of finality. 

  “Viktor.”  

  “Alright, Viktor,” you gathered up your bounty carefully, “I guess this means I’ll be seeing you around more, huh?” 

He glared at you, something between a growl and a hum emitted from his throat. 

  “I’ll just take that as a yes.” 

Wick 

Top Hat Guy was at the bar again. You had no idea why he was bothering to come back to the Lackadaisy where he’d only be getting sub-par booze, no matter how much he paid. The rest of the ritz had moved on. 

It wasn’t any of your business. You’d only come out of curiosity when you’d heard through the grapevine the old club was still chugging along, though at a far reduced rate. Boy, they weren’t kidding. It was honestly pretty sad. This was one of your favorite places. It used to have such an air of grandiose intrigue, a shimmering playground of delights and music. Now, merely a specter bound to the earth, barred from passing on by the sheer stubbornness of the proprietor.

You debated which seat at the bar you wanted to take as you approached. How much did you really want to risk conversation with Top Hat Guy? You sized him up a bit from behind. He always wore immaculately clean, elegant suits with a cane to match every time you saw him. Admittedly, he wasn’t bad looking either. 

Well, why not? If he complained about being near a plebeian, it was his own fault for not leaving with the rest of the stuffy moneybags.

   “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid I was going to be by my lonesome tonight,” he said pleasantly as you sat down beside him. You were surprised at how quickly he opened up to you. 

  “Uh, yeah, so did I. My friends didn’t want to come here tonight.” 

Or ever again. Unless Lackadaisy pulled a hat trick that resulted in bringing back quality booze. 

  “That’s a shame. I hope I’m not a lacking substitute for them. I’m Sedgewick Sable,” he offered his hand. “My friends call me Wick.” 

  “(Y/N),” you said as you accepted the handshake. “My friends call me (Y/N). Wait, Sable? As in Sable Mining Co?” 

  “That’s the one,” he said proudly. 

  “We run your ads at our radio station.” 

  “You work at JAZCAT?”  

As the night carried on, you were more and more glad about your seating choice.  

Zib

The Marigold Room was interesting and all, but you missed the Lackadaisy. Specifically, the music.

The band played less and less since the downturn. To the point where it was fifty fifty chance they’d play at all on any given night. The Red One didn’t sing anymore. 

It was quiet as the grave inside the main cave of the speakeasy. You could see the band lounging around lethargically on the stage. Half of them appeared to be sleeping. You’d always wanted to meet them, you’d just never had the opportunity between them constantly being busy with performing and your own shyness. Everyone adored the band during Lackadaisy’s heydays. You figured they were probably already talking to people more interesting and important than you. Now though, you could walk right up to the stage and lay your arms on it, and they’re right there in front of you, doing nothing.

The Red One was five feet away from you, back braced by the wall of the stage, hat pulled low over his eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. He somehow was simultaneously better and worse looking up close. His face struck a nice balance between soft and angular. His scarlet suit though was…disheveled, to say the least. You could see a few stains, and smell the tobacco and alcohol from where you were.

The impeccable image of the dashing and artful musician you’d built up of him in your head was starting to fracture. 

At any rate, he seemed disinclined to go anywhere. You stayed where you were, considering how you were going to strike up a chat with Red, or if you should if he was so tired he was sleeping on stage- except tired from what? If they hadn’t been performing? 

You heard footsteps approaching. You straightened up when you saw the Green One, the trumpet player, walk to Red and pluck his hat off his head. Red was indeed asleep. Then Green headed towards you. 

  “Hey there,” he smirked. “Can you do me a favor? Just take this and put it on the bar.” 

He offered the hat to you. You regarded it with wide-eyed confusion. 

  “Why?” 

  “Just do it.” He had the high ground, it was easy for him to drop it on your head. “I’m helping you out.” 

You weren’t altogether sure about that. Still, the hat wasn’t uncomfortable. You fiddled with it a bit as you went to the bar. You set it on the counter and turned back to the stage quizzically. Green turned around and walked off stage, very deliberately kicking Red in the leg as he did so. Your ears went up in alarm. 

Red stirred awake, you saw his mouth move, but couldn’t hear what was being said. He touched his head, then felt around for what was obviously no longer there. When he looked your direction, that was when you realized you’d been suckered into something. Your first impulse was to sit at the bar, act casual, and do not look at him. With any luck, he’d just come get his hat, and walk away. 

  “Hey, what’s the meaning of absconding with my hat?” 

So much for luck. 

  “Uh, I didn’t,” you offered meekly. Turning your head just enough to look at him without facing him directly. 

  “Right, it just grew legs and walked itself over,” he sat beside you, restoring his scarlet cap to its proper place.

  “Look, I’m sorry. But you trumpet player gave it to me and told me to bring it here.” 

  “Why?” 

  “He said he was helping me out.” 

  “With what?” 

  “I wish I knew!” You said a little too loudly. You were getting flustered with embarrassment. “His practical joke I guess!” 

He considered you moment, lighting up a cigarette. 

  “Hmm, actually, that does sound like a Sy thing,” he took a drag. 

  “Sy?” You blinked, confused. “What’s Sy?” 

  “No, no, he’s the trumpeter.” 

  “Oh.” Green One.

  “JJ plays the trombone, Benny is our bassist, and Mozzie’s on piano. And I am your humble saxophone player, Zib” he put a hand on his chest grinned crookedly. 

  “You sing good too.” You were so grateful your fur could hide most of your blushing. He tilted his head a bit. 

  “Oh yeah. You’ve been around here a few times huh?” 

  “Uh, yeah. My name’s (Y/N), by the way,” it only seemed fair to introduce yourself since he had. 

He tipped his hat, “Nice to finally meet you (Y/N). Would you care to indulge in some illicit beverages with me?” 

That got a small laugh out of you. 

  “Of course.” 

Chapter Text

Your life in St Louise has gotten much more interesting. 

Freckle 

You learned three things about Freckle very fast. He’s a rumrunner for what’s left of the Lackadaisy, he fancies himself a handyman, and he likes baseball. 

The first, you tried not to think about too much. It was only alcohol. Sure it’s illegal, but the worst that could happen was he’d go to jail, right? Right? (He didn’t like to talk about it.) 

The second one you gently encouraged him on. If anything at your place suddenly broke, you were not calling him to fix it, at least not until he’d had more practice. 

The third thing though. That, you could hone in on. 

In fact, the third thing lead to the fourth thing: he lives at home with his mother. Nina McMurray  was a strong reminder of why you didn’t set foot in church all that often anymore. She eyed you suspiciously as she permitted you into the house to see Freckle upstairs in his room. You found him hiding under the blankets on his bed. 

  “Go away Rocky, I’m not in the mood.” 

  “Did something happen?” You asked concerned. 

   “(Y/N)!” 

Freckle tried to jump out of bed, but the sheets were twisted around his legs. He ended up face down on the floor. You helped him up as he started rambling like a kid caught stealing cookies out of the pantry. You nodded along as he said it was nothing, you didn’t need to worry, you knew how Rocky was (yes, you did), and everything’s fiiiiine. 

   “I’m sorry you had a rough time with your cousin,” you said. “I think I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better though.” 

You pulled out your little surprise from your pocket. 

Freckles eyes grew huge as he gasped in awe. He held his face in open-mouthed wonderment. 

  “Are those…?” 

  “Tickets to the stadium? Oh, yeah.” You grinned, “We’re watching the Cardinals in person today!” 

  “How did you get those?” 

  “JAZCAT does a segment on the local sports. The guy who was supposed to cover that got sick the other day from food poisoning and hasn’t recovered yet. I got the job instead.” 

  “That’s great!” Something dawned on him then, “Wait. Aren’t you in charge of getting everybody’s food there?” 

You smirked, “Yes. Yes I am.”

Ivy 

Ivy had a lot more guile than she liked to let on. You found this out the slow and laborious way after being talked into helping her with favor after favor. 

Sometimes it was carrying her shopping. Other times she needed your help writing university assignments for her. And you didn't realize the harm in giving her a free tour of JAZCAT until she was schmoozing with your boss about getting a job there herself as an actress. You weren’t against that, you’d just wished she’d told you that was something she wanted beforehand. You were starting to feel like a stepping stone for her. 

  “Hey, (Y/N)?” Your boss called you from his office. “C’mere.” 

  “Yes Boss?” you asked as you went through the threshold. You spotted Ivy off to the side, smiling sweetly. You knew her well enough now to see she was bubbling underneath with subdued triumph. 

  “It’s come to my attention that you have an entire collection of Radio Plays written by yourself,”said your boss. 

You were shocked to hear him say that. He’d been pointedly ignoring your scripts for months, despite all your efforts to get him to read at least a shred of something you’d written. 

  “Pick out three comedy skits, no longer than fifteen minutes, and bring ’em tomorrow. If one of em’s any good, we’ll consider producing it.” 

You could’ve been knocked over with a feather. 

  “I…yes, of course! Thank you Sir! You won’t regret it!” 

He waved you out of his office. Ivy trailed right behind. When the two of you had a moment, you hugged her. 

  “I don’t know what you did, but thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

  “Anything for my bestie,” Ivy giggled. “Of course, I expect twenty percent of all profits if this goes through.” 

   “…Twenty?” 

  “You’re right. It should be twenty-five, but I was feeling generous.” 

Ivy Pepper: With friends like her, who needs tax collectors. 

Mitzi 

You’d started taking the trolley to the Little Daisy Cafe from JAZCAT to get everybody’s lunch. Nobody complained about the food quality, but you were getting some comments about taking longer to get meals now. It couldn’t be helped. You had to get there, order everything, wait for the one chef to prepare all twelve or so orders, and then you had to get the coffees from a different shop on your way back to the radio station. And you were going out of your way to buy specifically from the Little Daisy because, well, Mitzi needed the money. 

You couldn’t do much about her club (well, not without breaking more laws). Taking the allotted lunch money to purchase from the cafe was something small you could do to at least keep a drip of a cashflow going for her. Mitzi took notice of you coming in just about everyday like clockwork. She would emerge from her upstairs apartment to chat with you while your orders were being prepared. Once a week at first, then it extended to three to four times. Not including your other visits to the “downstairs area”. You two talked about everything and anything under the sun.  

It got to be where your little pre-lunch conversations were the highlight of your day. No annoying coworkers, no overly demanding boss, no snobby actors. Just fifteen, twenty minutes or so where you and her could simply exist peacefully in the sanctuary of the cafe, worries of the world put on hold. Bliss.

Mordecai 

  “You’re late.” 

  “…How the hell did you get in my office?!” 

He gave you a flat look over his glasses, “‘Office’ seems a generous term for this space.” 

It was storming outside and that delayed your arrival into work. You’d shaken off your umbrella and muddy shoes, hung up your coat and hat, and gone to the glorified broom closet that was your office to start your day. Only to find the infamous Mordecai of the Marigold Room sitting in your chair, bent over one of your manuscripts, marking it up with a pen. As if he had any right to your workspace and papers. That angered you more than anything else. 

   “My question still stands.”

   “I let myself in. You were not difficult to track down, nor does this establishment seem much interested in investing in decent locks.”  

  “Alright, well if you’re here to kill me could you get on with it and leave my scripts alone, please?” 

  “Then these are yours?” He held up a page to examine it. “A good many of these are centered around murder. I do hope you are not cavorting with gangsters in the name of research. There are simpler, less life threatening ways to go about it.” 

All those scribbles cluttering up your neat typing was irritating you. You snatched the page out of his hand to survey the damage. He huffed in annoyance - as if he had any grounds to lecture you. 

  “I took the liberty of making corrections. Your use of grammar isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but you could do better,” he said. 

  “Corrections?!” If you weren’t so busy reading you would’ve thrown your best scandalized expression at him. “This is all my original stuff! There’s nothing…to…correct…” You read the page over again. “Oh, it does sound better that way.” 

Well, shit. 

His smile was dainty, but the smugness practically radiated off of him. 

So, you left him to it. He never did explain why he was there in the first place. He simply said your scripts would give him something to do until the rain stopped. He wouldn’t dare step outside a moment before. He detested being wet. You pointed out that it was likely to rain well into the evening. You were met with something to the effect of, “Your point is?” 

Anyway, that’s how you got a gangster to be your editor for free. 

Nico 

You kept the Marigold flower until it withered. You’d spent plenty of time staring at it and debating if you really wanted to see that guy, Nico, again. 

He’d seemed pleasant enough in the car, once you’d calmed down and were sure he wasn’t going to kill you. You had no context for your first encounter with him ether. Maybe he had been defending himself from an attacker? You supposed it was possible you’d misjudged him. Surely if you showed up just as a regular customer nothing bad would happen right? 

At any rate, stresses at work drove you to needing a cold stiff drink and there was only one suitable spot in town that could provide. 

   “(Y/N)! Cher(ie)!” 

You were scooped up into strong, muscular arms within minutes of entering the speakeasy. You had no idea if Nico was hugging you or trying to break your spine. You didn’t have a say either way, so you just accepted it. 

  “Perfect timing! You wanna make some money?” he set you on your feet, grinning deviously. Your head was still spinning from lack of oxygen. 

  “Um, sure?” 

  “Trop bien! Here’s what we gonna do,” he put an arm around you and lead you out of the Marigold Room. 

And all the way to a boxing ring. To watch him fight. Without any drinks at all, you must add. You knew next to nothing about boxing, but even you could tell that Nico had talent as a fighter. You bet the amount agreed upon in the fifth round. He “lost” by a knockout. 

This is illegal, you thought as you collected the winnings. Outside after the match you handed the considerable sum over to him. You reflected on your life’s choices that had led up to this moment while he counted it all out. You’d had such high hopes for yourself. You were supposed to be the next big thing in Radio, instead, here you were betting on fixed fights at the behest of some random musclebound sabertooth. How did it come to this? 

  “Here’s your cut, Cher(ie),” Nico held out a wad of cash to you. 

Your eyes went big. That was a month’s salary right there, easy.

  “All of that?” You asked, picking it up almost gingerly. 

  “Every dime,” he smiled. “And dere’s plenty more where dat came from.” 

On the other hand: Morality is relative. 

Rocky

Rocky was over the moon when you told him you were a writer. A “fellow wordsmith,” as he put it. He was more than happy to let you bounce ideas off him. 

Some people might find that questionable, given that Rocky’s preferred artistic methods of expression were a bit difficult for the average joe to grasp, and came off as insufferably theatrical, needlessly philosophical, to the ones who possessed the vocabulary to understand. You knew that a good writer never turns down a fresh perspective. And Rocky had about as unique an outlook on life as one could have. You also believed that one could tell a lot about an individual by what types of stories they were attracted to. 

  “Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Rocky said when you’d mentioned that to him. You were both sitting on the stage of the Lackadaisy, feet dangling over the edge. “I like folk tales. I reflect their magic and whimsy with my violin. I also like stories about heroes and romance, and the occasional tragic figure.” 

He punctuated his point with a few notes on his favorite instrument. You aligned the choices with Rocky’s personality. He did love romance. He was constantly teasing and encouraging his cousin to move forward in his relationship with Ivy, the cashier girl. In terms of heroism, Rocky seemed to have this white knight sort of obsession with helping Ms. M. You’d asked him once if he had a crush on her. He’d seemed genuinely baffled by the very notion of such a thing, and quickly changed the subject. Rocky worked very hard to help the Lackadaisy and often got little in reward. It was a toss up still if his story would end in happily ever after, or tragedy

His bright, exaggerated chuckling brought you back to Earth. 

  “But what does that say about you, (Y/N)? Your favorite is murder mysteries,” Rocky grinned. “Maybe you’d be more suited to the bootlegger’s life than you know.” 

  “Hardly, I’ll leave that to you,” you laughed good-naturedly. “Besides, maybe it means I’m more interested in justice since they’re all about finding the murderer and putting them in jail.” 

  “Nah, that doesn’t comport with reality. If it did, you’d have turned us all in by now.”

  “Fair point,” you conceded with a shrug. “I think I just love a good mystery and watching the process of unraveling one. Murder just makes it more exciting. Raises the stakes, you know?” 

Come to think of it, maybe that was what drew you to Rocky. He was an enigma wrapped in a blue suit and lucky tie that loved to speak in rhyming riddles. His quips were little pop quizzes that challenged your knowledge of the English language and its literary works. You brain loved these mini exercises Rocky threw out in compulsory fashion. 

The hint of danger both from his job and hiding under his smile was just the pinch of spice needed to keep things interesting. 

Serafine 

She’d said if you came often enough to the Marigold Room, you’d learn what the name Serafine Savoy meant. She was right.

You’d tested the theory out by casually name dropping her at the bar once. Everyone there had a grotesque story to tell about her, and an older brother who rarely, if ever left, her side. Each tale more bloody and horrifying than the last.

The siblings were triggermen for the speakeasy. Remorseless killers who’d grown up in a dark, unforgiving swamp. They were good at their jobs, really good.  

One guy said he’d heard they killed a whole bunch of rival bootleggers by forcing their moving vehicle off a bridge, drowning them. 

Another swore up and down he’d heard the siblings laughing about how they chopped up a man with an axe and then ate the remains to leave no evidence. 

The bartender said he’d heard the two used black magic. They’d made a pact with the devil to always have good fortune on their jobs. In exchange, they performed gruesome rituals that involved blood sacrifices every night in their hotel room. The wailing of the damned could be heard all over that floor. But even the Night Manager was afraid of them, so nothing could be done about it.

  “I heard y’all tellin’ tales about me an’ my Brother.”

It was as if Serafine had materialized out of the hazy tobacco smoke. She was sharply dressed in her neat black and red tailored suit, and her hair up. Her golden eyes were piercing. She didn’t look happy.

The men all pointed at you. 

  “The writer made us do it!” 

  “Yeah! The writer wanted a story!” 

You glowered at them. You’d wanted more information, not sensationalized hearsay. There wasn’t much you could do now though. Serafine’s gaze landed on you. You had to face judgment. 

  “A writer?” she said, removing the lit cigarette from her painted red lips. “I thought you worked in radio.” 

  “I do,” you piped up, eager to defend yourself. “I write my own stuff during my off hours too. Some of it’s for radio, some of it’s books, and…I…”

You were going to say, you didn’t remember ever mentioning that you worked in radio to anybody there, let alone the Gator Grin lady. Something told you not mention that just now. Serafine inclined her head slightly. 

  “Yes, Cher(ie)?” 

  “…I am perfectly able to tell the difference between fact and exaggerated fiction,” you took the opportunity to send an accusatory look towards the people who’d thrown you under the bus. All they could do was grumble and look away. One of them muttered something about how it wasn’t their fault they’d been told anything wrong about the Savoys. 

  “Oh! You wanna know about my brother an’ I?” She laughed coldly. “Nicodeme’s right over dere. How ‘bout I call him over and he can tell you fellas ‘bout de time he an’ I hunted down this snitch in de bayou ‘an cut off his toes ta feed de gators ‘fore we slit his throat?” 

Her grin was wide. She wasn’t really smiling as much as she was showing teeth. The men suddenly all had other places to be and left in a hurry. Serafine chuckled victoriously. She quieted when she saw you still perched on the bar stool, looking expectant. Her expression became quizzical. 

  “I wanna hear it,” you said. 

Her styled black eyebrows climbed up for a few seconds before coming back down, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

  “Do ya’ now?” 

  “Yes. A good writer should always get information from the source whenever possible. And, I’ve learned from doing research that fact is often stranger than faction. So if you tell me you and your brother cut off a guys toes for alligator treats, then I believe you.” 

  “It’s not a ‘nice’ story, Cher(ie),” she said, taking the unoccupied stool next to you. “You sure you wan’ hear it?”

  “Can’t be any worse than demon summonings and blood sacrifices.”

She blinked a few times, “What?” 

  “That’s what he said,” you pointed at the bartender.

You didn’t see Serafine’s face  when she turned towards him. Considering how the the man practically hid under the bar, that was maybe a good thing. She turned back to you with an eye roll and a sigh.

  “We’ll deal wit’ dat later. Right now, it seems Brother Nico an’ I have a story to tell. Nico!” She yelled at a group of people. A taller cat with a red bandana around his neck turned towards her. “Brother mine, I found somebody dat wants to hear ‘bout what we did to dat Barker gent!” 

  “Oh really?” he laughed, already coming over. “Dey got de stomach for it?” 

  “Nope! Dat’s why dis’ll be fun!” 

You’d written so many stories about murder, never in a million years did you think you’d get the chance to hear a first person account of one from the perpetrator’s point of view. As the story unfolded, you didn’t feel as revolted as you thought you would’ve been. You were kind of distracted by how wonderful Serafine’s real laughter was. 

Viktor 

You’d felt like grabbing lunch at the Little Daisy Cafe and occupying a booth for a few hours, trying to compose something, but those plans got shot down immediately when the cashier girl, Ivy(?), begged and pleaded with you to take some food to her dear sick friend for her. And, goddamnit, it was impossible to say no to those big golden eyes, threatening tears.  

Her expression did a complete turnabout once you’d agreed.

  “Great,” she smiled. She shoved a bag into your hands and gave you an address. “Viktor’ll be happy to see you.” 

  “Viktor!?” Your tail puffed reflexively at the memory of the one-eyed behemoth. “Y-You mean, that Viktor?” 

You glanced conspicuously at the secret door behind the shelves. Surely she was joking. 

  “Mm-hm,” she nodded. “Don’t worry, he likes you.”

There was no backing out of it. 

You were also puzzled by what she meant by, “he likes you”. As far you could tell Viktor didn't “like” anyone. There were people he tolerated and people he punched. No in-between. You felt confident you were in the “tolerated” group, but that was when you had the shield of customer/employee relationship to hide behind. Now you were venturing into his personal domain. At least he lived in actual house, not some creepy desolate cabin out in the woods. There were even neighbors conveniently nearby to call the police if you screamed, so at least they’d find your body.

Ivy said you should go right in, but that felt suicidal invasive. Before you could knock though, the door swung open, and you were standing face to face with the big Slovak. Without the nice safe bar counter to separate you. 

  “Vat you vant? How you vind me?” he demanded, towering over you. 

You held the lunch bag meekly in front of you, willing yourself not to tremble. 

  “Uh, the Cafe girl sent me,” you said, luckily without stammering. “She said you were sick and wanted me to give you this.” 

Mercifully, he backed off. He plucked the bag from your hands, peered inside, and retrieved from it a heart shaped cookie. He looked perplexed.

  “Oh that’s cute. I didn’t know the cafe made those,” you commented cheerily, hoping to lighten the mood. 

  “They don’t,” his confusion morphed into something more unpleasant. He crushed the cookie into crumbs all over his door step. You deflated, ears drooping against your head.

  “Oh. Well, I’ll let you get back to it then,” you turned to go. “Have a nice day Viktor.” 

You made it about to the sidewalk when you heard something that shocked you. 

  “(Y/N)!” You had no idea he remembered your name! “Vait.” 

You spun on your feet back to him. He was hurrying towards you. He had an obvious limp that impeded his stride. You’d never noticed that before. He took a minute to collect his thoughts once he got to you. 

  “I…am not mad. At you,” he said at last. Okay, good to know. “Ivy thinks she knows best. She thinks I should have more friends, and you are…I may have said…I like your voice.” 

You were stunned.

  “On radio, I mean. Is good to know about veather. Useful.” 

He listens to you? The weather segment, in your mind, was just the rung on the job ladder you were currently stuck at, struggling to go higher. It was the most boring part of the broadcast line-up. Viktor, of all people, tunes in specifically to listen to you rattle off reports on clouds and sunshine? He doesn’t hate you? The thought made you kind of giddy. 

   “This does not mean I vant you to talk vhen you are at bar, of course. Lackadaisy is alvays noisy, and I have work to do.” 

  “But you still want me at the bar?” you ventured hopefully. He looked away from you momentarily, a hand scratching the back of his head in what looked a lot like a bashful gesture.

  “You…are…not terrible presence. After a few days.” 

You’d take it. The Lackadaisy bar became more of a regular haunt for you after that. The two of you never said very much, but he didn’t growl at you anymore. You’d get him to open up more eventually. You only needed to be patient.  

Wick

After talking at length about your writing career and never-ending pursuit of new material, Wick had generously opened his home library to you. 

Unsurprisingly, his collection favored his top three interests: alcohol, rocks, and bugs. He had an entire floor to ceiling bookcase alone dedicated to books on Entomology. What was surprising was that he had more than a few books dedicated to the study of the supernatural. There were the typical ghost stories, accounts of hauntings from around the world, texts on exorcisms, and an instruction manual for how to perform a seance. 

You never knew he had any interest in such things. Since you loved ghost stories yourself, you figured this was one more thing you had in common with him. At lunch, you were very animated, brimming with ideas for how to work a fake haunting into your latest whodunit. Wick was quite pleased he’d provided you the spark of inspiration, however he seemed reluctant to share his thoughts. 

The seance manual popped into your head. You suggested to Wick that you could procure a Ouija Board and the two of you could see if any spirits answer. You didn’t really believe in ghosts of course, you just wanted to do something fun with him. He went weirdly stiff at the suggestion. 

  “No. No thank you, I don’t believe that would be helpful,” he said almost quietly.

  “Oh, alright,” you said, disappointed. But not defeated. You’d think of something else the two of you could do together.

He muttered something like, “Ducks can’t spell after all.” 

  “What?” 

  “Nothing, nothing at all.” 

You watched in silent horror as he removed a flask from his waistcoat, marinated his sandwich in its contents, and then ate the soggy sandwich. Like that was normal. 

You didn’t see the translucent mallard lurking around the table. Its beady black eyes darting between you and Wick. 

Zib

Zib was lethargy incarnate. You were fairly certain he spent eighteen hours out of every day unconscious. He didn’t go out. So, you’d resolved to stay in with him. If he wasn’t going anywhere, he could help you with your scripts. 

Indeed, the whole band became your unofficial test audience for your works as you read them out loud. It was wonderful having live reactions to your whodunits, to say nothing of the confidence boost it gave you to see them enthralled by the story. The backstage area had become the most welcoming place in the Lackadaisy for you. A feat you’d never dreamed of achieving before, when you viewed the Brass Boys as untouchable, almost ethereal entities, who graced the mortal world only at night to gift the people melodies. 

Your image of all of them had shifted considerably since then. They were undeniably flawed, fallible, and mortal. 

Things you take advantage of when playing poker with them to pass the time. 

Sy was easy. He was always in a bad mood of some kind. The level of grumpy in his demeanor often gave away what sort of hand he had. Mozzie was the opposite with how twitchy he got. If he had a good hand, he was eager to play it. JJ simply didn’t have a good poker face. Benny did. What gave him away was his bushy tail swishing in annoyance when he had a bad hand.  

Zib was your toughest opponent. Not because he’d mastered the art of the pokerface, he just didn’t have the energy to care if he lost or won. Hence, he was frustratingly indecipherable.

  “You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” he said, peering over his cards at you. 

  “Course I am. I wanna win,” you said. 

It was down to just you two. Two out of three times, you and him were the last players standing. It tended to go either way. The rest of the band watched in silent anticipation. Likely already making new bets on who would win the final round. 

  “You wanna make this a little more interesting?” he asked. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. Either he had a really good hand, or this was a bluff. Fifty fifty.

  “Did you have something in mind?” 

  “I do. If I win, I want you to write me and the boys into one of your stories.” 

The boys didn’t say anything, but you felt the excitement in the room rise. You thought it odd he was trying to get this out of you in a bet though. If he and the band wanted to be made into characters, all they had to do was ask. 

You kept your mask on, humming thoughtfully. As though you hadn’t already decided. 

  “And what do I get if I win?” He locked eyes with you. 

  “I’ll write a song about you,” he smiled that soft, self assured smile at you. 

The one that made every ounce of warm fluttery emotions you’d had watching him before in the audience slam into you like a train. It was embarrassingly obvious how flustered you were. 

  “So long as I keep creative control over your caricatures, sure. Deal!” 

You tried to cover up your fluster with enthusiasm. You had a good hand anyway. Zib just gave you a smug look and placed down his winning hand. 

Chapter Text

 People go through hard times. Everyone’s got their problems. Some more than others. It’s a simple fact of life. And the longer you hang around some one, the more you find out about those hard times they went through and problems they’ve got. 

Freckle

Freckle did his best to keep you away from his extracurricular night duties.You went along with it for his sake. Whenever he came back with a thousand-yard stare and went to hide in his blanket nest in his room though, you wished he’d talk to you. Maybe that would help.

You opened your apartment to him. You even gave him a key if he needed somewhere to hide and you couldn’t be reached. He’d protested. Being caught with such a thing on him by the police might get you blowback. Or worse, what if a competitor in the business gets a hold of it? You’d told him if that happens you’d handle it. Right now, you want to give him somewhere to go that’s safe. 

A few weeks later, Freckle had relocated his blanket nest to your couch, making use of a quilt you owned. You came home from work one day, and there he was. Staring at the wallpaper. Ghosts in his eyes. You didn’t say anything. You put your coat and hat on the rack. You gingerly eased yourself beside him. 

  “I like your quilt.” 

  “Thanks, my grandmother made it.” 

A few minutes of silence, then came the sniffling, the first few tears. The damn finally broke. 

Freckle had gone on apologetic rants before, but nothing like this. Everything came out. That he was a murderer and going to Hell, his mother would disown him if she knew the truth, how he couldn’t abandon his cousin even though he knew it would get him into more trouble, and just how angry he was deep down all the time when he had no right to be, and on, and on…

You had no idea how to respond to any of this. How could you respond to any of this? This went far beyond anything you knew how to fix. All you could think to do was give him a shoulder to cry on, and pet his back soothingly. You told him everything was going to be fine. You didn’t believe your own words, and neither did he. 

Ivy 

To an outsider, Ivy Pepper leads a charmed life. Born into money, naturally good looking, attending one of the best universities in the country, and, if one could consider it a boon, had several criminally inclined associates to smooth out any potential problems she might run into. It seemed her biggest dilemmas were finding dance shoes that matched her clothes, and cramming for exams. 

You were still foggy on the details of how exactly she became the goddaughter of a crime boss. It wasn’t something you felt you could talk about with her yet. She might not even know herself. Her father used to be friends with Atlas May, that much you’d gathered. The whole goddaughter thing could’ve been set up before she was born. These murderers and thieves, with a reputation for eating their own, were people Ivy had grown up around. She viewed them as family. 

To be fair, you did get the sense that they genuinely care about Ivy’s well being. They wanted what was best for her. It just happened that what was best was for her to not get involved. Ivy hated that. Her whole life she’d gotten to hang around this exclusive club, had even been awarded the golden ticket to special treatment within, and they were pushing her out? 

Unacceptable! 

You did what you could to allay her anger. You chatted her up at the cafe, you took her shopping, you did everything you could think of to fill this hole the Lackadaisy was inevitably going to leave in her heart. You knew you never would. 

Mitzi 

The problems at the Lackadaisy were many and complicated, and you did not like seeing her unhappy. She brightened up a little every time you were around though. That was something you were proud of. You’d set it all right again for her if you could. Alas, you were but a hapless radio person and starving writer with neither the funds nor the connections to accomplish this mammoth goal of saving the speakeasy. 

You’d been granted permission to enter Mitzi’s upstairs apartment over the cafe whenever she was in. More than once you’d accidentally eavesdropped on her talking to the portrait of her deceased husband. Sometimes she was reading obituaries. Other times, the ones you felt guilty for listening to, she told him how bad things were, how much she missed him, the good old days, how she loved her employees, but they could be dumb as rocks sometimes and she needs competent people to get things back on track, etc. 

  “It’s too bad (Y/N) won't join us,” she said out of the blue one time you were listening. Your heart jumped into your throat. “They gotta good head on their shoulders. Creative too. Maybe one day, if I find a reliable supplier, they can help me come up with better ways to transport shipments. Somethin’ subtle.” 

You heard her laugh lightly. Like bells, but at a funeral. Meanwhile, a torrent of emotions went through you as you quietly padded back downstairs. You needed to think. 

Mordecai 

Mordecai did not share his problems with you or anyone else. 

In fact, you were pretty sure he’d shoot himself before divulging any details about his personal life…assuming he had a personal life. 

He had the air of a workaholic about him. If you didn’t find him sequestered in your closet office, scratching away on papers that might be yours, might be something else, the only other time you saw him was at his job in the Marigold Room. He’d impressed upon you not to speak to him then if you could help it. You figured it was because he was working and didn’t want to be distracted, especially not by someone who’d beaten him at cards. He later told you it was because people at the Marigold kept track of which employees talked to which people and how frequently. He had some coworkers he’d rather you never meet. Honestly, that had scared you a few times into staying in. 

Mordecai freely came and went from JAZCAT at his leisure, to the point where your closet office became his, part time. There wasn’t room for both of you. Days where he occupied it, you resigned to being seated just outside the door on a discarded crate, using the hardcover of a book to do your own paperwork on. If Mordecai wasn’t such a good editor (and an assassin) you would’ve demanded your office back ages ago. Your coworkers took notice. They didn’t speak of it except to ask you if there was anything they should be aware of. Mainly, if somebody was going to get shot. He became the open secret of the radio station. The only person there who didn’t know about him was your boss, purely because he never bothered to visit your office. For the best, truly. 

Days where you did get to properly sit at your desk you noticed all the changes he had made. First and foremost, how clean everything was. You never asked him to tidy up. He just did. It helped him focus, was the explanation you got. You also realized some of the files in there weren’t yours or JAZCATs. You didn’t know if this meant Mordecai trusted you not to invade his privacy, or if he thought he scared you enough you wouldn’t snoop. 

He was right on both counts. 

It did not, however, stop you from questioning him about it. If it was truly sensitive material, surely there were more secure places than a little broom closet in a radio station. 

  “You are correct,” he said evenly. He didn’t look up from his writing, but you did see the pencil slow to a stop. “I did come the first time to get Marigold’s money back from you, but your space afforded me an opportunity instead.” 

You were afraid to ask. 

  “How, exactly, did you plan on getting that money from me? I gave most of it back to my coworkers.” 

  “Don’t worry about it, it’s been handled.” Whatever that meant. “Marigold does most of its communications through the switchboards at the hotel, there’s no interest in radio. Your fiction writings are prolific and fanciful enough that I can hide documents here that people will mistake for research or more fantasy.” 

  “You’re hiding in plain sight,” you said, a light clicking on in your head. “And you don’t want anyone from Marigold to know about it.” 

He didn’t nod, or indicate in any way that you were right, but you knew you were. That was where all the evidence led. Furthermore, if he was going to this much trouble to hide something from his murder happy employers, it had to be something they wouldn’t like. 

  “Mordecai, are you, um, ‘double dipping?’”

  “Double what-ing?” He looked like you slapped him in the face. 

You sighed. How could he be so good at editing and yet not grasp metaphors in real life? 

  “Are you a double agent? Are you working for the police?” 

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he turned up his nose. “If you must know, I’m conducting my own investigation. Not informing Marigold of it will make things smoother for me. And don’t bother asking me what it is. If you’re half as clever as you make the ‘detectives’ in your fictions out to be then you should be able to figure it out yourself.” 

He was being capricious about that last part. Nonetheless, you sat down on your crate and sifted through all the information you had in your brain on Mordecai and his past. 

  “Mordecai?” 

  “I’m busy.” 

  “You’re trying to find out who murdered Atlas May aren’t you?” 

Nico 

Every time you saw him, Nico didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He was living his best life, living in a swanky hotel room, getting paid a king’s ransom to do what he did, and he loved his job: Beating people’s faces in. 

Plus, you were getting a little cut of the profits too from his side hustle. You weren’t going to complain. 

You were curious though about him. Now that you felt reasonably secure that he wouldn’t just off you, you asked him how he got so good at fighting. 

  “I’ve been fighting my whole life Cher(ie),” he said. 

It started when he was a child. As the older Savoy sibling he had a better image of what their parents looked like before they disappeared from their lives. It was a sad one of constant hunger, always at the mercy of the elements. When Serafine was old enough to dress herself, the pair were dumped in an orphanage where they had to fight to not get separated. A battle they could not win against the much stronger and authoritative adults, so they fled into the dead of night instead. Into a swamp. They found an inhabited island in the bayou, and were welcomed, but never officially adopted by anyone. The siblings roamed around and did as they pleased. This meant sometimes they were freely given food by kinder folks, sometimes they caught it themselves hunting in the wild, and sometimes they had to fight other lost ones off for it. 

You asked why didn’t they share, if they were all in a similar circumstance. Work as a team? The kids in Oliver Twist did that didn’t they? 

He laughed, seemed amused actually by the naïveté on your part, “De world don’t work dat way. Rule number one is always look out for Number One.” 

When he hit puberty, and really started to fill in his musculature, Nico got his first job as a boxer. More money. Better food and clothes for himself and his sister, who’d found her own talents in divination. She made money fortune telling. From there, as he gained professional experience, he became a champion prize fighter. 

The Prohibition hit. The siblings found they could make a great deal more money in bootlegging,. They started hijacking booze from various speakeasy supply lines until Marigold eventually tracked them down and hired them on. The rest was history.

  “And we ain’t goin’ back,” he said with finality. 

  “To the swamp?” you asked. 

  “No. I wouldn’t mind visiting our old stompin’ grounds again. Couple folks over dere I still owe somethin’ to,” he hit his palm with his fist, a slight growl in his voice. “My sister and I, we ain’t goin’ back to being homeless on de street.”

Rocky 

Sharing evenings with Rocky on the regular, he loved to regale you with stories of his travels. He’d been up and down and to more parts of the United States than you had. Rocky happily told his tales with his trusty violin weaving ambiance into his stories. You picked up a common pattern in them fairly quickly. 

Rocky was on his own in some random town, penniless and often without a roof over his head. He’d annoy charm someone into giving him a job. He’d last a month or so before his untamable natural Rocky-ness inevitably wreaked mass destruction and wanton chaos. Rocky was forced to relocate, or suffer great injury. Rinse and repeat. 

He’d managed to hold on much longer at the circus. He worked under an escape artist there. Picked up some skills in lock picking and other techniques he bemoaned he hadn’t learned sooner. It would’ve saved him some trouble. Circus people, being kinda odd themselves, tended to be more forgiving of those who did not comport with “polite society”. However, even they had their limits, and Rocky found them. 

You felt bad for Rocky. He couldn’t help being the way he was. It was just extremely unfortunate that the way he was didn’t have many options for fitting into the outside world. And that wasn’t his fault.  

He agreed with you whole heartedly. He was a “Whimsical wandering soul, trapped in a world filled with coal, that he wanted to burn as fuel for his goal, to make everything diamond, crystalline, not droll.” 

He gave a little bow, and you clapped encouragingly. 

You asked him how he found the Lackadaisy. His eyes brightened as he grinned. He loved telling this story.

Miss M. was how he got there. She wasn’t Miss M. yet though. 

After seeing how far he could get on a boat up (or had it been down?) the Mississippi, Rocky realized that Fate had shepherded him back to his Home Town where he happily reunited with his baby cousin. True, Freckle was only a few years younger than him, but he had plenty of baby fat left in his adorable face. His Aunt wasn’t so happy to see him, and had forbidden him from staying in her home. So, it wasn’t the return of the prodigal son he’d been hoping for, but that was okay. He picked up his violin, found a street corner and started literally playing for his supper. 

It was a lucky spot. Mitzi had been out on a date with Atlas for a romantic dinner under the moonlight not far from the fiddler. Atlas had spared no expense, including live music at the restaurant. Still, Mitzi’s ears and eyes kept wandering back to the poor, scruffy kid playing his heart out on the corner. Because she noticed, Atlas noticed. He asked her if she’d like to offer the poor kid a job. She agreed immediately, touched that Atlas had such generosity, and happy to give someone who appeared to be stuck in a similar situation she had been in previously, a chance at a better life. They brought him back with them to the Lackadaisy that night where Rocky met Zib and the rest of the band. 

He couldn’t have been happier. It felt like, finally, his ship had come to safe harbor to stay. People came in every night and heard him play, and they even applauded! He was even getting paid to perform, in real money instead of food. The band even- well they liked his music, even if they weren’t willing to let him in on their card games. He appreciated their honesty at least. Miss M. really did like him though! She bought him new clothes and his lucky tie and everything. She even let him have Atlas’ old car when they bought a newer, better one for themselves. 

Then Atlas died, and things started going sour for Miss M. and the Lackadaisy. For a while, Rocky had been afraid too. Less cash flow always led to less employees. Rocky knew he’d be cut first if things came to that. Miss M. had assured him it wouldn’t. She’d never kick him out. 

Zib told him Mitzi had said she wouldn’t do a lot of things she’d been doing recently. And there went Rocky’s guaranteed place in the universe. 

Still, not all hope was lost. For Atlas had impressed upon him a pearl of wisdom: people will keep you around, no matter how much they dislike you, if you prove yourself useful. So, all Rocky had to do was make Miss M. see how useful he, and he alone, could be. Because, more than anything, Rocky desperately wanted to someone to keep him. 

Serafine 

You were introduced to Mr. Asa Sweet one night while you were watching Serafine have a go at the gambling tables. You were taken in by his loud brash personality. He seemed very friendly. He knew your name already. One of the Savoys had mentioned you at some point, he said. Of course, he simply had to see who his favorite sibling duo had welcomed into their den. They didn’t normally allow outsiders.

Serafine had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the conversation. Only sliding in near the end to remind Mr. Sweet he had other customers to schmooze. Something unspoken passed between them. He tipped his hat, smirking, and bid farewell.

  “My regards to your brother.”

You felt the anger emanating off her, as she barely kept her hackles from rising. As far as you knew, Nico was still doing his thing at the boxing ring, perfectly safe. Serafine scowled, biting her cigarette. You suggested getting refills at the bar. A nice spiced rum usually settled her.

In your private little corner, Serafine elaborated on Mr. Sweet. He was her boss. The guy who worked as the Night Manager at the Marigold Room. 

  “So, this whole operation is his?!” you asked, slack-jawed. He’d been so nice! How could he be a murderous gangster…then again, it did make for good cover.

  “No, no, Cher(ie),” Serafine shook her head. “De fat man runs de operations here, true enough. But he’s not de one at de top. No one here knows who dat is. ‘Cept Sweet.” 

Interesting. Someone at the top of the pyramid was calling the shots and raking in the dough, but from a distance. Which meant that Sweet, while in charge and likely giving himself a big cut of the profits, would have his head on the chopping block if things went south. The true top cat would still be free to set up shop elsewhere. You didn’t like it. If Sweet could so suddenly be made expendable, what chance did all the people who worked under him have? 

  “How’d you end up working here?” you asked. Thankfully, a small smile came to her face. 

  “Nico and I used to steal shipments from Marigold, den sell it for our own gain. Dey caught on eventually. Instead of having us shot, dey hired us. We’ve kept up a high reputation ever since.” 

You sensed there was something else. Serafine took a drag from her cigarette, smile gone. Replaced by something more pensive. 

  “We had to. Sweet figured out real quick we weren’t afraid of dyin’. He needed something else t’ hold over our heads, ensure we wouldn’t step outta line. He told us if we were anything less den de perfect hitmen, we’d be separated.” 

The Savoys cared for nothing in this world more than each other. That was clear. You thought no force on heaven or earth could pull them apart. Including other gangsters.

  “You think he could swing that?”

  “De fat man? No. De guy he works for…maybe.” 

Viktor 

As you lingered around the Lackadaisy, and lingered around Viktor specifically, you started picking up bits and pieces about his life. It was all one long procession of prolonged agony. 

First he’d had to flee his home country due to escalating violence, only to end up dodging bullet fire in the Great War. You’d thought that must’ve been how he’d lost his eye, but no. It was much sadder. He’d lost it getting attacked by a pack of goons for participating in a labor strike. Shortly after, the infamous Atlas May recruited him as the primary muscle for his illicit booze business which thrived, until the man’s assassination. Finances evaporated, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Viktor was permanently crippled by his ex-partner in crime via a bullet through the knee.  

Yeah, you’d probably be perpetually angry at everything too if you’d been the universes punching bag your whole life. You wished you had a way of making all those terrible things disappear. Make his leg better, give him his sight back. Unfortunately, you were only mortal. 

Viktor didn’t like being pitied either. Saying sorry for the things that had happened to him only set him off. Attempts to make him more comfortable were likewise rebuked as “coddling”. 

  “You vant to help me? Be quiet. Sit still,” he snapped at you. 

You bowed your head in admonishment, feeling you’d done something wrong. You’d gone in with the intention of making Viktor’s day better, but from how he acted you were afraid you’d insulted him. To atone for your sins, if he wanted you to be a statue, then you’d be a statue. Quiet as a tombstone. 

About two hours went by at the bar. A tiny sprinkle of other customers came and went. Viktor noticed that you weren’t your usual cheery self. When he checked on you you told him you didn’t understand how being quiet was helpful, but if that’s what he needed you wouldn’t talk anymore. An apology was on your tongue. You swallowed it back, worried you’d upset him further. 

The frown on his muzzle lengthened. Not angrily, you knew what that looked like. It was more, disconcerted? Like how one of your coworkers had looked when they realized they’d accidentally left the door to the sound booth open during a broadcast once, leading to noise clutter on air. Viktor told you to wait there a moment. He left the bar. Came back later with a bottle of something that he poured into a glass for you. 

  “On house,” he said. Then added quietly, “Don’t tell Mitzi.” 

You took a sip and, oh, oh, this was the goooood good stuff. You hummed with pleasure as the taste lingered on the back of your throat. Viktor kept his voice low. 

  “Many bad things have happened in my life. Has made me harsh. Sometimes vhen I should not be. You, (Y/N), are good thing.” 

Wick 

He’d been born into wealth. He wasn’t like his parents though, who were content to horde their inheritance, exist as merely rich people who drank tea everyday in their mansion and laughed at how poor people should just work harder if they didn’t like being poor. Wick used his allowances to start his own separate company. It’d been profitable. 

It had also allowed him to finally get away from his family. He wasn’t reliant on them for funding anymore. 

You’d visited his large home a dozen times, the library and lovingly kept collections of historical artifacts had really grown on you. As you became more familiar with the house, you began to notice some things. Mostly, something about the portraits in the hallways.

It was considered uncouth to smile when having your photograph taken. Maybe that was why you didn’t notice right away. How in family portraits, Wick as a child seemed always on the verge of tears. The one with the dead duck was easily explained, he’d been mortified at killing an animal. Who the hell gives a nine year old a rifle anyway? As for the rest, a more mature Wick always seemed cheerier when he was photographed traveling somewhere, alone. You got the sense he wasn’t very close to his parents. 

This was confirmed during another one of your conversations over drinks at the Lackadaisy. You’d been talking about schooling. Wick’s parents had shipped him off to an all boys boarding school, where he’d had zero contact with them for months at a time. Not for lack of trying on little Wick’s part. He’d written them letters about how he was doing, that he was behaving, and getting good grades. They never wrote back, or sent care packages like other boys’ parents. He waved off your saddened look with a small laugh. 

It was alright. He was in a much better place now. 

  “I don’t even have to get married now to keep my finances,” he said off-handedly. You almost choked on your drink. 

  “M-Married? What!?” you sputtered between coughs. 

  “Oh it’s an old family tradition. Newer generations in my family don’t become eligible to receive inheritances until after marriage. Now that I’ve made my own fortune, I can happily ignore all matchmaking attempts from my parents,” he downed all the whiskey left in his glass in one go. 

You couldn’t help wondering how many attempts had been made already. And why did that make you feel strange? 

Zib 

Prior to becoming the in-house band at the Lackadaisy, Zib and the Brass Boys toured all over the United States. By train, paid out of their own pocket. The speakeasy owner, Mitzi, used to be part of them too. They found her in Savanna, Georgia. 

They had grand times together. It was fun watching them all light up as they told embarrassing stories about each other while on the tracks. They talked about all the places they’d played, the people they’d met, getting into all manner of shenanigans. The more the guys drank, the wilder the stories got, the more palpable the sense of sorrow became. Until it grew late in the evening. Time to go home. 

Zib asked if he might accompany you on your walk. You were surprised by the offer. Given how much he’d been drinking you’d thought he’d rather just sleep it all off backstage again, as he had a habit of doing. Still, you enjoyed his company. 

Outside in the chilly night air, streets illuminated by lamplight, he managed to walk in a mostly straight line. Only tripped over his own feet twice so far. As you walked, he started talking again. 

He talked about coming to St. Louise, thinking how he and the band were going to go through their normal routine of playing through all the local music halls, then moving on again. He hadn’t expected someone like Atlas May to take such an interest in their group. More to the point, he hadn’t expected Mitzi to take such an interest in an obviously devious and ruthless man like Atlas. 

You wordlessly put a hand on his arm to prevent him from walking into the street as a car raced by. He barely noticed. 

Zib continued, Mitzi had fallen for Atlas. It couldn’t be helped! Before he knew it, they were getting hitched! And that bastard Atlas knew that Zib cared too much for Mitzi to just leave her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her without some way to get her out if and when things eventually fell apart with Atlas. Surely Mitzi would come to her senses, realize who she’d married, and beg Zib to take her away from there. Go back on the road like they had before. Go back to being happy. Go back to being free. 

He was a quivering, blubbering mess by the time you reached your apartment. Fuck whatever your neighbors would think in the morning. You were too afraid of what might happen to Zib if you left him outside alone in the dark like this. You dragged him inside, made him take his shoes off, and all but tied him up with your quilt. He was sleeping on your couch tonight- nonnegotiable.

Chapter Text

Things have been going well in St. Louis. You love spending time with your favorite person.

Freckle 

Freckle was cute. He just was. 

He was a soft-spoken bright orange and white puffball in a neat little green outfit with adorable puppy dog eyes. 

The illusion brakes very quickly the second he gets a gun in his hands, but that’s a side of him you rarely have to deal with. 

Instead you preferred to remember the quiet moments, when he was at peace. One day you’d come to collect him from his home to visit a park (to seek potential hiding spots for specific sorts of packages) and found him sitting in the grass. He was transfixed by a butterfly on a bush. 

It was as if the whole rest of the world ceased to be. All of existence was condensed into this sunlit bubble containing grass dotted with shimmering spots of dew, the delicate soft blue wings of the butterfly, and Freckle. Untroubled. Content to share the universe with the fragile insect unafraid to remain in his larger presence. 

You’d hold that image in your heart forever. 

Ivy 

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. 

Ivy had dragged invited you out on another shopping venture. This one she’d cut short after a small incident. Ivy had been modeling various outfits in one of the stores, looking to you for feedback. Often she’d discard whatever you’d had to say and pick out whatever she wanted anyway, making you wonder why she asked for your opinion in the first place. She was settling on a particular dress when another customer commented on how very grown up it made her look. 

Ivy went quiet, “Wait, how old do you think I am?” 

  “Thirteen?” 

And now here you were on the trolley, holding on to all of Ivy’s bags, as the girl herself sulked next to you. Her bottom lip jutted out more as she pouted, eyebrows knit. Her hat hid her ears that you knew were pinned back in annoyance. You breathed in, trying to keep the giggles down. 

  “What’s so funny,” she gave you a look on the verge of accusatory. That made it worse. 

  “N-Nothing! Nothing,” you said a little too fast. Smiling ear to ear.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. You continued to play innocent. At last she sighed, and went back to stewing. 

She’s so cute when she’s angry.  

Mitzi 

“Cute” seemed too shallow a word to describe Mitzi May. She was elegant, sophisticated, charming- cute just didn’t do her justice. 

Until you heard her sneeze. Up in the cafe at springtime. She pulled out a handkerchief and apologized. 

  “Sorry Darlin’. There’s somethin’ in the air today…choo!”

It was the cutest little noise you’d ever heard. God, even her sneezes are perfect!

Mordecai 

You’d stopped being scared of him ages ago.

One incident that helped with that was the time you came in to work to find him on your  crate instead of taking up your desk as usual. He was sullen. Sitting with his arms crossed, one leg over the other, white-tipped black tail twitching. Your coworkers regarded him the same way rabbits hiding in a garden regard a dog.

There was no way he’d realized pushing you out of your office was rude, so you had to ask what was wrong. 

  “There’s a spider.”

You poked your head inside. A quick scan yielded nothing. 

  “Where?” 

  “That’s the problem. I saw the little brigand crawling on the wall and attempted to neutralize it with my shoe. Unfortunately, I underestimated its swiftness. I lost track of it. Now I don’t know where it is.” 

  “You won’t go in my office because you’re too afraid of a spider?” The corners of your mouth turned up. 

Mordecai glared, laugh and I shoot you. You coughed into your hand.

“Okay, then. Ah, well if you’re not using it, I’ll just set my things down. I gotta get ready for the weather broadcast,” you put your bag by your chair. Before you left, you turned to him, “I wouldn’t worry too much about the spider.” 

  “Hmph,” he snorted. He turned up his nose indignantly. You watched him carefully for his next reaction. 

  “No really. The mice will probably eat it soon.” 

You stayed just the few seconds long enough to watch the dawning horror on his face before making your exit, stage left. Chuckling to yourself all the way to the booth. Mordecai’s complaining about every little thing was annoying, but his miffed expressions were darling. 

Nico 

It was late afternoon. You were meeting Nico at the park before heading to the ring again for another hustle. You were on the bridge, not quite in the middle, closer to shore, scrabbling away in your notebook with a fountain pen. You were lost to a world of your own design. 

Which was why you were startled when Nico scooped you up into his arms for a hug (a real hug), despite this having become his customary greeting for you. 

  “My pen!” You watched the precious tool clack against the stone wall of the bridge, then plummet into the muddy waters below. 

Shoot. You’ll have to wait until you get home now to write down the rest of that scene- 

  “No worries Cher(ie). I’ll get it.” 

  “What?” 

Nico was already climbing over the wall. Before you could say anything else, he jumped. 

It wasn’t a long fall. What worried you was not knowing how deep the water was. You were already on the verge of panic. Instinctively you ran back to land, skirting around the side of the bridge to get to the water. 

There was Nico. Sopping wet, his clothes and his white fur caked with mud, standing proudly with your muddy pen in his hand. He waded to shore the conquering hero. He looked ridiculous, but he was so pleased with himself, you couldn’t help smiling. 

Rocky 

Rocky tended to get excited about everything. Which was good because he made the most adorable faces when he was really happy. 

His blue eyes would get big and sparkly, his smile would stretch all across his face. You could see his oversized incisors protruding past his bottom lip. His ears would perk up and his tail would swing excitedly. Some people called it creepy. You thought it was cute as a button. 

And it was so easy to make him make that face. Compliments were a quick shortcut to it, especially if you praised his music or his poetry. He seemed to subsist primarily on pancakes, yet never got tired of eating them. Always overjoyed when a steaming fresh stack on a plate was put in front of him, drowning in butter and syrup. If you asked him to tell you a story, he’d beam bright as the sun. 

Rocky’s smile was too wide, his teeth a little too long, and there was something manic behind his eyes, but you’d never get tired of seeing him happy. 

Serafine

Serafine had promised to get drinks with you one evening. You waited in the hall not too far from the door to the Marigold Room. After the Mr. Sweet encounter you didn’t want to go in there without her or Nico. After nearly an hour, you got tired of waiting. You found the nearest elevator and went to their floor. 

A grey furred woman with a symmetrical haircut and blank expression cracked open the door and peaked out at you. You’d never seen her before. Not surprising however, the Savoys always had other people in there. All of them gave you the creeps.You said hello, told her your name, and asked for Serafine. The woman didn't answer. Instead you heard Serafine’s voice call to let you in. 

It always felt like you were entering some lost forbidden realm when you entered their suite. You spotted Serafine sitting crosslegged in a chair. She wore a loose white suit, several rows of necklaces made out of bones, beads, and you didn’t know what else, and her dark hair was free to fall wherever it pleased. A long yellow snake was draped across her shoulders. 

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting Cher(ie). I had to take care of some business with a few frens,” she said. 

Serafine got up. She lightly scratched under the snake’s chin, cooing at it. The reptile seemed to enjoy the attention. It was the most gentle you’d seen Serafine act towards anyone not her brother. You wanted to freeze the moment and frame it in your mind. A smidgeon of proof that Serafine did indeed have a soft side. 

Viktor

You weren’t altogether clear on what the relationship between Ivy and Viktor was. It did yield some interesting occurrences though. Namely, Ivy using the big fellow as a coat rack, or a walking heater, depending on what was more convenient for her at the time. Her antics never failed to undercut the aura of intimidation Viktor carried around with him. That’s not to say he’d be anyones dress-up-doll. Rocky tried putting a hat on him once and got a black eye for his trouble. 

Hence, the only reasonable explanation for the fluffy pink scarf around the one-eyed Slovak’s neck had to be the resident pixie who worked the cash register upstairs.

You smiled up at him teasingly. He glared down at you. Daring you to say something.

  “And, what’s brought this on? Are you ‘sick’ again?” you asked, eyes dancing. 

Viktor just grumbled and pretended to be busy cleaning. You thought it was kind of funny how Ivy had tried to play matchmaker for him. He wasn’t going to answer your question. 

“Either way,” you shrugged nonchalantly, “that color looks good on you.” 

It was a blink-and-you-miss-it type moment. Viktor’s hands went still, his eye went wide, and he sunk a little further into the fluffy material of the pink scarf. It lasted barely a second, but you’d caught it. 

You silently congratulated yourself. The one-eyed behemoth was cute when he was flustered. 

Wick

Alright, try as you might, there was no force in the universe that could get you to like bugs or rocks.

You never stopped Wick from talking about either at length however. First, it was out of politeness. Over time you saw that he was really passionate about these things. Found them endlessly fascinating. Every time the topic came up, there’d be a light in his eyes, and he was much more animated. It was a state of being you’d grown increasingly fond of seeing him in. 

You decided maybe it didn’t matter if you understood everything he was saying or not. He liked to talk. You liked to listen. It works. 

Zib

Nothing seemed to bring Zib out of his drunken slumps better than his band mates. Be it in the form of friendly games, petty arguments, or a really good jam session. Whatever dark cloud that liked to overshadow him tended to ease up when he was with them. He seemed almost content in those moments. 

Nothing was better than watching them perform. But, give them enough drinks and the guys turned into a band of goofs. The free entertainment rolls in. They forget for a while that they’re broke and stuck in a sinking speakeasy. The remains of any inhibitions gone, Zib has no issue acting the fool, if it gets a laugh from his friends. This ranges from singing off key on purpose, being overly affectionate, to dabbling in articles of women's clothing and make-up. Why not? His face had permanent eyeliner already. 

You left him alone to use the bathroom one night and came back to find him wearing eyeshadow and lipstick. It didn't look that bad, considering how quickly he must’ve applied it. While drunk no less. You let out a laugh.  

  “Do you need help?” you asked. 

  “You mean touchin’ it up, or takin’ it off?” 

  “Whichever you like. I just want in on this.” 

  “Glad to hear it. I found some stuff from Mitzi’s purse that’s supposed to make your fur fuller looking, I wanna try it.” 

The instructions on the bottle seemed simple enough. Didn’t stop Zib from looking like a french poodle at the end of it. Of course Mitzi walked in on you two. So that’s where her make-up and hair products had been disappearing to. You were going to remember that moment of poofy made-up Zib trying to fend off an irate Mitzi for a long time. 

Chapter Text

Their life in St. Louise got a little bit better when you walked into it. 

Freckle 

He doesn’t deserve you. 

Freckle remembers waking up wrapped in your quilt one morning, on the couch in your apartment. He heard you moving around in your kitchen. You were humming some song. He had no idea what it was, he only liked it because it was your voice carrying it. He almost fell asleep again. If not for the memories of last night crashing into him. 

Another job. Another shoot out. Another night racked with guilt. How could he get up in the morning, look his mother in the eye, and- 

Oh no! MOM! 

Freckle fell off your couch trying to get out of your quilt. The thump he made brought you running. 

  “Freckle?” 

  “(Y/N)! I need to go home!” He felt awful to have to leave you so suddenly, and after you’d generously allowed him to stay the night. “I-I’m sorry, I just, uh,” 

  “I understand,” you smiled serenely. “You’re mom’s probably worried. Here, for the road.” 

You tossed him an apple.  

He said thank you, and hurried out the door. He was outside and in mid-crunch before he remembered: an apple. He’d let you keep the apple the first time he’d met you. Clear as day he remembered putting a hand over yours, completely by accident, he’d been mortified, and staring into the face of the loveliest creature he’d ever seen. He’d gone tongue-tied. Someone like you shouldn’t have to hear his babbling. He ran off thinking he’d never see you again. And that was fine. That one stolen moment was his forever. It was enough. 

Everything that happened after, he couldn’t tell if this was God’s way of punishing him more or offering a path to redemption.

Ivy 

Ivy Pepper, as a young woman of class and sound mind, does not suffer fools. 

Well, okay, she puts up with Rocky, but he’s her friend. If anything he’s more of a useful idiot than a fool! (With a very loose claim on useful)

What she means is, she wouldn’t keep you around if she didn’t like you.

You were one of the few Lackadasiy patrons she’d bothered to keep track of because she thought you were interesting. You carried yourself with a quiet dignity, and had an aura of good cheer about you. Ivy never approached you before because she’d been going for the more stoic types at the time. Each of them turned out to be a bust. 

 Later she found out Viktor had been scaring them off behind her back. She hadn’t appreciated that one bit and demanded he stop. By then, unfortunately, her dancing partner selection had plummeted to nothing. There were still people at university who had some potential but- 

Then you showed up! One of the people she’d bookmarked in her head for just such an occasion. She was thrilled a cutie like you had come to rescue her from her night of boredom. That you had an even richer personality under those good looks was what made her decide to keep you. 

Mitzi

Flustering people was a favorite pastime of hers. Mitzi knew how good she looked.

But it was extra fun when it was you. 

It was easy for one thing. All she had to do was bat her eyes a little bit and smile, and your fur would stand up while you nervously sputtered, trying to form words. She’d seen you coming and going from the Lackadaisy for years, sometimes with friends, but never with a date. She liked to think she was the only person who could get that reaction out of you. A cute, sweet side of you she could have all to herself. 

Mordecai 

He’d started off despising you about as much as he despised everyone else. Then as he got to know you and started cohabitating working quarters with you (a move he made purely for selfish reasons) he despised you a little less everyday. Reading your nonsensical fiction helped. Horrendously riddled with errors as it was, you had some creative ideas about how to murder a person and get rid of the body. True, half of the methods were outlandish, or could only be feasible under the specific circumstances you’d set up, but the other half he saw glimmers of possibility in. Not that he’d borrow any of your techniques. He had his own tried and true methods to fall back on.

The Savoys, on the other hand, would want to try every murder plan you’d concocted, especially the far fetched ones. Since that would lead to more headaches for him, of course he kept you and your work secret from them. And even more so from Mr. Sweet.

It did no do to make “friends” in this business. Friends outside the business who couldn’t very well defend themselves if things went wrong was just asking for trouble. And that’s why you are not his friend. You are a convenient acquaintance, nothing more.

That’s what he told himself when you started smiling while saying good morning to him every time he came back to  JAZCAT.

Nico 

He’d thought you were cute ever since you brashly (drunkenly) got into his car and told him to take you home.That’s why he gave you the flower. 

You’d learned to be more careful since then. Which was good because not every murderous gangster out there was as understanding as he was. He was also pleased that you’d warmed up to assisting his hustle in the ring. It wasn’t surprising, given how lucrative it was. 

As a career prize fighter, he already had fans. When you were in the audience cheering for him? He almost didn’t want to go through with the fall. Just because he wanted you to watch him fight all the way to victory. It would’ve been worth it to see you jumping up and down in stands, yelling his name, that big beautiful smile on your face. 

Rocky

Rocky complimented you a hundred different ways every day. Usually with his words, in poetry and song lyrics. Sometimes in small gestures. Tipping his hat, opening doors for you, saving you a seat at the Lackadaisy’s bar- yes all of them are available anyway, but it’s the thought that counts.

He’d mentally listed a whole category of things you did as Cute: The way you walked, confident with a hint of wise caution. The way you ate pancakes, though not as innovative as his Breakfast Sleeves (patent pending), was sophisticated and cultured (“It’s called using a fork Rocky,” you’d said). All the magnificent faces you made while writing. You always got embarrassed about accidentally making faces in public when writing your characters, but the way Rocky saw it, THE WORLD should be embarrassed for trying to cast judgment upon an artist in the middle of crafting your latest gift to it.

Honestly, he could go on for eternity about all the cute things about you. 

Serafine

You were new to her world. You were like a new born chick, curious, racing around to discover new things, and yet easily frightened away.

It was intriguing watching you find your footing amongst uncertainty. She felt herself silently rooting for you as, little by little, you got bolder around her and her brother. You spoke up more, asked questions, let your naturally inquisitive spirit guide you. 

It was…cute. Not a word she used very often. You were a chick in a den full of grinning foxes, who had the audacity to ask them how they were doing and what their favorite radio shows were. Maybe that was why she liked you so much. 

Viktor

He did not care for radio. He’d broken a few on purpose to silence the dreadful noise coming from them. Unfortunately, each one had been a gift from Ivy. He hadn’t had the stomach to tell her the truth, so claimed each destruction to be accidental. Viktor had never been very good at lying. He suspected Ivy might’ve gotten him new ones as some kind of punishment through guilt. 

Then, one morning, against his better judgment, he’d switched it on. Your voice came out. Talking about morning showers and cold temperatures for the rest of the week. He’d been shocked. 

He knew it was you. He remembered you from that time when you bought liquor for those college kids too afraid to ask for it themselves. Your voice had a particular ring to it that he found pleasing, and you took care to properly annunciate your words. Something most native English speakers never bothered with. 

From then on he paid more attention to you at the bar. He didn’t talk to you, except to take your order. He did a lot more staring. It was a small miracle that hadn’t scared you away from the Lackadaisy completely. In his home, he was sure to catch your broadcast every morning. It became a ritual, something to help him start the day. It was good to know about the weather, useful. 

Ivy dropped in unexpectedly one morning and found out. Her expression turned sly. 

  “That weather reporter’s pretty cute, huh?” 

  “Uh…”  

Oh no. 

Wick

For him, it was boulders and beetles. For you, it was death traps. 

Purely fictional death traps of course, though with plenty of basis in reality. Wick had had to assure his secretary, Lacy, twice so far that, no, you weren’t another triggerman for Lackadaisy. You were just a writer with a penchant for murder mysteries. 

Grim topics aside, he liked watching you explain the machinations of your often convoluted, though very creative, story lines. Sometimes it felt like he was doing all the talking, so it was nice to hear you speak with such delight and in detail about things you clearly held a passion for. It was oddly endearing watching you talk about all the different ways arsenic poisoning could be slipped into somebody's food while you were licking at your favorite flavor ice cream cone. 

Zib

Good company and good times had always been what the Brass Boys were about. 

Officially, they were the entertainment for all who came to the Lackadasiy. Unofficially, you were their favorite entertainment by far. They’d dragged one of the speakeasy chairs from the club backstage specifically for you. Mitzi had complained at first. In response, Zib pointed out the sea of empty chairs, one less wouldn’t make a difference. And that became your spot. 

He’d never admit it-  put a lot of effort into pretending he didn’t care either way about it actually- but he really loved all the times you’d come and read your stories to him and the boys. You could write the blandest, most cliche’d plot line in the world, he and them would still eat it up like candy. That you produced quality stuff was merely a bonus. 

He liked how “into” reading your scripts you’d get. You even made up voices for your characters. It was a treat seeing you try to match your voice to the one you could hear inside your head. Not all that different from how he produced music with his instruments. He could listen to you forever.

Chapter Text

You had a bad day. They do what they can to ease the pain. 

Freckle

He had much worse to deal with than you, so you felt a bit guilty over how he doted on you. Freckle wouldn't hear of that though. He was amazingly attentive. 

You need blankets? He’s got you. Hungry? He knows exactly how to prepare your favorite snack and your favorite drink. Need some music? He’s got all the channels on the radio memorized. What’re you in the mood for? The whole rest of the day, he stayed by your side. He even called ahead to his mother to inform her he wasn’t coming home until morning. That he was willing to put up with another of his mother’s lectures on living in sin, or whatever, said a lot.

Never in your life had you felt so cared for. 

Ivy

She cannot stand to see you sad. 

She tries to make you feel better with hugs, compliments, she’s pretty much glued to you for the rest of the day. She stays with you in your apartment because she doesn’t want nosey roommates at her university budding into her and your business. Especially not when you’re in such a fragile state. 

Eventually, she’ll click the radio on and try to get you to dance with her. She’s not as pushy or insistent as she normally is. Her philosophy is that nobody who's dancing can remain sad. You sure hope she’s right. 

Mitzi

It is obvious to her that something’s wrong the minute she comes downstairs and sees you’re not quite yourself. At first you insist that it’s nothing. Nothing she needed to worry about at least, when she already had a pile of her own problems to deal with. 

  “Nonsense Honey. I always have time for you,” she said. “Now, what’s troubling you?”

She gave you her sweet smile, and her eyes held a comforting warmth. So, you confessed the whole sordid affair about what a crummy day you had. She patted your arm, nodding understandingly as you spoke. Whatever you’d ordered that night was on the house. Speaking of, you’re staying in with her tonight. 

No buts. You’re sleeping in her apartment. It’s about time she put that cushy couch she rarely sits on to good use. And in the morning, once you’re rested, and whatever’s bullied you into this state is further behind you, the  two of you are going out. Don’t worry about a change of clothes, of course she’s got something you can borrow. It’s supposed to be a lovely day tomorrow. Perfect weather for a picnic in the park. She promises, you’ll be so busy having fun tomorrow, you’ll forget all about what made you upset today. 

Mordecai 

He’s….well, he’s never been any good at emotions. Or feelings. “Emotional Intelligence” is something he’s heard of, but it sounds like an oxymoron to him. The more emotional one is, the less intelligent one acts. The very notion of behaving unintelligently vexed him. 

That in mind, he hopes you can forgive him for not realizing sooner how much distress you were in. He had no idea how long you sat outside the office door like that, curled up on your crate, head buried in your arms, tail wrapped around your legs, and obviously crying while trying hard to be as quiet as possible. 

He has never seen you like this. For a few seconds he panics. How is he supposed to respond to this? Why should he respond to this? Your tears weren’t his problem. 

Some inner voice disagreed. He shouldn’t care. But he did.  

His brain settled on a compromise: Your crying is distracting him from his work. Therefore, stopping your crying by doing whatever makes people stop crying will benefit him as well as yourself. He can get back to work, secure with the knowledge his convenient work acquaintance is in a better mental state that doesn’t cause unpleasant noises.

A perfect plan. If only he knew what made people stop crying. Besides pointing a gun at them and demanding silence. He didn’t want to do that to you (That method only had about a thirty percent success rate anyway). Perhaps if he knew what started it? 

He asked you point blank why you were upset. Several times. He didn’t understand why you didn’t want to say. It’s clearly not “nothing” if you’re this distraught. Eventually, you relented. Mordecai had not anticipated that he might feel angry on your behalf. 

There is now a fifty fifty chance that whatever, or whoever, made you cry wont exist tomorrow. 

However, you take priority. He takes the liberty of informing your coworkers the two of you are leaving early today, and pays for a cab ride to your apartment. Of course he already knew where you lived despite never having told him. Inside your dwelling, Mordecai feels awkward. This isn’t how he imagined his first time in your personal living space. Hell, he never thought he’d be in your building, let alone your kitchen, attempting to make tea with whatever cheap second rate ingredients he could find. 

He’s never been any good at small talk, but it’s that or let whatever cacophony happens to be on the radio fill up the silence, and he won’t sacrifice his ears to that if he can help it. You aren’t crying anymore. That’s good. There’s still this moroseness clinging to your being that he doesn’t like, however. 

He stays with you, well into the night. He even cooked dinner for the two of you. Something his sisters liked to eat, though he didn’t breathe a word about that to you. When you started dozing off in your chair, he helped you to bed.  

  “Thank you Mordecai,” you said slipping under your covers. You were asleep in minutes, a tiny smile playing on your lips. 

Mordecai would never admit how happy he was to see it. 

Nico

Cher(ie)? Are you crying? Why are you crying? Whose head do you need him to bash in? 

Nico made a living causing pain and suffering in others, and truthfully, he enjoyed it. Your pain and suffering, on the other hand, was a surefire way to piss him off. He couldn’t exactly explain why. He’d needed someone other than Serafine to place bets on him in his fights and you’d been a convenient coconspirator and potential fall guy. Unfortunately, he’s gotten rather fond of you. 

He can’t say he’s sorry about it though. He loves your sort of morbid sense of humor, and hearing you yell his name in the crowd when he’s in the ring. Seeing you without that light in your eyes irked him like nothing else. Your problem, he’d handle another time, his own way. First he had to cheer you up. 

This may or may not involve making goofy faces until you laugh. Or some kind of dumb stunt in the vein of slapstick. He might even forgo his fight altogether to take you out to a fancy restaurant for dinner instead. He’d treat you like royalty.

Whatever happens, he’s not leaving you until you can laugh again. 

Rocky

You’re sad?! 

His moment has come. 

He’d missed you at the Lackadaisy. You weren’t one to simply skip out on your regular writer’s rooms with him. So he hopped in his car and drove to your apartment. Come to discover his dearest dear friend is in a state of depression! Well, fear not his compatriot composer. Whatever dark clouds have besieged you, he will drive away with the fire of folk fiddling and poetry! 

Yes. Metaphorical fire only. He promises. (Sheesh, he burns one farm house down and nobody lets him forget it!)  

Rocky goes out of his way and does everything he can think of to make you feel better. Making sure you’re comfortable, fed, and safely away from whatever was causing your distress in the first place. He…doesn’t stick the landing with any of these. However, you can see that he’s pouring his heart into it for you. You’re touched that someone would go to such great lengths to make you feel like all was right with the world again. 

Serafine

Ordinarily, she doesn’t concern herself with anybody else’s well being except her own, and her brother’s. When she saw you, red eyed and mopey, though, some long dormant protective instinct kicked in. Not that she’d let you know that. 

She’s not really good at the whole comfort thing either. When bad shit happens to her, she gets over it. She moves on. Anyone who can’t do the same is weak. Nico was the sibling with the sympathetic streak that used to make him cry as a kid whenever they had to eat any of the animals he brought home with him from the swamp. Until he learned that was the way of things. That said, telling you to just “get over it” didn’t feel like it was going to be helpful with you. 

Luckily, she is quite good at listening. You come up to her suite and she’ll sit you on the couch and let you tell her your troubles. She should be able to find out what you need based on that. She isn’t going to go out of her way for you. She’ll make sure you’re okay, but beyond that she wants you to toughen up. She likes you, but she ain’t your mother. It becomes a learning process for her to find the line between coddling and providing enough care to get you back on your feet.

When she sends you home, you feel a little more confident about tackling whatever comes your way next. 

Viktor

He hears it in your voice over the morning weather broadcast. There’s a tremble in it. You’re either frightened or sad. Neither prospect sits well with Viktor. After taking a few minutes to look up where the radio station is, he sets off in his truck. The front desk receptionist very nearly hides under her desk when this breathing wall of muscle and thin patience walks up to it. She directs him to your office when he asks. 

He’s not sure what to say when he sees your “office” is just a broom closet with a tiny desk shoved in. He’s at even more of a loss for words when you answer the door, and you’re obviously not in a good place emotionally. He was trained his whole life to be tough and unflinching. He’s not so good at being soft. For you though, he will give it his best. 

This means taking you out of your closet office and going for a drive with him. The country side is far more tranquil than the city. In years past, Viktor had been grateful for the gentler sounds of nature that filled the lulls between incidents of violence his old job demanded of him. It soothed his troubled mind. He hoped it would work for you too. The ride out gave you a chance to explain what was distressing you. 

The issue you have will determine how much strain the steering wheel gets put under as he’s driving, as well as if an extra name gets added to his hit list. 

The two of you are out in the boonies all day, either talking or enjoying the other’s company in comfortable silence. In the evening he drops you off at your apartment complex. You’re not one hundred percent recovered yet, but you feel refreshed after your time out of town. You tell Viktor thank you, and goodnight.

Viktor is able to start his shift at the Lackadaisy in good spirits knowing you’re safe and in a lighter mood. 

Wick

Whenever he’s feeling down (a more common occurrence than he’d like to admit) he turns to whiskey, or scotch, or wine- you get the picture. At the same time, he is keenly aware that one cannot drink away their problems. He often resorts to throwing money at them instead. Usually much more effective. 

Neither of these options are viable for helping with your problem though. Fortunately, making people feel good about themselves is a skill Wick possess. It’s half of what he does at work, what with all the meetings, the networking, the deal closings - schmoozing for profit is an art for him. He jumps at the chance to put those social skills to work rescuing you from a rotten day.

You’d canceled plans to visit his place over the phone, due to what you were going through. So he decided to visit you instead. He has never set foot in an apartment complex before. It’s a whole new world that he feels terribly out of place in. He finds your abode rather small, but cozy.

He stays for hours, determined to lift you out of your funk. The two of you end up making dinner together. While Wick’s used to having a hired chef prepare his meals for him, he’s not without cooking experience. He talks about having gone on a few archeological digs where he’d had to “rough it” and figure out how to heat his own rations with a campfire. Which is interesting, and the story did its job distracting you from your stress, but campfires aren’t the same thing as a stove. 

To ensure nothing accidentally got burned, you assisted during the whole process. The domesticity of cooking together was remarkably relaxing. By the time you sat down to eat, you were more like your cheery self again. 

Zib

Aw hell, he can’t cope with his own problems. How’s he supposed to help you deal with yours? 

Still, it kills him to see you distressed. Being the cynical, depressed person in the group is his job. If you wanna do that, you're gonna have to learn how to play the saxophone, and he’ll have to start writing murder stories. And, trust him, he can’t write for beans. He’d probably end up killing everyone off. So, the only solution to this is you’re just gonna have to go back to being their merry murder mystery writer. Sorry, it’s the only way to keep the balance of the universe.

Joking aside, he would make things right again for you if he could. He’s a penniless musician with a broken heart. Hardly anyone with the connections or the funds to really make a shift in your world. The most he can do is stay at your side, listen to you talk, and try to tell you things will get better when he has no idea if they ever will. 

He doesn’t realize that’s more than enough to help you. 

Chapter Text

A small touch can mean a great deal. Especially coming from someone you really care about.

Freckle

His much ingrained Catholic Faith made doing anything in the realm of physical contact a challenge. Before, he used to worry he’d be sent to Hell for merely thinking someone looked pretty. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, and myriads of other biblical quotes and sayings would swirl in his brain. His mother taught him to pray for forgiveness if he ever fell into sin. He dutifully prayed every night on his knees before bed for years.

These days, he’s done so much worse than think impure thoughts. He can’t possibly be worthy of forgiveness. So he doesn’t pray anymore. 

Strangely, the lack of redemption he feels he’s going to get has liberated him on other fronts. If he’s going to Hell, he wants to enjoy his time on Earth before he does. That means spending as much time with you as possible, and even- oh, goodness - holding hands with you. 

When you took him to see the Cardinals, you held his hand as though you two did that all the time already. He’d gotten so flustered about it. You’d noticed and apologized. You’d gotten excited and didn’t want to get separated from him, so, without thinking, you’d taken his hand.

Now, he didn’t care anymore, and neither did you. If anyone asked, you both would just say you’re trying to keep together.

Ivy 

Ivy’s a hugger. And a kisser (on the cheek). And an everything else-er too… 

…that doesn’t pertain to bedroom activities. What kind of girl do you take her for? At least buy her dinner first! 

Bottom line, she’s affectionate. And doesn’t care who sees or knows it. Right away, she was always linking arms with you, holding your hand, and, if she thinks you’re ignoring her, she’ll sit in your lap. You learned this the hard way when you zoned out during a shopping trip and stopped responding to Ivy’s requests for feedback on her clothing choices. Next thing you knew she was in your lap with her arms crossed, and pouting. You were ready to die from shock. 

Most of the time, as long as she can touch you, she’s happy.  

Mitzy 

You were afraid to touch her for a long time. At first, because she was married (to a certified gangster), then out of fear of disrespecting her. She was still on a pedestal in your mind. Over time however, as the two of you got more familiar, that fear fell away. 

It started up along with your brief lunch talks in the cafe. You always tried to travel as quickly as possible from JAZCAT to the Little Daisy, and back again, which resulted in you getting a bit disheveled. One rainy day you walked through the door she descended upon you like a mother hen. 

  “Oh, Honey, what happened to you? You look like you got in a fight with a mud puddle and lost.” 

She got some cloths and attempted to dry you off best she could, despite all your protests. It was raining. You’d just get wet again, even with an umbrella. She ignored you as she fixed your hair with brush from her purse. You distinctly remember her holding your face in her hands as she inspected her handiwork. You hoped she couldn’t feel how warm your face was getting. 

Now she fusses over you every chance she gets. You don’t mind. You like the attention. Mitzi herself is always perfect, so you don’t get much opportunity to return the favor, outside of touching up her make-up when she asks. That she trusts you not to poke out her eyes while reapplying eyeliner says a lot. 

Another time, you were bold. Mitzi was again worrying over the state of her business. It was just the two of you in the cafe on a slow day, sitting opposite each other in a booth. She had that far away look in her eyes as she stared down into her cup. You hesitated a few seconds. Then, gently, lightly as you could, you reached out. Your fingers touched her hand, still firmly wrapped around her cup along with the other one. She blinked, coming back to reality, to lock eyes with you. You managed not to flinch away in shyness. 

  “It’ll be alright,” you said. “You’re smart. And you’re a lot tougher than some people give you credit for. You’ll figure something out.” 

It was quiet for a moment. She smiled, making your heart jump. She patted your hand. 

  “Thank you Darlin’. You always know just what to say.” 

Mordecai

One of your coworkers accidentally shoulder bumped into Mordecai once. The result had not been pretty. Your coworker is still among the living, thank goodness, but everybody had been thinking it was the end of the line for the poor guy after Mordecai started yelling at him about watching where he was going and wrinkling Mordecai’s precious coat. Some of your other coworkers had immediately gone and found you to tell you what was happening. 

  “Your gangster friend’s gonna kill Clark!”  

And what did they expect you to do about it?! Mordecai never listens to you! 

At any rate, everyone involved learned an important lesson that day: Mordecai does not like being touched. 

Fine by you. He’d never come across as a hug-able sort of person anyway. 

You were out and about in town one day, on your way to a library. It was busy. On both the sidewalks and the street. You were standing on a curb with a few other people waiting for traffic to ease up enough that you could cross. There was some kind of commotion going on behind you. It sounded like a fight broke out. Before you could do anything else, you were roughly shoved into the street. 

Right in front of an oncoming car. 

You saw, in great detail, the front grate, the bumper, the headlights, the glare of the sun off the windshield-

Something slammed into you bodily with enough force to push you out of the vehicle’s path. Everything hurt. The ground was spinning. It took you a few seconds to register the black lump above you was saying your name. 

  “Come on, get up!” 

  “Mordecai?” 

He quickly helped you on your feet, and looped one of your arms over his shoulders for support. He walked you out of the street, and kept going. 

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. 

  “Um, I had the wind knocked out of me, but I think I’m okay.” 

  “Good. Sorry about tackling you. You weren’t going to move in time, so I had to do something.”

  “What happened?” 

  “Someone was chasing someone, looked like a kid stole something and the owner was after them. One knocked you into the street while running.” 

You hummed acknowledgement, relieved to know it wasn’t intentional. 

He hadn’t let go of your arm yet, and his other hand was still securely on your waist.You leaned a little more into Mordecai. It was nice having him this close after almost meeting your demise. 

….Wait a minute. 

   “You just happened to be in the area, then?” you asked suspiciously. 

  “Of course not,” he snorted. “I was following you. I’m in the process of learning all your usual routes to places across the city. This way I’ll always have a rough idea of where you are at any given time, in case I ever need to seek you out for anything.” 

Oh, of course. That’s totally not creepy at all. You rolled your eyes.

  “Okay. Thanks for saving me, but we gotta have a talk about boundaries.” 

Nico 

He was always a very tactile oriented person. You knew that from all the bone crushing hugs he’d given you before.

It was kind of overbearing at first how he always wanted to be in your personal space. Now it’s a source of comfort to be close enough to feel his warmth. The hugs are much more welcome too since he’s eased up on trying to squeeze the life out of you. You swear you can almost hear purring when you hug him back. 

In the Marigold Room, he acts like your sentinel. He always has one arm around you, or vice versa. The people who work there are the worst sorts, you know, and Nico is hardly exempt from committing atrocities himself. But, as long as he’s with you, it feels like nothing can hurt you. 

Rocky

You very quickly picked up on the sense that Rocky was not shown much affection as a kid. It was  in the way he’d become so emotional after a simple hug. His eyes would swim with tears, and he’d start spouting sonnets of gratitude from his trembling lips.

It made sense. His father had walked out on him and his mother when he was very young, and his mother died of illness shortly after. His aunt became his guardian, and the sweet, dotting grandmotherly, cookie-baking type, she was not. She gets credit for keeping Rocky, fed, clothed, and in school, but an old dark mausoleum in winter had more warmth in it than her home. She kicked him out onto the street at the tender age of sixteen, forcing Rocky to become a wandering hobo. Rocky, being Rocky, went to a lot of places, but could never find anywhere accepting enough of him to finally settle down. 

The Lackadaisy is his home now. The thought of it going belly up makes him anxious. Twitchy. The more manic, dangerous parts of him become agitated. Usually you can see a fit coming when he starts getting giggly, in the creepy way. In those moments, to avoid escalation, you take his hand and rub his back. Combined with a few “it’s okays” he melts, and becomes affectionate again. 

It doesn’t always work. Sometimes Rocky flat out chooses his mania over you. There have been moments where you genuinely feared for your own safety. Not that Rocky would ever harm you on purpose, it’s just, he doesn’t seem to understand that collateral damage is a very real thing, and you don’t want that to be you. 

The times it does work and you can coax him into staying with you though? You feel like you’re magic. That you’d soothed his troubled mind, if only for a little while. It felt good that he’d pick you instead of going off and doing whatever dangerous or dumb thing he thought would impress Miss May. It gave you hope that, maybe one day, he’d choose you every time.  

Serafine

She is not cuddly, or touchy-feely in the slightest. 

You vividly recall Nico gleefully telling you the story of the time Serafine stabbed a guy in the throat for touching her ass. Understandable really. You had no reason to doubt the story wasn’t true either. It did cross your mind that you and Serafine becoming more chummy might be why Nico all of a sudden decided he wanted to share that particular story. Big brother instincts.

Although, what was he worried about? If Serafine wanted to kill you she could. Easily. You on the other hand struggled with opening a pickle jar. What threat did you pose? 

It didn’t matter. The next minute Serafine was pulling you to her side, an arm around your waist. 

  “Brother mine, you’re not trying to scare poor (Y/N) away from me, are you?”

Nico laughed, “Of course not. When dey see you in de morning without make-up on, dat’ll send dem running away for me.” 

This devolved into friendly sibling bickering you were used to listening to. You opted not to say anything. Just enjoyed the extended side hug Serafine was giving you. 

Viktor

You had almost invited Viktor to your apartment several times. Almost, because then you remembered your apartment didn’t have an elevator, and Viktor isn’t good with stairs. The only alternative was to go to his house instead, where he lived on the ground floor, and an old lady lived upstairs. It was a good arrangement. He didn’t have to deal with stairs everyday, and the old lady had someone to stop her from going outside whenever she forgot to put clothes on.

You could feel Viktor cringing as he told you that story. 

In his small living room, lit by the afternoon sun filtering through the window between white linen curtains, the two of you went over one of your manuscripts. Viktor didn’t like noise so you’d brought something for a novel in lieu of one of your radio plays. He sat in his armchair, reading. You were hovering just behind, but you’d creeped up and sat on the arm of the chair, reading over his shoulder to see where he was. 

You were doing your own mental editing when you realized you were basically leaning on him, one hand on his shoulder to keep you from falling. You apologized, shifting away. 

  “No. You may stay,” he said, gently putting his hand over yours to keep it there. “You are varm,” he added quickly. Not looking at you.

You chose not to mention how hot it was that day, or how his his thick fur was likely more than sufficient insulation. You just got more comfortable.  

Wick 

One benefit to being the weather reporter was you did get to be prepared for the weather. Most of the time anyways. You know it’s going to rain, but even the best meteorologists can’t say exactly when. 

In this case, the dark clouds overhead finally decided to start pouring right after you and Wick left  the deli you’d agreed to meet at for lunch. And it was still a walk back to his car. Luckily, you had your handy dandy umbrella at the ready! Red with white polka dots, though significantly tarnished from use. It got the job done. 

Wick, despite him listening to your broadcast every day as well, still some how managed to forget his umbrella at home. Although, to be honest, you weren’t surprised. You’d found Wick in his home office one day digging around for his reading glasses…which were on his face. Days like that you really felt for poor Lacy. 

Still, this was an easy fix. Wick was more than welcome to squeeze under your paper-thin shield from the rain with you. The car wasn’t that far away. It was also kind of… nice. Being shoulder to shoulder. He was warm. 

Subtly, almost like a thief, his hand gently clasped yours that was holding the umbrella handle. Heat started creeping up your face. You looked over at him. He gave you one of his borderline smarmy smiles, when he knows he’s being smooth. You let out a small laugh. And leaned a bit more against him, remaining that way for the remainder of the walk. 

Zib 

For mysterious reasons unknown to you, Zib was locked in a never ending battle against the forces of gravity. 

That he often lost. 

Whether it be by laziness or drunkenness, he had difficulty staying upright. He never explicitly asked you for help. Zib just swayed around so much sometimes that you instinctively had to be right next to him to catch him if he fell. And, of course, eventually, he did. Bonus: he found a way to fall over backwards. 

You don’t know if he tripped or what. All you knew was you had to stop him from hitting the ground. Which is how you ended up with both arms around his waist, and him almost parallel to the floor. It occurred to you that this looked like an awkward dip people do during dances. 

  “Huh,” he said, once the surprise had worn off, “I always thought you were gonna fall for me. Not the other way ‘round.” 

You dropped him. 

Chapter Text

The hands on the clock were inching closer and closer to the blessed hour of quitting time when your boss called everyone in JAZCAT to a meeting. You’d grimaced at the announcement, ears flattening against your head in irritation. This was either going to be something really good. Or insufferably bad. To your astonished delight, it was a good thing for once! Your boss had gotten the entire staff invited to some fancy birthday party getting thrown by a wealthy family in town, named the Pearls. They were sponsors of the radio station. From the sound of things the Mrs. wanted a really big party, so you and your coworkers were being allowed in to boost the numbers. Fine by you. Eat fancy rich people food, a chance to wear your nice clothes, and dance away the evening in a real ballroom with live music? For free? 

Hell yeah! Sign you up! 

There was one stipulation: You had to bring a Plus-one. 

Freckle: 

He was predictably flabbergasted when you asked him. Freckle always had some obscure objection or other to being treated to a night out. As if he didn’t deserve to have fun. He wasn’t as resistant to it as he’d been to other things in the past though, so you took that as a sign of progress. 

When you drove up in the cab, Freckle was outside his home waiting for you…along with his mother as she fussed over him. You caught brief snippets of her reminding him to mind his manners, remember that dancing is a sin, etc, to which he nodded frantically as he tried to extricate himself from her as quickly as possible. He practically dove into the car when you opened the door for him. You waved goodbye to the older woman, smiling politely as the cab pulled out. She didn’t wave back, only shot you a glare my boy better come back safe and pure or by all that is Holy I will hold you responsible and see to it you’re punished!

You diverted your attention to Freckle’s green suit instead. He explained he couldn’t afford a proper tuxedo. The suit he had on was passed down from his father. Sorry about the patches, it’s kind of old. You told him not to worry about it. It gave the suit character, and besides, he looked good in anything. 

Freckle looked at the ground, shyly. He asked where the party was being held, and you told him the address. A funny look came over him. 

The cab dropped the two of you off in front of a stately mansion. Perfectly manicured lawn, hints of a lovely garden nearby, guests were already walking up the front staircase past tall greek inspired columns through large ornate double doors open wide and welcoming. A golden glow and sounds of chatter flowing outward. Freckle took it all in and tilted his head curiously. 

  “Huh, so this is where Atlas used to live.” 

Ivy 

You tried telling her it wasn’t a date. You really did. But once Ivy gets something into her head, that’s it. There’s no talking her out of it. 

Needless to say she was over the moon when you asked her to be your Plus-one for this swanky party. You had to go shopping with her. She needed a new dress to wear. First Impressions are dreadfully important. Oh! And of course, you’ll need some top notch new party clothes to wear too. No buts. This way the two of you can match! 

She made sure you were wearing something yellow to go with her glittering golden new ball gown, with all the necessary accessories. Admittedly, this is the best you’ve ever looked. Credit to Ivy. The lady had an eye for color and style. She was all but vibrating with excitement the whole cab ride to the mansion. When you were dropped off, she bounced out of the car, dragging you by the arm behind her.

She stopped dead in her tracks. You almost ran into her. 

  “Ivy?” you asked. 

You looked at her face. Her golden eyes were wide, seeing something you couldn’t. All you could see in front of you was the stately mansion. Tall and elegant. Its ornate double doors swung wide open to admit fellow party goers, talking cheerfully amongst themselves, dressed in their own finery. At last she spoke. 

  “I haven’t been here since I was little.” You were becoming concerned. More so when you saw the pinpricks of tears at the corners of her eyes. “This is my godfather’s old house.” 

Mitzi

You rehearsed a few times in your bathroom mirror exactly what you were going to say when you asked Mitzi out…as your Plus-one. Not a date. 

Unfortunately it was all for naught. Because when you finally worked up the courage to ask her, the words came out in the wrong order. 

  “Uh, party.” 

  “What’s that Darlin’?” 

  “Birthday party. With me?” 

  “Your birthday?” 

Dear lord, kill you now.

Despite your floundering, Mitzi deciphered what you were trying to say. You got the sense she knew who the Pearls were. Maybe they were friends? That would work in your favor. Plus, with so many guests in attendance, Mitzi would have plenty of opportunity to network and advertise the Lackadaisy. She didn’t have to spend all night focusing on you. It wasn’t like this was a date.

Mitzi was stood outside the Little Daisy Cafe, lovely as always, when you came to pick her up in the cab. She wore a violet gown adorned by an intricate floral pattern, pearls dripping from her neck, her special emerald necklace still in its honored place. A fluffy fur wrap draped across her shoulders. At the party as you both ascended the front stairs to the ornate double doors that permitted entrance to the grand mansion, you could see people out of the corner of your eye turning to look at Mitzi. She was gorgeous and she knew it. So did you. You were feeling just a teensy bit smug she was your dat- Plus-one. 

  “Oh, lord,” she wrinkled her nose, looking around at the foyer. “Pastels? Really.” 

  “Um,” you looked at the brightly colored wallpaper. You didn’t see anything wrong with it. Then again, you were a writer, not an interior designer. 

  “I liked it better when it was green. Atlas said it matched my eyes.” 

  “Oh, so you guys used to visit here?” 

She turned to you, a tinge forlorn. 

  “No Honey. Atlas and I used to live here.” 

Mordecai 

You had to do everything short of getting on your knees and begging him to come with you.

Your only other friends were your coworkers and they already had their Plus-ones. It’s not a date. He doesn’t have to do anything other than show up and follow you around. He does that already anyways, at least this time you’ll be able to see it. You promised no dancing…with him, anyways (Just because he was a stingy sour puss, didn’t mean you were going to stop having fun).

He asked, why him? You could go out on the street and ask a random stranger and they’d probably be a better Plus-one then him. You looked him in the eyes. 

  “I don’t want a better Plus-one. I wanna go with you,” you said sincerely. 

He got very quiet. 

He cleared his throat, “Very well. I’ll pick you up at seven. Please wear something suitably presentable.” 

You suspected Mordecai wanted to be in charge of getting the cab to ensure it and the driver met his criteria for cleanliness. You were proven right. The cab you slid into was almost like new, smelling minty fresh. Next to you, Mordecai was pretending to be annoyed. The tiny smile gave him away though. You knew he loved it when he got to really dress up. His tuxedo was immaculate, fur and hair perfectly groomed, and even his glasses seemed to have been polished. He was, dare you say, pleasant, the whole trip to the mansion. 

As you were making your way inside, however, Mordecai’s good mood evaporated. Something more brooding took its place. He had that thousand yard stare again. 

  “Hey, I see a buffet table,” you said, trying to distract him from whatever was going on in his head. “Wanna see if our hosts are true to form and served caviar?” 

  “It’s all wrong,” he murmured softly. White brows furrowing.

  “What? The table? I don’t think there’s proper placement for-“ 

  “No, no,” he shook his head. “Well, yes, there are several ways our hosts could have arranged that so it didn’t clash with the alignment of the architecture, but-“ 

He went quiet again. You wordlessly urged him to keep going. 

He sighed, “I’ve been here many times before. It all looks very different now. Atlas would’ve hated what they did to his drawing room.”

Nico

He lit up like Time Square when you asked him. He was excited to go with you. Show them fat cats how to really party!

You hoped whatever rowdy thing Nico decided to do, it wouldn't be in front of your boss.

Serafine gave her blessings at the curb when you arrived in the cab to pick him up. She wished the both of you a good time, and she expected you back in the morning. Or else. She’d hunt you down. Like dogs. 

This was said jokingly, but you felt it was more aimed at you. The definition of a veiled threat. When the cab pulled away, Nico smothered you in a hug, telling you not worry about his sister. She was just a little overprotective sometimes. 

You’d never seen him in a tuxedo before. He still had his trademark red kerchief tied loosely around his neck. Otherwise, he was so glammed up he looked like he’d stepped off the page of a magazine cover. 

  “Say Cher(ie), in all the excitement, I forgot to ask, where is dis shindig?” You told him, and burst out laughing. At your puzzled expression, he explained. “You remember dem Lackadaisy clowns, oui? Dat used to be where de Great and Terrible Atlas May lived!” 

Rocky

You were sure he’d say yes. So you decided to surprise him at the speakeasy with the invitation. 

In your defense, you’d had no way of knowing that inviting Rocky while he was fiddling would’ve caused him to accidentally throw his bow so hard it knocked into JJ’s trombone, while he was playing, resulting in the brass loop part somehow getting hooked around Sy’s neck. 

The important thing is, no one’s dead, Sy’s fine, and Rocky said yes!

You would’ve happily paid for a cab, but Rocky had a car, and insisted on driving the both of you. 

This is how you found out he’d been living in his car. The rest of the band all lived in an apartment building. You had assumed he was there with them too! Also….the cactus…thing…you had questions you weren’t altogether certain you wanted answered. You made a mental note to get Rocky a copied key to your apartment so he could crash on your couch whenever he wanted. 

Rocky was wearing the same blue suit he always wore when performing with the band. “R” emblazoned lucky tie and all. You weren’t going to judge. You couldn’t exactly afford fancy duds either. He probably didn’t own any other clothes, you thought sadly. 

You’d thought you’d have to direct Rocky to the mansion the party was being held at. To your surprise, Rocky not only knew how to get there already, he’d been there before. He bounced in his seat excitedly. 

  “That’s Atlas and Miss M’s old house!” He was grinning that biiiig toothy grin, his ears curling in that odd way that reminded you of horns.“Boy I can’t wait to see what those people have done with the place!” 

Serafine

She had the same train of thought you did: free eats, dressing up, and dancing? She’s in! 

On the cab ride to the Maribel Hotel, you wondered what Serafine would be wearing. You’d seen her in dresses before, but she seemed to prefer suit pants over everything else. On cue, the car pulled up next to the Savoy Siblings. Serafine was wearing a brilliant white tuxedo suit, with matching top hat, and a red sash around her shoulders. She looked ethereal in the moonlight. 

Nico, in his usual short sleeves, slacks, and red kerchief, helped his sister into the car. He wished you both a good time, and he expected both of you back in the morning. Or else. 

His face was smiling. His eyes, fixed on you, were not. You felt a lump of dread settle in your stomach. 

A minute into the drive, Serafine kissed your cheek. She assured you all would be well. Her brother was just being overprotective is all. That’s what big brothers do. The lump grew lighter. 

The mansion was elegant, stately, well maintained. Serafine took one look at it and whistled. 

  “Cher(ie)? Why didn’t you tell me we were comin’ here? Do you know who used to live in dat big ole house?” You shook your head. “De leader of Lackadaisy, Atlas May.”

Viktor 

You knew he’d be reluctant. Viktor was not a fan of people, let alone large gatherings with blaring music. 

At the same time, he needed to get out more. Between Lackadaisy and his home, he didn’t do anything except work the bar and stew in his armchair until he went to sleep. He needed a break from the routine. Just for a few hours, you’d pleaded. There’s going to be free food. If he wore his big coat, the two of you could probably steal half the buffet table right out from under everyone’s noses.

You were joking of course (though leaving with a supply of free rich people food was tempting).

After an hour of pestering and pleading and pouting, he finally gave in. He insisted on driving his truck out. When he decided to leave, he would leave. No waiting around for a lazy, slow cab driver to get to them. 

Viktor could’ve acquired a tuxedo if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to. He did make an effort though, at least bothering to put on a waist coat, clean shoes, and he combed his hair. He still wore the fingerless gloves. You wouldn't complain (and Viktor was so naturally intimidating, you felt pretty sure no one was going to insult his clothes…to his face). 

The two of you pulled up to the mansion and…you swear you had no idea the front would have stairs. It wasn’t a big staircase, maybe five or six steps? Still, this place hadn’t been built with the more physically challenged in mind. You worried Viktor might turn around and drive away right then and there. 

By the glare he was giving the steps, he was thinking about it. You took his hand. 

  “C’mon big guy, you got this.” You gently guided him to the steps. You got on the first one. “We’ll go one at a time, okay?” 

Anybody else doing this would’ve gotten punched in the face and yelled at. Viktor detested being treated like a child due to his disability. But it was you. Viktor knew you weren’t being condescending. He put one boot on the first step. Then the other. 

  “I used to go up and down these stairs, vithout thinking about it,” he rumbled. At the top step, he paused to look up at the high mansion walls. “I have not been to Atlas’ old home in long time.” 

Wick

Honestly, you’d hesitated about asking Wick to be your Plus-one to the party. It felt like it would be awkward to show up to all your coworkers like, ‘Hey guys, this is my rich friend I never told you about. When do they cut the cake?’

On the other hand, you didn’t want to go with anyone else. 

So, at a usual night of light debauchery in the Lackadaisy, you’d asked him if he’d like to accompany you to this wealthy lady’s birthday party. As your Plus-one. Of course it’s not a date. 

He was delighted to go with you. He knew these people already, though not that well. Even St. Louis’s wealthy elite circles had different smaller circles within that they preferred to run in. 

He insisted on using his own car and driver for transportation. Saved you the cost of hiring a cab. Wick was very dashing in his black tuxedo and ornate red waistcoat. 

The mansion was impressive. A front stair case led up to tall open double doors, past greek columns. 

  “Quite lovely,” Wick commented as the two of you were going up the stairs. “It’s probably not the same as before though. I wish I’d gotten to see it then.” 

  “Before what?” 

  “Before Atlas was killed. This was his house.” 

Zib

Free food was all the motivation Zib needed to take you up on your invitation, and be your “totally not a date.” 

The band had snickered at that. You could tell this was going to be the new running gag for a while. Well, whatever. Zib was going to be your Plus-one, and that all but guaranteed a fun night in your mind.

When you picked him up in the cab, you saw he was wearing his complete scarlet suit again. It made you a little nostalgic. Just over a year ago, you’d been watching him perform on stage. To him, you must’ve been only one more face in a sea of faces. You never imagined you’d ever get to befriend the musician. Let alone go out- get him as your Plus-one for a party your boss got the whole station invited to. 

The mansion was huge, and grand. It stood proudly over a perfectly manicured lawn. As you walked up to the front steps, you noticed Zib was trailing behind you. You went up about two, three steps. He remained firmly on the ground. He was looking up at the mansion like it was going to eat him. 

  “Zib,” you called to him, “is something wrong?” 

He seemed to come back to the present. 

  “No.” Hesitantly, he started up the stairs after you. “It’s just, this is Atlas’ old house. Did you know? He didn’t like me being here.” 

Chapter Text

The year is 2027. The Little Daisy Cafe proudly celebrates over one hundred years of serving up smiles on a hot griddle in the city of St. Louis. She’s still alive and kicking. Her poor sister under the ground was not treated as kindly by the march of time. Walled off. Lonely. Forgotten. The Lackadaisy is a tomb. Nobody remembers the secret door behind the shelves. 

Nobody, except the ghost.

Rumor has it, at night after closing, when all is dark and deathly still, the radio, perched on the shelves of the secret door, clicks on by itself. Its gnarled static cuts through the silence. This isn’t a new age trick with wireless technology. The radio is an antique from the nineteen twenties when the cafe first opened its doors. A tiny tribute to the bygone era of Jazz, roaring parties, and lawless speakeasies.

A voice from beyond the grave speaks through it. Your voice. It tells tales of tragedy. 

Freckle

His spirit weeps as he roams the halls. His home burned down in the fire. He haunts the new house built on its remains. His ashes are still beneath it. 

The ghostly figure cries, even as he disappears through the floor, because that’s where the stairs to the basement used to be. His pitiful wailing still echoes against the walls. It gets louder when he starts screaming. 

The boy had a fire inside him when he was alive. A meek soul, but a powerful rage. It made him do awful, horrible, unforgivable things. He killed people. He was a monster. 

Monsters like him didn’t deserve kindness, let alone love. Yet a love he found. A writer came into his life, and gave him their heart, as he gave his. They told him that his fire did not rule him. 

The writer was wrong. His fire consumed them, and they were snuffed out. Wracked with guilt, the boy allowed his fire to burn him away too. 

I know you didn’t mean it Freckle. I forgive you. 

Ivy

If you’re ever driving down a certain road in the country side of St. Louis in the dead of night, you might see a girl wearing an old fashioned bright yellow coat on the side of the road with her thumb out, looking for a ride. If you acquiesce, you’ll find she’s very chatty. 

She’ll tell you it’s important she get back to town as soon as possible. Her car got wrecked. She’s terribly late getting home, and her most favorite person in the world is probably really worried about her by now. Of course, you’ll want to know how she wrecked her car.

She and her friends were on a job. They had to transport their precious cargo from the hiding place they’d dug it up from back into town. She was driving because she’d been taking lessons and wanted to show off. It was raining. It was dark. She didn’t see the tree until it was too late. 

As she’s talking, you’ll notice a change in her voice. It started off happy and bubbly, but as she recounted the events, her tone deflated, she spoke slower. She starts sounding detached. 

  “My head smashed through the windshield,” she’ll turn to you. Her face will be bloody and mangled. “And then I died.” 

Hopefully, you don’t crash either. Please understand, it was never her intention to frighten you. She’ll disappear right after, and you’ll likely never see her again, even if you go looking for her. 

But if you do find Ivy, please tell her I’m still waiting for her to come home. 

Mitzi

The Little Daisy Cafe has more than one ghost. 

Sometimes, long after sundown, a woman will start banging on the front door, demanding to be let in, her raspy voice harsh and desperate. Her dress looks like it used to be very fancy, now it’s stained and torn to shreds. It hangs off her body like sheets on a clothesline. Her hair is unkempt and mangy. Her green eyes are wild, angry red circles around her pupils. 

Her fits don’t last very long, only a few minutes, slightly longer if she chooses to be persistent. She’s been known to visit multiple times in one night however. If you happen to be in the cafe when she starts clawing at the door, don’t let her in. 

This place used to be hers. Her business, her home, her empire. It was all ripped away suddenly. She met a violent end. Just like her husband before her. Her friends tried to warn her such enterprises could only end badly. Business was bone dry. The competition deadly. She’d found new love with a writer whom she could have a new life with. She should move on.

She was stubborn. 

The writer disappeared not long after her death. 

Now it’s uncertain how much of the woman is left in the disheveled corpse glaring through the glass. She seems to get angrier every year. 

It’s funny actually. Mitzi wants in so badly. And I can’t get out. 

Mordecai

A shadow stalks the alleyways at night. You might catch the light reflecting off his circular glasses, the only indication that he has eyes. He’s searching for something. Hunting. 

He refused to let even death stop him from finding the answers he wants. 

One hundred years later, he still doesn’t know who killed them. He came to the radio station, as normal, to do his work in the company of someone he dared not call his love. A writer, who had his heart, but he could never tell them that for fear it might put them in danger. It was for naught. 

He opened the door to the writer’s tiny office and saw them beaten, bloody, and no longer breathing. The image seared into his soul. 

Suspects were many, and answers few. He killed so many in his pursuit of the truth, the floors of several illegal establishments were permanently stained red. He had to be dealt with. After a few failed attempts, he was. 

And he wasn’t. 

His wrathful spirit was unsatisfied. 

Ironically, it’s this same stubbornness that has kept him earthbound that also refuses to let him enter the Little Daisy Cafe. He used to work here you see. Bad memories. It’s ironic because, I’m here. I have all the answers he wants. 

Mordecai, I would love to see you again. 

Nico

Room 223 of the Maribel Hotel is haunted. At night there’s noises. Drum beats and the rattling of bones. If you can stand the noise, he doesn’t mind sharing the space. Might even be glad for some company.

His little sister had some talent when it came to the world of spirits, and upon his unexpected demise, she refused to let him go. His soul became bound to the room they shared as a home, for themselves, and the others in their spiritual group. She forced him to stay, because she couldn't live without him. 

He did not want to stay. His beloved was somewhere on the other side, waiting for him.  

He was a boxer and a criminal who fell in love with a writer. He had thrived in the criminal underworld with his sister, but such standings are no match for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He and the writer had money on them. Some unsavory people tried to take it. The boxer could’ve handled it. However, the writer became threatened, and he lost his life protecting them. 

The writer survived, and, with a broken heart, went to tell his sister of what happened. In a blind grief stricken rage, the sister killed the writer. 

She bound her brother to the mortal plane, yet neglected to do the same for herself. When she met her end, there was no one to call up her spirit, nor release his. His gloomy specter can be seen gazing forlornly out the window at the world moving on without him. 

It has been one hundred years, but even curses can’t last forever. 

Nico, when you finally get free, I hope you’ll come find me. We can crossover together.

Rocky

Violin music carries on the wind at the old Eads bridge over the Mississippi River. Sometimes at night, by the light of the crescent moon, through the veil of the mist, a figure of luminescent blue can be seen dancing across, a fiddle in his hands. 

From a distance, it’s eerie. Up close isn’t better. The decay of his clothes, the rot of his body, he smells of river muck and death. Which is to be expected of one who drowned. 

He led the life of a hopeless romantic, a wandering buffoon, and a maniacal criminal. He’d cheated death so many times in the past. Yet in the end, he’d given himself up to the ol’ grim reaper without a fuss. He’d always loved the river. It seemed an appropriate setting. He regretted not being able to help his boss revive her business and lead his cousin into daring adventures anymore. He'd miss the band too, they were the closest thing to real friends he’d ever had. He was sorry it had to end this way. However, his other half had shuffled off the mortal coil, and he did  not want to continue on without them. 

Especially since it was his fault they were gone. 

He would’ve gladly traded himself for them. Alas, the bullet meant for him, struck their heart. His own broke shortly after. 

Tearing the perpetrator’s throat out with his teeth hadn’t been enough. His beloved was still dead, and not coming back. He wrote up a will, bequeathing his car and everything in it to his cousin, and left a note explaining everything. He would’ve said good bye in person, but they might’ve tried to stop him. He kept his violin. If there was an afterlife, he wanted to take that with him at least. And besides, he needed it for his swan song. 

He chose the bridge as his stage. He knew his beloved was watching from wherever they were. He played his heart out, poured his soul into each stanza he spoke, and danced right to the edge. He took his final bow. 

Rocky, it was the best performance I wish I’d never seen.

Serafine

The hotel doesn't let anyone stay in room 223 anymore. Not since one guest almost died from shock. 

Drum beats, rattling bones, and alien chanting can be heard at night. The neighboring rooms complain, but nothing can be done. The worst is the wailing, and the smashing of glass as the ghost relives her death, again, and again. Outside below, on the cobblestones of the alleyway, people insist the blood stains are still there.

A woman who fancied herself a Voodoo Priestess, used to live in that room with her brother. Others who followed their faith visited regularly, using it for their religious services and rituals. The siblings allowed their followers to come and go as they pleased. They sometimes brought animals of a nonconventional sort into the room with them. The group was close, and wary of outsiders. 

The priestess fell in love with a writer, someone who was not averse to her spirituality, but not willing to commit to it either. The group was skeptical, though they dared not challenge their leader. The writer was permitted to enter their sacred place. 

There exists some debate if it was an honest accident or a planned murder. The woman returned to her home one evening to find her congregation surrounding the corpse of her beloved writer, dead of a snake bite. 

The shock twisted the woman for the worst. She fell into a deep sorrow not even her dear brother could bring her out of. It’s said that the woman gathered all of her knowledge, tapped into black magic, and tried to resurrect the writer. Again, it’s unclear what happened exactly. All that is known is that the writer remained dead, their soul departed, and the woman fell to her death from the high hotel window. Some speculate that either madness or grief drove her to throw her body through the glass, shattering it. Others feel a true suicide attempt would’ve merited opening the window first, and suggested foul play.

Darker still, what if, in her attempts to summon the writer’s soul back, she conjured something else, it killed her, and now it wont let her go. 

Serafine, my love, please hold on. I’ll find a way to you somehow. 

Viktor

There’s something in the garage. 

The Little Daisy Cafe has a back area garage where suppliers drop off their products to be sorted and stored away as needed. Some of these delivery persons refuse to set foot in the garage anymore, especially at night. They stubbornly leave the products outside the door for the cafe employees to take in instead. Sometimes without notification.

There’s something in the garage. Workers have heard heavy footsteps when they know they are alone. Items get moved around, or thrown at them. Sometimes the lights flicker, and a huge shadow, for a faint instant can be seen. It’s the shadow of a monster.

There’s something in the garage. Whatever it is it doesn’t like noise. Radios and phones break or get thrown. Two employees who were arguing to the point of screaming were scratched and dragged across the floor by some unseen invisible force. Mercifully, this is the only time the thing has directly harmed a person. Employees are told to keep their voices down when working in the garage, and those who laugh at the reason why stop laughing in a few weeks. 

The shadow, when it becomes visible for the brief moment it does, is always in the same spot. It’s where the trap door used to be. It’s where his bones still are, at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. 

He used to work for a business that was, shall we say, less than legal. Often lethal. The stairs led to a tunnel to carry supplies through. His legs weren’t the best, which resulted in stairs being difficult for him. However, the criminal had found love with a writer, who tried to help with his disability. They helped him to be less ashamed of himself. Then, his legs became his, and his beloved’s, undoing. 

The writer had heard of this trap door in the garage and wanted to see it. He obliged, and they walked down the tunnel together. At the stairs, the writer went up. He stayed at the bottom. He watched them open the hatch. He watched them climb out, turn around, and smile. He watched them get dragged away screaming out of his sight by an unknown attacker. 

He labored up the stairs as fast as he could. Adrenaline helped numb the pain, though it did not improve the function of his knee. Perhaps that’s why he tripped near the top, and fell all the way back down. Never to rise again. 

The air in the garage forever reeks of rage and shame. 

Viktor, my heart, I don’t blame you at all. I was already dead when you fell. 

Wick

The house is old and grand, updated with the times of course to increase the market value. The home owners hope someone buys the place quickly. Nobody had told them about the hanging man when they bought the place. Yet, they themselves weren’t going to breathe a word about it for fear of scaring away potential buyers. 

They didn’t believe their daughter the first time, when she came bursting into her parents’ room screaming about a dead man hanging by his neck from the banister. She’d gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water from the kitchen and came back to find him there. Hanging by the foyer like some ghastly ornament. They’d gone and looked, but he’d disappeared. They dismissed their child’s ramblings as having a nightmare.

Their daughter knew what she saw. She never went down stairs at night again. 

Sometimes though, she’d lie awake in her bed because she could hear him crying. A miserable and dreadful weeping.

For two years she lived this way until, finally, one of her parents saw him too. Finally, they could leave. 

The hanging fellow’s really not such a bad guy though. He won’t harm anyone. He’s just very sad. You see, he thinks it’s his fault. 

When he was alive, he was obsessed with all things geological. And St. Louis happened to have an abundance of limestone caves crisscrossing for miles beneath the city streets. Most of these are destroyed or blocked off nowadays, but back then, it was a secret world just waiting to be explored. And our man saw himself as more than fit for the job. He wanted to map them all out, see what he could discover. 

His beloved, a writer, happily followed him into the underground abyss to assist him on his adventure. He’d underestimated the structural integrity of one of the caverns they went down. Neither he nor the writer had accounted for a collapse. 

As the ceiling came down, the writer pushed him out of the way, and was crushed. 

He didn’t take it well. 

Weeks of drowning in drink later, he made up his mind that he did not wish to continue living. 

Wick, I sacrificed so that you could live. I wouldn't have been angry if you’d moved on. 

Zib

At night, if it’s quiet enough, you can hear the voice.

It drifts up through the floorboards of the Little Daisy Cafe like a sweet lullaby of the damned. 

The lights are out. The guests long gone. The stage underground is in ruin. Still, he sings. Most every night, hoping his beloved will hear and come back to him. 

In life he was a musician, a performer. He was a free spirit shackled to one place by circumstance. He and his band used to play to a full house every night. Then business went bad, real bad. They could barely afford food anymore. Moving to greener pastures would’ve been smart, but their boss held them hostage through guilt and shame. They weren’t closing. The show must go on.

The musician slowly withered. He turned to drink and substances to cope.

Then somehow, through the cloudy haze, he found someone. A kindred spirit. He fell in love with a writer. A better match could not be found. And his existence did not seem so cold anymore. They adored hearing him sing. 

Sadly, it was not to last. 

It was night time. The writer and the musician were walking through the streets, only a bit tipsy from earlier festivities, when they ran into trouble with police officers. They fled. The writer went one way. He went another. And he never saw the writer again.  

He searched high and low, but couldn't find a trace. His bandmates did what they could to comfort him. His boss was sympathetic until he started refusing to perform. He just, didn’t feel up to it. 

Nonsense! The show must go on. 

His hands became too clumsy for instruments. When he had to perform, he’d only use his voice. A tiny hope inside him that his darling might hear from wherever they are and come back. They never did. 

Not long after, his coping methods killed him. He fell asleep on the stage, and never woke up. 

You know I’ve always loved your singing Zib. It breaks my heart knowing you’re right downstairs and I can’t get to you.

Chapter Text

The party’s in full swing when you get there. You check in with your boss to show you’ve brought the promised Plus-one, and add your gift for the Birthday Lady to the gifts table. You had no idea what to get a wealthy woman, so you went with an Agatha Christie novel. Next, you had to give your regards to the party hosts, whom you’ve never met before. Collin and Benita Pearl had made their fortune in the ship building industry. Their five adult children were in attendance with them. Four sons and one daughter. Something struck you as off about the youngest, Clarence Pearl. Your intuition chimed in that you didn’t want to be around this guy. 

Freckle

  “I don’t like that guy,” Freckle said as the two of you headed off into the party. 

  “Clarence?” you asked. 

Freckle nodded, but gave no further explanation. 

  “Hmm, well, I’m glad it wasn’t just me then,” you chanced a glance behind you at the birthday hosts. They’d likely be in that spot greeting guests for a while. It gave you an idea. 

 A little smirk crept up your face. You grabbed Freckle’s hand and started leading him upstairs, away from the party. He started getting flustered right away. 

  “Uh, (Y/N)? Where are we going?!” 

  “You said this was Atlas’ old place right? Let’s see if we can dig up something… interesting.”

It didn’t take long to find the study. You set Freckle about the task pulling books from shelves, while you went knocking about the walls. Why? Because that is how one finds secret passages, that’s why. 

Or at least, that’s how it works in books.

After some time, you had come up with nothing. Would the two of you be missed downstairs?Freckle was supportive, but tried to be practical. 

  “Miss M, probably knew the place as well as Mr. M did,” he said. “If there was anything valuable here, she’d have long since taken it with her, or else the new people would’ve found it by now.”  

You sighed, and nodded in resigned agreement, “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Worth a shot at least. I hope we didn’t miss cake.” 

  “Knock on wood,” Freckle said, rapping his knuckles on the wooden desk.

A little hidden drawer suddenly popped open out of it.

The two of you stared at it, gobsmacked. 

  “Freckle!” you all but tackled him in a hug. “You’re incredible!” 

Freckle went beet red under his fur as he looked away shyly. His face fought between proud and humble, awkward expressions, and he stuttered. He didn’t even notice you’d let go of him already and were eagerly flipping through the book you’d plucked from the secret hiding spot. The cover read: “Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid.” 

Odd. As far as Freckle knew, Mr. M hadn’t been one for fairy tales. 

  “That might belong to the Pearls,” he started, but you hushed him. 

  “No! Look,” you held up the first page and pointed to an upper corner. The initials “A.M.” were written in neat cursive. 

Together, you combed through the book. It was marked up throughout with handwriting, detailing dozens of things from trade routes along rivers, to ingredient lists, to musings on architecture. The two of you had the same thought at the same time:

  “Atlas was trying to build a second speakeasy!” 

Ivy 

Ivy had never been one for tears, so she wiped hers away, and reassured you she was fine. Just got a little nostalgic there for a minute. You’d thought things were getting back on track, only to discover Ivy had some beef with the youngest of the Pearl family, Clarence, and vice versa. Apparently she and him are classmates at university, and there was something about her beating him in a shooting contest? To which, he’d accused her of cheating somehow? Luckily, the daughter, Ariel Pearl, intervened on your behalf before things got ugly. You were able to pull Ivy away from there with minimal damage to all parties.

  “The nerve of that guy!” Ivy fumed. 

You had to agree. Ivy liked to embellish and exaggerate her stories, but…okay, she would rig a competition if there was something to gain from it. But she also wanted people to respect her for her skills. If nothing else, you thought Ivy’s pride and confidence in her own abilities would stop her from trying to win a game of skill through deceptive means. 

Either way, she was angry again. So, you offered her a dance. She gladly accepted. 

After dancing circles around you for the better part of an hour, Ivy prodded you into following her upstairs, where you found the study. 

  “At least this room hasn’t changed much,” Ivy commented.

The room was comfortably spacious, not small enough to be cramped or so big one could hide an elephant in it. It had several bookcases lining the walls, which automatically won your favor. An ornate desk and chair stood a respectful distance in front of two large windows that undoubtedly let in much sunlight during the day. A portrait of who you assumed was a relative of the Pearl family hung on the wall.

  “Atlas used to do work in here. They even kept the desk,” Ivy said, running a hand over the polished wood. “I remember playing in here while he and my dad did business. Sometimes they’d let Viktor watch me, and he’d turn on the phonograph for me to dance to. Even at that age I was a natural talent.” 

  “Oh?” you said, humoring her. 

  “You bet!” she smiled proudly. “I was doing the Charleston when I was eight!” 

She did a few steps to demonstrate. In her zeal, Ivy accidentally kicked the desk, causing her to squeak in embarrassment. A noise you typically adored. At the moment, your attention was on the little secret drawer that just popped open from the desk. 

  “What’s that?” you asked. 

Ivy stared at the compartment, looking like a gaping fish, “I don’t know. I don’t remember that.” 

You moved first. From the drawer you retrieved a hardbound book. “Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid,” it read. 

You heard Ivy sniffle. The book was all but forgotten as your eyes and ears swiveled to her.

  “Atlas used to read that to me sometimes. I felt so bad for the mermaid,” Ivy said, ears pinned back sadly.

You looked down at the book, then offered it to her, “In that case, he’d probably want you to have it.” 

Wiping away a tear, Ivy managed a little smile. When she opened the book she let out a gasp.

Every page was written over in lists and figures and maps. Ivy couldn’t do anything except stammer confusedly. It was Atlas’ handwriting. What did it all mean?

In your head, it clicked.

  “Atlas was building a second speakeasy.”  

Mitzi

Since Mitzi had done business previously with Mr. and Mrs. Pearl, that being selling her home to them (for desperately needed cash to keep the Lackadaisy afloat) they were more friendly to her. And by “friendly”  you meant in that passive-aggressive, backhanded compliments sort of way that people do when they’re only pretending to be nice to you. The only really nice one was Ariel, the daughter.  

Mitzi could trade subtle barbs with the best of them though, and managed to walk away with her dignity intact. 

She even put that rude Clarence guy in his place when he insinuated that you must be a huge demotion for her from Atlas. You hadn’t expected her to go on the offensive on your account because, well, it was true. Atlas had accomplished more in a few short years than you had in your whole life. Mitzi liked you of course, but only as a friend. She’d never give you that loving starry eyed look you’d seen her give him the few times you’d witnessed them together in the past.

This though, this gave you a tiny glimmer of hope that, maybe this not a date could actually be a date date? If Mitzi wanted. 

That train of thought was swiftly brought to an end as Mitzi started talking about Atlas this and Atlas that as you both roamed the halls of the house, her telling you what it all used to look like and what a tragedy it was that her home had to be sold off to people with no taste. 

You were only half listening by the time your little tour reached the study. You don’t even remember what she was talking about while she was looking through the book collections, and you were leaning against the desk when your bottled frustration leaked out. 

  “Yup, that sounds great,” you brought your fist down on the wood harder than you’d meant to. 

A small secret drawer opened out of the front edge of the desk. You gaped at it. Mitzi hadn’t noticed yet, since she had her back turned. You peered inside it. 

  “Hey Mitzi? Did Atlas like Hans Christian Anderson?” you asked, taking a hardbound book out from the drawer. 

  “Not that I recall,” she said, pulling a book half off the shelf by its spine to inspect it. “I think he kept a few children’s books for Ivy. Apart from that he was more interested in, ah, modern day fantasies. If you know what I mean,” she chuckled. 

  “How’d he feel about mermaids?” 

  “Mermaids?” 

She turned around, utterly baffled. She froze when she saw the open compartment, and you flipping through the book.

  “What is that?” she asked. You peered over the cover at her for a moment.  

   “Going off these scribbles, it looks like plans for another speakeasy.” 

  “Give me that!” 

She practically ripped it out of your hands. It shocked you for a second. A dull ache started in your chest that you tried to push down. 

When Mitzi opened the book, she gasped, and put a hand to her mouth. Her emerald eyes started to well up with tears. 

  “This- this is Atlas’ handwriting.” She flipped through a few more pages, becoming more distraught. “He never told me about any of this!” 

Mordecai

    “What are you doing!?” 

Mordecai didn’t even look up at you as he quickly flipped though the pages of a book. He was sat at the desk in the Pearl family’s study with at least six perfectly straight stacks of books on either side of him. 

  “Nothing you need be concerned with,” he said calmly. “Go back downstairs and enjoy yourself. I’ll let you know when I’m finished.” 

Right after the two of you got through greeting the Pearl family and wishing Mrs. Pearl a Happy Birthday, Mordecai had all but insisted you go dance with some one. It was something the two of you had agreed on before coming. He didn’t like dancing, so if you wanted to, you’d have to find a temporary partner. He said he’d keep himself entertained in the meantime. Of course, most people were paired off already and it didn’t take long for you to get bored. So you decided to go find Mordecai again. It took you a while. You were afraid he’d either bailed on you or was planing something nefarious, when you finally found him in the study. 

Weirdly, he wasn’t reading any of the books. He picked up one, zipped through the pages, then set it aside neatly on top another book pillar. 

  “Oh, no, no, no, you’re looking for stuff on Atlas again, aren’t you?” you said, closing the door behind you, and marching to the desk.

  “As I said. It doesn’t concern you.” 

  “I think it does. I’ve been the cover to your investigation’s mystery novel for months now, and I want in!” 

You slammed both hands down on the desk. A second after, something poked you in the stomach. You looked down to see a small drawer had opened up, with a book hidden inside. Mordecai, intent on dismissing you, eyes glued to the book he currently held, hadn’t noticed. 

  “You’re a good cover precisely because you know nothing. I’d rather keep it that way-“ 

He saw you flipping through a hardbound copy of “Hans Christian Andersons, The Little Mermaid” wide eyed. Every page you turned to was marked up to hell and back in neat handwriting. And it wasn’t editorial notes. 

  “Where did you find that?” he asked, ears going back. You pointed at the secret drawer. “Well, give it here then.” 

  “…No.” 

He looked genuinely surprised you’d say that to him. He scowled, then lunged across the desk, grabbing for it. Quickly you stepped back. Missing his mark, Mordecai fell forward, knocking some of the book stacks over.

  “(Y/N), give me that book,” he demanded, claws digging into the wood. 

  “Only if you promise to let me in on your crime solving,” you shot back. 

Mordecai tried to go around the desk, only for you to run the other direction. The result was an insipid game of Ring Around the Rosey. 

  “Come on, please Mordecai! At least let me read this stuff. It’s only fair since I found it first!” 

Mordecai crossed his arms sullenly as he glared. He huffed, “If I allow this, will you stop acting like a child?” 

He was one to talk. Nevertheless, you nodded eagerly. 

  “Fine. Have at it then,” he relented, throwing his hands up. He fixed his glasses. “I need to tidy up anyways before we go.” 

You grinned. You felt like a kid in a candy shop as you flipped the cover open again to finally actually read what all those scribbles were trying to say. Mordecai busied himself with returning the books to their shelves. Alphabetized. The Pearls should thank him for bringing order to their haphazardly arranged library. He returned to you once he was satisfied with his work. 

  “And what do you make of it?” he was only half serious when he asked. 

  “Atlas May liked to dream big,” you said. “He was getting ready to set up a whole other speakeasy.” 

Mordecai chuckled dryly. “Oh, that’s quite impossible. The Lackadaisy was more than sufficient at the time. If he was interested in any such investments, I would’ve known about it.” 

You raised a brow at him. You turned to a specific page, and handed it to him, pointing to a specific section that read more like a dairy entry than anything else. Mordecai read through it quickly. 

  “What?” He read it again, “What!?” 

  “I told you,” you said with a shrug.

  “Atlas was building a second speakeasy! And he didn’t tell me?!” 

Nico 

Nico was a little over friendly when greeting the Pearl family. He went a bit too hard with the handshake with Mr. Pearl. At least he didn’t try to hug any of them. You caught the Clarence guy sneering at the two of you as you walked away to join the party. 

Things proceeded smoothly from there. The two of you cut a rug on the dance floor, then helped yourselves to the free eats, including birthday cake. The pastry was easily taller than Nico, decorated in blue and green frosting. While everyone was watching Mrs. Benita Pearl unwrap her gifts, Nico suggested the two of you go poking around before you left. It was Atlas May’s old house. Maybe there was something here the Pearls hadn’t found yet. 

The Mystery solver/lover in you couldn’t say no to that. 

Which is how you ended up in the study, testing the books to see if any of them were levers for secret rooms and such. So far, no luck. 

  “Hmmm, now, lemme think,” said Nico, leaning against the desk. He pulled out a flask, and took a few sips. “If I were de biggest club owner in town, and I had somethin’ valuable I wanted to hide, where would I put it?” 

  “Well, he’d probably want it somewhere he could keep an eye on it. Somewhere he could see it everyday. Maybe hiding in plain sight?” you suggested. 

You could always tell when the gears were turning in Nico’s head. His eyes got kind of squinty, and he’d shift his jaw. 

  “Portrait?” he suggested, pointing to one hanging on the wall.

It wasn’t of Atlas May. If anything the man in the frame bore more resemblance to Mr. Pearl. Most likely a relative. 

  “No, I don’t think so,” you said. You joined Nico and sat on the desk. He offered you his flask.“Thanks.” 

  “Nothing I can see looks worth more den it looks.” 

   “If I knew what was being hidden, I’d have an easier time deducing how it might be hidden,” you said after a few swigs of rum. “Big things of course would require more space, so obviously a secret room for that. Small things are much harder to detect. You could hide it on your person, under a floor board, in a piece of furniture-“ 

  “Like, a desk?” Nico asked smiling. 

You looked down at the wood you were perched on. “I suppose. Lots of desks out there were built with small compartments in them to store documents or whatever. Was this desk even Atlas’ though?” 

Nico just shrugged, “Whoever it belongs to, if dere something valuable in it, I’m taking it.” 

You hopped off the desk as he started rummaging around the drawers.

  “No money yet, Cher(ie), but dey got pens!” he held up a handful of expensive fountain pens. “What you t’ink?” 

  “I think if you find one made of solid gold, I’ll take it. Otherwise they’re not worth stealing,” you said. 

  “Free is free Cher(ie), but if dat’s how you feel,” he dumped them back in and resumed his search. This time more carefully, feeling along the edges of the desk. He worked his way to the front and grinned. “Right here. Dere’s a seam.” 

  You bent down to look where he was pointing. You could barely make out a hair thin rectangle in the front edge of the desk.

  “Oh my gosh you’re right! But how do we open it?” 

Nico tapped his chin thoughtfully for a second. Then he stood up. He brought his fist down on the desk hard. You’re pretty sure he cracked it. 

The little drawer popped open. 

  “Ta-Da!” Nico sang triumphantly. 

  “Nico, you’re amazing!” you said excitedly. 

  “Oui. Dis is true,” he preened. 

You reached in and pulled out the prize. A copy of The Little Mermaid, by Hans Christian Anderson. Odd thing to hide, you thought. Until you opened it.

Page after page was written over in cursive handwriting. It detailed maps of the city, trade routes, building supplies, and so much more. Nico whistled when you showed him. 

   “Mr. May was gon’ build himself a whole second speakeasy.” 

Rocky

Within five minutes of being there, Rocky very nearly got the two of you thrown out.

He hadn’t meant it in a bad way when he said Mrs. Pearl’s hair looked like a wasp nest. Clarence Pearl, the youngest offspring, really jumped on the opportunity to eject the both of you too. What was his problem? 

Luckily, you were able to spin that in to telling her it was a bold type of hair cut, very befitting of one belonging to a family whose sea-crafts were thought of so highly by sailors all around the world. A few more compliments, and some unexpected support from the daughter, Ariel Pearl, and you and Rocky were permitted to stay for the remainder of the party…but don’t push it. 

You all but ran away from them afterwords, dragging Rocky with you. 

  “Nicely done, (Y/N),” Rocky grinned.

  “Thanks,” you said, catching your breath. You were so lucky your boss hadn’t seen that. 

Rocky looped his arm around yours, “C’mon, I wanna show you around. This place used to be my old stomping grounds after all.” 

You and Rocky being somewhere away from the other party guests, the hosts, and your boss seemed like a really good idea. So he led you around, giving you a tour with his own color commentary added in. Particularly about changes made by the Pearls that he didn’t like. It was funny, but you were glad they couldn’t hear it. You didn’t think your improv skills could save you a second time. 

  “And this is the study,” Rocky said, spreading his arms as he walked backwards into the room. “Where Atlas did all his ‘studying’ about the Lackadaisy and how to keep her going. Aw, it hasn’t changed a bit…except for that.”

He pointed at a portrait on the wall. You guessed it was one of Mr. Pearl’s relatives. Rocky’s ears flattened and he stuck his tongue out, disgusted. 

  “That guy looks like if a fish climbed into someone’s fur and hopped away with it…hopping because fish can’t run. No feet,” he said, pleased that got a giggle out of you. 

  “Mr. Tour Guide, I have a question.” 

  “Ask away, esteemed guest!” 

  “Are there any ‘secrets’ in here that Atlas May might’ve left behind?” 

Rocky put a hand to his chin and hummed, “Good question. Atlas was a man of many secrets.” His blue eyes landed on the portrait again. “Ah-HA!” 

Rocky got an armload of books and stacked them on the floor underneath the portrait, and kept adding books until he could stand on them to reach it. Why he did that instead of using the perfectly sturdy chair behind the desk, you’d never know.

  “As any Mystery Lover would know,” he winked at you, and you couldn’t help blushing a little as you smiled, “rich people often hide their most valuable possessions in safes hidden behind hideous pictures! The more grotesque the image, the better! For it repels people away from it. And by extension, the safe- whoah!” 

As he’d been speaking, Rocky was trying to take the portrait off the wall. Evidently, it was much heavier than it looked. He struggled to keep ahold of it, but the books were unsteady. 

  “Careful!” you shouted. 

It was already too late. The books slid out from under him. Rocky fell forward into the wall, through the portrait. Fortunately there was no glass to break. Unfortunately, Rocky’s balance was still gone and he ended up stumbling backwards until he fell. The heavy frame caught the desk before it hit the floor and cracked. 

  “Rocky? Are you okay?” you knelt beside him. Rocky was somehow always getting hurt. And while he, remarkably, always got right back up again, it still worried you every time it happened. 

Your favorite fiddler finally wrestled himself free of the portrait, leaving a gaping hole where the face used to be. 

  “Honestly, I’d call that an improvement,” he said. Confirming he was indeed okay. 

You sighed. You were relieved Rocky wasn’t hurt. However, looking around the room…

Portrait desecrated, books scattered everywhere, a possibly dented desk…if your boss ever found out about this you were so fired. 

You were about to say as much to Rocky when you saw it. A little panel had popped open on the desk. 

  “Hey, look,” you pointed at it. Rocky gasped. 

  “Hidden compartment!” 

  “Hitting the desk must’ve opened it!” 

  “It did?” Rocky blinked. “Uh, yeah! Of course. I meant to do that.” 

  “Goofball,” you said, smirking knowingly. 

You peered inside the drawer and pulled out its contents. A book. “The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson.” Rocky seemed as perplexed by it as you. Opening it led to even more questions. You discovered every page had been marked up in neat penmanship, describing facts and figures. 

  “Well I’ll be,” Rocky said in an almost hushed voice. “That’s Mr. M’s handwriting! But I can’t make sense of it. This is all stuff for a speakeasy, but not the Lackadaisy.” 

You re-read a few parts, then it clicked, “That’s because he was trying to build a new speakeasy!” 

Serafine

She got a few looks from the host family. Of course they’d lean more towards “traditional ways” and looked down their noses at this woman in men’s clothes, such audacity. It was a small miracle you managed to stop Serafine from killing Clarence Pearl where he stood for one snide comment. The daughter at least, Ariel Pearl, came over and apologized for her family’s rudeness. Which was a huge relief, because, knowing Serafine, she and her brother might come back another time to terrorize them when you were safely out of the way. 

  “Okay. She gets to live,” Serafine muttered. 

  “Hey, how about we hit the dance floor for a bit?” you asked. Hoping to both distract her, and give her an outlet for her energy before it turned violent. 

She gave it a thought, before smiling, “Sure t’ing Cher(ie). I’m leadin.’” 

She grabbed your hand and guided you to the floor. 

A few hours later, after the giant marble cake had been cut, and the evening was beginning to draw to a close, Serafine decided now was a good time to go snooping. For what? She didn’t know. Atlas May used to live there, so maybe there was some secret worth discovering still hidden on the property somewhere. 

Who were you to decline some real life sleuthing? 

After skulking around a few rooms (you were pretty sure Serafine had helped herself to some pieces of jewelry and what not) you two finally found the study. Several bookcases along the walls, a portrait of what was likely a Pearl Family relative, and a stately looking desk and chair. 

Serafine went for the desk first, rifling through the drawers like a bandit (at this point, you both kind of were bandits). You leaned your back against it to survey the room, trying to picture where a secret passage or something might be hidden. You thoughtfully allowed your fingers to slide against the edge of the desk. Then you felt it. It was barely there. When you turned to inspect the desk more closely, you saw it. 

A small rectangular seam, barely the width of a hair and camouflaged to blend in with the rest of the desk. A hidden drawer! 

  “I found something!” you couldn’t keep the delight from your voice. Serafine circled around to join you. 

  “Ahh,” she ran her fingers over the seam, “good eye Cher(ie), now, let’s get dis open, oui?” 

With a flick of her wrist, her switchblade was ready to go. The secret drawer turned out to be rather stubborn. No matter what she tried, it wouldn’t open. You were afraid she’d resort to flat out cutting the damn desk open. She cursed in French, frustrated, and smacked a fist down on the desk. 

The drawer popped open. The both of you stared.

  “…I meant ta do dat,” Serafine said cooly, putting the knife away. You just smiled knowingly. 

From the compartment, you retrieved a hardbound book. “Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid.” Strange, why would anyone want to hide a fairy tale book? You flipped to the first page. At the top corner, in neat cursive writing, there were initials. 

  “A.M,” you said, nearly bouncing with excitement. “Atlas May!” 

  “Didn’t t’ink he’d be into dat stuff,” Serafine commented. You turned the page. Both your expressions turned shocked. “What in de world?” 

Every page had been written over. It outlined all sorts of things about St. Louis, the rivers, moonshine production, etc. 

  “Is this for the Lackadaisy?” you asked. 

  “No Cher(ie), dis is for somet’ing else. Atlas May was lookin’ to expand his empire into a second establishment.” 

Viktor

Not even their enormous wealth gave any of the Pearl Family hosts the guts to say one word about Viktor’s choice of clothing. Well, except for that Clarence jerk. Viktor didn’t say anything back. Instead he glared at the guy so fiercely you’re seventy-five percent certain he wet his pants. 

With that, the two of you wandered into the party.

Dancing was out because of Viktor’s knee. So the two of you grabbed some plates, piled on the snacks and headed out back to the much quieter garden area. 

   “Mmm,” you licked remnant crumbs from your lips, “these strawberry tart things are gooood. I was kidding before when I said we could sneak half the buffet table out of here, but now I’m seriously considering just taking all the tarts home.”

You looked up at him. He was staring off into the distance at something. Up above, you could see an open window, a deep wine red curtain fluttering out of it. 

  “Viktor?” you asked. Finally, he came back to earth. 

  “Sorry,” he rumbled. “Dat vas Atlas’ room before. Vhere he did all his… planning.” 

  “Really,” intrigued, you looked back up at the window. “I bet I could make that. If you gave me a boost.” 

His one eye went wide. He stared at you like you’d gone crazy, “Vhat!?” 

  “Yeah, it’ll be fun! I’ve never tried going through someone’s window before. If we get caught, I can just say I was doing ‘research’ for a story. And, I wanna check out this Atlas guys stuff. Maybe he left something behind?” 

  “…No.” 

  “Please?” 

  “NO.” 

  “Pretty please?” 

  “The visual appearance of the ‘please’ does not matter!” 

  “Listen, we do this, and then right after we’ll call it a night, go home and eat our rich people food in complete silence, okay? Promise.” 

Viktor inhaled through his nose, then exhaled, shoulders slumping, “Fine.” 

You grinned ear to ear eagerly.

You’d already known Viktor was strong as an ox. It was still kind of a shock that he could lift you so easily. And even hold you up with just one arm. He helped you up to the open window. You felt like such a sneak thief poking your head in to look around. You mentally clamped down on the angry voice of your boss in your head telling you you’re fired for doing such a stupid stunt to the radio station’s sponsors.

Inside the study, you honestly didn't know where to start looking. Bookcases were famous for hiding secret doors, but that seemed too obvious. Same for the portrait. You leaned against a wooden desk, drumming your fingers on it as you thought. Where would a gangster hide something valuable in his own home office? 

You looked down at the desk.

It couldn’t be that easy, could it? 

You carefully pulled each drawer out, all the way to inspect the inside of the desk as well. Nothing. You put everything back where it belonged, sighing in disappointment. Perhaps something less obvious? You examined the desk more closely.

This time your efforts were rewarded when you found the thin seam of a concealed drawer in the front edge of the desk. Ah-ha! Pay dirt! If only you could get it open. 

You tried pressing on it, pulling it, scratching around for some kind of handle…nothing worked. Viktor was probably getting concerned by now. You really did not want to give up though. 

  “Stupid thing!” you hit the desk in frustration. 

Somehow, against all odds, that had been the right thing to do. The drawer popped open. After a few stunned moments of silence, you squealed in delight. You practically ripped the contents out of it. It was a hardbound copy of “Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid.” Huh, odd choice for a gangster. Assuming it used to belong to Atlas May. You closed the drawer and went back to the window. 

  “Viktor,” you called out, trying not to be too loud. He was right where you left him below, staring up at you. “Catch.” 

You dropped the book out the window. Viktor caught it easily. Then you started making your way down as well. You, uh, hadn’t really thought about this part. There weren’t many good places to get a grip either- 

Your hands slipped off the smooth stone. A surprised, dismayed, cry escaped you. For a few seconds you were in free fall. Then you landed on something. Something fuzzy and warm. 

Viktor was holding you in his arms, bridal style, a pained expression on his face. His knees! 

Quickly you scrambled out of his grasp. 

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Viktor, are you alright?” 

  “I…should…be asking you that,” he panted, still recovering from the surprise strain he’d had to go through. 

  “I’m okay. Thanks to you. Are you going to be okay though?” 

  “Da.” Viktor straightened up, “I vill live.” 

You nodded and the two of you, remembering to take your free food with you, went back to his truck. Before heading home though, you wanted to ask about the book. 

  “Is Atlas’ handwriting,” Viktor confirmed. “Atlas’ book.” 

  “The Little Mermaid?” you quirked a brow. Then opened the book to find all the pages had been written over. “Woah!” 

  “Atlas vas alvays man of great ambition,” Viktor said. “Those are plans to build second speakeasy.”  

Wick

He was just as rich as they were, so you were baffled to see the Pearl family act kind of snobbish towards Wick. Apparently because he worked for his wealth, that somehow made his money less valuable? How did that make sense? You’d thought everyone loved a Self-Made-Man. 

The youngest offspring, Clarence, took it a step further by referring to you as a charity case. 

For somebody who said he didn’t know the Pearl family very well, Wick sure knew a whole lot about what kind of sordid shenanigans the youngest Pearl got up to, and how often he’d needed his mommy and daddy to bail him out when he messed up. Wick did not hold back on those. It even got a few laughs out of Clarence’s siblings, his sister Ariel especially. 

You were impressed. Sometimes Wick was just too polite for his own good. Seeing him stand up for himself was great.

  “How’d you know all that stuff?” you asked, once you were safely out of earshot of the Pearls. 

  “Mr. Church and the other fellows at the lodge love to gossip,” he said with a shrug. “But enough about that, we have a party to enjoy.” 

A few wonderful hours of dancing, talking, and laughing passed by in a colorful blur. When it came time to cut the cake however, your curiosity got the better of you. You managed to coax Wick into going exploring with you to see if you could find anything…interesting. 

After checking a few rooms, you discovered the upstairs study: prime real estate for anything of a secretive nature. 

  “Um, exactly what are we looking for?” Wick asked, watching with some bemusement as you knocked on the walls, checking for hollow spaces. 

  “We’ll know it when we find it,” you said confidently. You spotted the portrait of a man who bore some resemblance to Mr. Pearl. “Can I borrow your cane for minute please?” 

Wick obliged. You used it to lift the portrait, checking if anything was behind it. 

Nothing. Drat. 

  “But, even if we find anything it’ll belong to the Pearls,” he pointed out.

  “If we find something of Atlas May’s they’ll never know we took it, cause they never knew it was here to begin with,” you said as you handed him the cane back. 

  “In that case though, wouldn’t the item in question belong to Mitzi? As his widow?” 

You hated that he was right. You really didn’t like that he’d had to bring her up too.

  “…How ‘bout we cross that bridge when we get to it?” you said. This was not a conversation you wanted to have right now, especially while rifling through your boss’ boss’ stuff for anything even slightly valuable. Monetarily, or historically, you’d settle for either. “Now are you going to help, or just stand there?” 

Wick sighed in defeat, “Very well. I wouldn’t know anything about secret passages though. Everything of value that I have I keep in a safe or locked in my desk.” 

The desk? Your attention went to the old wooden desk near the back of the room, framed between two tall windows with red curtains. 

  “Good idea Wick,” you smiled. 

  “Oh, of course,” he nodded happily. Then, “What was my idea?” 

You were already examining the desk. You wondered if you should even bother opening the drawers. They didn’t have locks on them, so whatever was in there probably wasn’t all that important. You hunted for something less obvious. And joy of joys when you found that oh so thin seam in the front edge. 

  “Here!” you almost shouted. “I found something!” 

  “You did?” He knelt down beside you for a better look, “My word!” 

You tried pressing on it, pulling it, jiggling it loose, but it was stuck tight. You glared at it. So close…and yet so far. 

  “We could try knocking,” Wick said jokingly, tapping it with his cane. “Maybe someone will answer.”

You had an idea. 

  “Wick, do that again, but harder.” 

  “Uh, alright.” 

He stood up and gave the desk a good smack. The little drawer popped open. You cheered. 

  “Woo! Go team! Nice job!” 

  “That actually worked?” Wick was astonished. 

  “Yeah, I guess the problem was it was jammed,” you said, looking inside it. 

There was only a single hardbound book inside the drawer. You took it out. Both of you were puzzled to find it was a story book. “Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid,” to be precise. 

  “Atlas was always such a stoic sort of fellow,” Wick commented. “I can’t imagine that’d be his.” 

You opened to the first page. The initials “A.M.” were written nice and big in neat cursive in the top corner. You smiled cheekily at him, eyebrows raised. 

  “…Well, I’ve been wrong before.” 

You flipped to the next page. Neither of you said anything. 

Page after page, all of it had been marked up in careful handwritten notes about all manner of things. Wick squinted at the writing, frowning. Without his reading glasses he couldn’t make heads or tails of most of it. You explained it seemed a collection of random trivia and lists. What did it all add up to? 

Then it hit you, “Atlas was building a second speakeasy!” 

Zib

He was clingier than usual. He held onto your arm like a kid afraid of getting separated from his parent. You wondered if Zib was afraid the ghost of Atlas would rise up out of his grave and chase his former employee out of his former home. 

The Pearl family had been the bare minimum amount of gracious greeting you two. You explaining that you worked for JAZCAT, and Zib was your Plus-one for the evening, and that was how you’d gotten through the front doors.

You heard one of them mutter “Riffraff” under his breath as you both walked away. You felt certain it was that Clarence guy. Out of all of them, he had the most “Holier-Than-Thou” aura of the bunch. 

Zib’s spirit seemed to lift a little when you got into the ballroom where the hired band was playing. Mercifully, a Jazz band. Your kind of music and his. 

He wasn’t as good at dancing as he was at playing saxophone, but you didn’t mind. He was starting to act like himself again. And true to form, he ran out of energy in about twenty minutes. Honestly, that was probably a new record for him. 

The two of you found a couch to sit on and catch your breath. Zib had snagged a glass of something from one of the waiters walking around with drink trays and swallowed it down in seconds. 

  “Where did your jacket go?” you asked. Zib was somehow down to his vest and shirt again. He looked down at himself quizzically. 

  “Hm. Not a clue,” he said. Then lit a cigarette. 

You blinked. Well, you supposed if Zib wasn’t worried about it, you didn’t need to be either. 

  “So,” you hoped you weren’t about to say anything wrong, you just really wanted to know, “why didn’t Mr. May want you at his house?” 

Zib froze up mid-inhale of smoke. He looked at you, quietly. 

  “Mitzi,” he finally said. He spoke no more. 

  “Oh. I see.” You found your hands rather interesting at the moment.

Atlas May had been the jealous type then huh? You knew Zib and Mitzi’s shared history already. It wasn’t a stretch to think that Atlas was only agreeable as far as music in his club went (as long as said music never left) and only tolerated Zib the rest of the time. Your brain veered into darker places. 

  “Did he…” your voice was a whisper. You scooted closer so only he could hear, “Did he ever threaten you?” 

Zib closed his eyes for a moment. He almost looked peaceful. You knew better. 

  “He didn’t need to.” 

You weren’t sure what snapped inside you, but you were definitely angry now. The question was, what were you going to do about that?

  “C’mon,” you grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. You dragged him towards the stairs. 

  “Where are we going?” 

  “Not sure yet. All I know is since Atlas’ grave isn’t a viable option. We’ll have to desecrate his stuff instead.” 

  “What?” 

  “There must be a few things he left behind here we can break. Or steal.”

  “What?! (Y/N) the Pearls own everything here now!” 

  “Eh, that’ll work too. I heard that Clarence jerk call us Riffraff earlier.” 

  “No, we can’t just…he called us what?”

And that’s how the two of you eventually ended up in the study, going over the rather impressive book collection kept there. Judging by the layer of dust, the Pearls probably didn’t read them very often. You were debating which ones you could give a better home to. Rejects were tossed on the floor. You found one particularly egregious text by Sigmund Freud of all people. You gave that one a good hard throw, managing to strike the office desk square on the front. 

  “Nice pitch, Dove.” 

  “Thanks,” you chirped. “Hey, wait a minute.” 

You noticed something odd about the desk. There was a little drawer opened up in the front. Had that been there when you came in? You looked inside. 

  “Oh!” you exclaimed and picked up a hardbound book, “The Little Mermaid! I used to read this all the time when I was little. What’s it doing in there though?” 

  “You got me,” Zib shrugged. 

You opened the book. A distraught noise came out of you. All the pages had been written over by someone. 

  “What a waste of a perfectly good story book,” you lamented. You were about to close it up and put it back when Zib stopped you. 

  “Wait,” he said. His tone was hushed. “That’s Atlas’ handwriting.” 

Your stomach did a somersault. That changed everything. The two of you glossed over the pages, trying to get a sense of what Atlas had been doing. 

  “I’ll be damned,” said Zib. “The bastard was putting together a second speakeasy!” 

Chapter Text

The Mermaid hides the secret in the vessel of the Queen.

She’ll give it up in exchange, 

for her voice, her heart, and her dream.

Where the Kudu roam

find the golden tongue inside

the stone cold blooded’s home.

Listen for ticking of a heart 

woven into the dead.

Fish tails are where you start.

At the place where day meets night,

play our favorite song.

Walk off the trident, get your footwork right. 

The discovery at the party is a lot to take in. The both of you need to sit down and have a conversation in private. It’s time to make a decision that could affect the rest of your lives. 

Freckle

There was no way you were taking the book to his house. His mother wouldn’t grant the two of you any privacy whatsoever! You directed the cab driver to take you both to your apartment instead. 

Once safely inside, you both sat on the couch, sharing the quilt over your shoulders, and went through the book like giddy teenagers raiding some poor sap’s diary. 

Or, you were giddy. Poor Freckle kept looking around anxiously as though he expected Atlas’ wrathful spirit to show up any second and drag the two of you to Hell. 

They were definitely plans for a speakeasy. Though, for the life of you, you couldn’t guess the location. Freckle suggested that it might be underground too, same as the Lackadaisy. That could be why the building specifications didn’t line up with anything you were familiar with. 

What really caught both your attention though was finding out that Atlas had secretly been taking out a percentage of the Lackadaisy’s nightly profits, and tucking them away in a little nest egg. Freckle did the math in his head. It added up to a very large number indeed. The money was meant to help fund the second location, or bail out the first if things ever went bad. 

The irony. 

Here’s the kicker: Atlas didn’t trust anyone not to go after this loot while he wasn’t looking. So to protect it, he hid it somewhere. To access it, you had to follow certain instructions. That came in the form of this really weird poem. 

On the other hand, it kind of explained why all this was written in a “The Little Mermaid” book. 

  “What do you think Freckle?” 

  “I think this is all insane,” he frowned worriedly. 

  “Well, yeah, it is. But it’s exciting too. Think what we could do with all that money!” you grinned ear to ear, brimming with ideas. “You could go to college, or a trade school, and I could produce my own radio show myself! I wouldn’t need my boss’s approval anymore. Just find a few good actors and do it!” 

You saw a little spark in his eyes when you mentioned trade school. However, he withdrew again. 

  “What about…the Lackadaisy? And everyone there?”

By “everyone”, you’re pretty sure he meant his cousin. You knew exactly what that danger prone idiot would do with Freckle’s share if he got ahold of it: deliver it to the proprietress, Mitzi May, hog all the glory, and extend the already ridiculously prolonged dying gasp of the Lackadaisy. You still liked the establishment and most of the people there, it’s just keeping it open increases Freckle’s chances of getting shot while bootlegging. And he’d never wanted to become a criminal in the first place.

  “You can do whatever you want with your half Freckle,” you said diplomatically. 

There was no way of knowing how long it would take to find the fortune. Perhaps you could talk him into keeping his riches for himself while you searched. 

  “My half?” he looked up at you with his sweet round orange eyes that made you melt. 

  “If you decide to help me hunt for it, yeah. We’ll split it down the middle, fifty fifty. Whaddya say? Partners?” 

You stuck out your hand. 

  “You’re not gonna leave this alone, no matter what I say are you,” he was going for exasperated, but you could see the little smile on his face. 

  “Afraid not,” you said. He eyed your hand. 

  “Alright, partners.”

You both shook on it. This was going to be fun!  

Ivy

The two of you fled the party like thieves (which, technically, you were). 

You both made it back to your apartment safe and sound. Ivy’s dorm had been closer, but the two of you needed somewhere private to talk and Ivy’s dorm mates weren’t exactly known for minding their own business. You let her have the quilt. The two of you went thorough Atlas’ secret book while sipping on hot coco and munching on some of your home baked cookies. 

Ivy had been in a mood the whole way back from the party. You weren’t altogether sure how to feel either. Atlas was her godfather. He was also a ruthless gangster. He used to read her that mermaid story as a kid, and it clearly meant a great deal to her. Yet that didn’t stop him from using it as a ledger. She could never look at it again without being reminded of his dark side. 

  “We have to find that treasure,” she said. From her tone, there was no room for debate. 

You didn’t know if it was because she had something to prove, or if she wanted some kind of revenge. It didn’t matter. 

  “I got your back Ivy,” you said.

Apparently Atlas had been squirreling away money from the Lackadaisy for a rainy day for long enough to build up quite a sum. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to be cryptic about its location and how to get to it. The instructions were in poem form, and heavy with metaphor. You had to find a mermaid’s voice, heart, and dream. As a creative writer yourself though, you felt confident you could decode it. 

  “Glad to hear it (Y/N). Between the two of us, we’ll find that treasure in no time and split the profits seventy-thirty!” 

  “Yeah- what?” you shot her an annoyed look. 

  “Well, I found the book, and I was the one who wanted to see the study in the first place,” she said in that self-assured way of hers. “Plus, as Atlas’ goddaughter, I’m entitled to an inheritance.” 

Oh hell no. You adored Ivy, but you weren’t letting this slide. It was time to unleash your secret weapon. 

  “Fifty. Fifty,” you looked her in the eyes, “and I won’t ring your dad and tell him I’m the one whose been writing your book reports for you.” 

She gasped, “You wouldn’t! You’re kidding!” 

  “I never kid when it comes to treasure hunts and mermaids,” you said with a straight face. 

You could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to find a loophole, or another angle to spin this. There weren’t any. You knew. This was no bluff either. 

  “Fine,” she relented with a pout. “Fifty fifty.” 

  “Glad to hear it,” you smiled and raised you mug. “To our new joint business venture?” 

  “…Our new joint business venture.” 

The two of you toasted. 

Mitzi

This was not how you’d expected the night to go. At all. 

Your emotions were being tugged between two extremes. Being angry at Mitzi for still being so hung up on Atlas, and feeling sorry for her because he’d hurt her yet again. Was this how Zib felt after breaking up with Mitzi? No wonder the guy was half drunk all the time. 

  “I don’t even know what this mumbo jumbo means,” Mitzi murmured, plopping the book down on her desk. Yet another former possession of Atlas May. 

She was referring to the poem left behind by her deceased husband that was instructions on how to find a lost fortune he’d hidden away. A fortune he’d gown by steadily feeding it a percentage of the Lackadaisy’s profits. Mitzi had never known because up until Atlas’ death she’d never done a lick of the bookkeeping. That and he’d never breathed a word about opening a second gin joint. 

You picked up the book, “I think I could make some sense of it, with enough time and research. We’ll track down this treasure.” 

  “Thanks Honey, I can always count on you,” she gave a little smile. She then ruined moment with, “And don’t worry, you’ll get a nice cut of the fortune for your help.” 

Cut!? 

You wanted to help Mitzi. Truly you did. However, you had your own dreams and aspirations to think about too. It was frustrating that you’d have to settle for whatever amount she’d decide to “spare” for you…or did you? 

  “I want half,” you said bluntly. Firing your shot. 

She went very quiet. The surprise on her face was subtle. She pursed her lips as her ears went back slowly. 

  “Half?” she repeated. “What do you need half for?” 

  “To ensure I’ll have enough money to go around my boss and produce a radio program on my own. A little extra on top sounds good too.” 

She didn’t respond. You continued. 

  “Listen, from where I’m standing, you can’t do this without me,” you said. Mitzi narrowed her eyes. “What? You think the motley trio can handle it? They barely get through the simplest supply runs. Zib and the band wont get off their haunches. Your best bet is Viktor, but, you know, his knees.” 

Mitzi was still holding out. 

  “Of course, if you’re really desperate, you could call up Mordecai-“ 

  “No!” Mitzi burst out. She took a breath to calm down. “No. Alright Darlin’ you’ve made your point. An even split both ways.”

You felt quite pleased with yourself. 

She sat back in her chair, regarding you for a moment. A little smirk crept onto her lips. 

  “When did you learn how to drive such a hard bargain?” She sounded kind of impressed. 

  “I learned from the best,” you said, nodding to her. 

She laughed. Mitzi got up to unlock the liquor cabinet. She poured two drinks, and handed one to you. 

  “To our new partnership,” she said. 

  “Our new partnership.” 

Mordecai

He sulked the entire cab ride back to your apartment. Like a kid who got a toy car for his birthday when he’d had his heart set on a train. 

He sat down exactly in the middle of your couch to study the book while you went to put on the kettle for tea- the only liquid substance apart from water Mordecai would allow himself to drink. When you came back, you sat down right beside him. His ears flattened.

  “You’re throwing off the symmetry,” he growled.

  “It’s my couch, in my apartment,” you said cooly. “I’ll be as asymmetrical as I please.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes.

He shuffled away from you to recenter things on the couch. Satisfied, Mordecai went back to the book. 

  “Was this what you were looking for?” you asked, remembering he was already going through books when you found him in the study back at the Pearl’s Mansion. 

  “I remembered Atlas would use books at times to jot notes in. Sometimes we’d use them like letters back and forth until we ran out of pages to write on. We’d burn them after. This is much more in depth. I also believe he limited this venture to this one book specifically, which is how I never came across these plans previously.” He furrowed his brow, “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me about this. It’s exactly the sort of thing he’d need me for.” 

Mordecai seemed genuinely hurt his boss had kept secrets from him. You chose not to bring up how that sort of thing was probably common in their line of work. Mordecai sounded like he idolized Atlas, going off the scant few conversations when Mordecai was willing to talk about him. Oh, and there was the whole trying to solve Atlas’ murder project he was devoting his life to. So far this second speakeasy case didn’t seem much connected with that. 

The Mermaid poem Atlas had left behind seemed to offend Mordecai on a personal level. 

  “How dare he leave instructions like this! How is anyone supposed to find this so-called fortune he’s left behind?” he fumed. 

  “That’s the point,” you said. “It’s not supposed to be easy. You know how treasure hunts work right? These are the clues we have to follow to get the keys to unlock the treasure trove that the mermaid is guarding.” 

It was clear as day to you. Mordecai looked at you like you’d grown a second head. He scowled. 

  “This is not like one of your silly stories! This is real money taken from the Lackadaisy and hidden by a real gangster! It’s not Aztec gold or pirate - what’s the word?…Booty!” 

It was so out of the blue, you had no chance of stifling your laughter before it burst out. Which just made him confused. 

  “What? Is that not the word? Am I saying it wrong? Is it boo-tay? Boo-tie?” 

  “No, stop,” you wheezed through your laughter. “You had it right the first time!” 

  “Then why are you laughing? This is serious business.”

  “Oh yeah, serious. We just need to seriously find a mermaid’s voice, heart, and dream that your serious boss left behind.”

  “That’s the other thing: You keep saying ‘We’. I let you read the book, and as far as I’m concerned that’s where your involvement ends.” 

  “You aren’t good at metaphors Mordecai, which is what the instructions are written in. Don’t you think this venture could benefit from someone with a creative touch?” you smiled, batting your eyes. 

Deadpan, Mordecai said, “No.” 

He snapped the book shut, got up, and headed to your door. You stood up. 

  “Thank you for tea, and the night out (Y/N). However, I work alone,” he put his coat on. “Good Night.” 

With that, he left your apartment with the book. You listened to his footsteps grow faint in the hallway to the stairs. You flopped back down on your couch sullenly. A whole flurry of emotions flew through you. 

If that was how Mordecai wanted to play it, fine. There was nothing stopping you from doing your own solo investigation. If you found the first key before he did, he’d have to join forces with you. Right? 

Nico

Serafine wasn’t in their suite when the two of you got back. She was having some fun downstairs apparently. There were, however, a few followers in the room. You never knew how to behave around these guys. You got the sense they only tolerated you because Nico liked you. 

He greeted them warmly, then steered you to the bedroom - the only place that was off limits to the rest of the congregation without explicit permission.You’re pretty sure that Zumi lady, or whatever, was glaring at you for getting the privilege. You were just trying to keep your thoughts focused on the matter at hand to keep from blushing at the implications. 

Luckily, the bedroom had a nice window seat that you seized upon immediately. Nico flopped himself on the bed with a content sigh. 

  “Dat was a good night Cher(ie),” he purred. “Good food, good music, good company,” he waggled his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, “and, we got something of old Atlas May’s.” 

You pulled the book out from the inside of your coat. Not wasting another moment you opened it up. Your eyes started devouring every word Atlas had written, trying to commit it to memory while simultaneously piecing it all together like a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Hey. I wanna read dat too,” Nico sat himself up against the headboard. He patted the spot next to him, “Come on over.” 

  “Uhm-uh,” you devolved into sputtering. 

  “Aww, Cher(ie) it’s okay. I don’t bite,” he grinned, leaning on his elbow. “Unless you into dat.” 

Your instinctive response was to hug the book to your chest as your tail puffed up. An embarrassing squeaky noise emitted from your throat. Nico sensed he’d come off a bit too strong. 

  “We won’ do anything you don’ wanna do Cher(ie). Promise,” he said softly. 

That…helped. For all his villainous qualities, Nico was a man of his word. It still felt like you were doing something filthy as you timidly made your way to the bed and climbed in beside him on top of the covers. He nestled you right in. 

  “Dere we go! Comfy?” 

  “Mm-Hm,” you could barely look at him. It felt like your face was on fire. He had to remind you to open the book back up. 

Grateful for something to focus on, the two of you started pouring over the left behind machinations of a dead gang leader. 

You discovered that Atlas had been saving up a fortune for this new speakeasy he wanted to create. He left behind instructions to find the keys to access it. In poem form, for some reason. 

  “Y/N, you know what dis means,” he asked you. He had that excited gleam in his eye. The one he got right before a really good fight. The feeling was contagious. 

  “Treasure hunt?” you grinned. 

  “Oui! Treasure hunt.” 

At some point, Serafine returned to find you two sound asleep cuddled together against the head board. It was, she admitted to herself begrudgingly, the damn cutest thing she’d ever seen.  

Rocky

The two of you could not leave the party fast enough.

For one thing, you’d made an amazing discovery that almost certainly led to adventure and excitement! 

You’d also half destroyed the study you’d found it in, which would’ve certainly resulted in your firing and/or jailing for destruction of private property had you been discovered. 

But let’s focus on the first thing. 

You invited Rocky up to your apartment for coco and home baked cookies. By his expression you’d have thought he’d been invited to the queen’s castle. 

He devoured the whole plate of cookies in about three minutes flat. You let it go, of course, because you suspected Rocky didn’t have a steady food supply. Your attention instead went to the book. Your heart leapt at the realization that Atlas had left behind an untapped fortune in accumulated savings, along with instructions to gain access to it! 

When you showed it to Rocky, he looked ready to burst with excitement. 

  “Lost Treasure!” he gasped. “Wow! Miss M. will be so happy when she finds out!” 

Your elation plummeted like a bird shot dead out of the sky. You’d completely forgotten about that. Slowly, you inhaled, searching for the right words. 

  “I bet she will be,” you said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. “But, I bet she’d be even happier if you kept it a secret until after we found the treasure. You know, don’t want to make promises you can’t keep and all that.” 

  “Oh! You’re right!” he nodded emphatically. “She’ll be so much more impressed if I show up with the loot instead. I can’t wait to see her face light up when she sees all that money. We’re gonna save the Lackadaisy!” 

  “Lets not get ahead of ourselves,” you cut in. Rocky winced a little. “Mitzi’s debt is pretty steep. And don’t you want something for yourself?” 

Rocky stared at you. 

  “You know, something big. That’s just yours?”

No change. 

  “Like, a place to hang your hat?” 

  “Mmmm, I don’t think I could fit a coatrack into my car (Y/N).” 

Goddamnit! 

  “A home Rocky!” you burst out. “An apartment! Or a rented room at least! You can’t stay in that car forever!” 

  “But,” Rocky’s ears flattened. He spoke meekly, “Miss M. needs the money. And the Lackadaisy is my home as much as it’s hers.” 

…Drat. You couldn’t stay mad when he was giving you those big blue sad eyes. You pinched the bridge of your muzzle, willing yourself to calm down. 

  “Alright. Alright, we don’t have to decide right now what to do with the money, I suppose,” you said. 

  “What would you do with the money, (Y/N)?” Rocky asked. He’d pulled your quilt around his shoulders.  

  “I’d finally get my radio show off the ground. With enough cash, I can produce it on my own without needing my boss’ permission.” 

  “Oooh, can I be in it?”

  “Hmm, sure. I think I can find a few spots for your fiddling.” 

Rocky’s huge bright grin came back. He abandoned the quilt, and his spot on the couch to wrap his noodle arms around you in a hug. 

  “Thank you! (Y/N),” he stood back enough to look you in the eye, “I promise, we’ll find that treasure, save the Lackadaisy, and get your show broadcasted!” 

It was impossible for you not to melt.

Serafine

Nico wasn’t in the hotel when the two of you got back. There were a few congregants milling about their suite however. The Savoys were pretty trusting of these people. They welcomed Serafine with nods and little bows. You were regarded as merely existing. 

Serafine guided you into the bedroom. You knew it was only because it was the one room in the suite her followers weren’t allowed in and the two of you wanted privacy to go over Atlas May’s book, but you could feel their eyes burning holes into your back. You knew what this looked like. The thought made your face flush. 

You felt awkward sitting on the foot of her bed, and busily tried to distract yourself by burying your nose in the book. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Serafine hanging her hat, coat and sash in a closet. She shook out her long curly hair. 

You swallowed, and turned the page.

That’s when you found the poem. It was a bombshell hidden inside a bombshell. The rest of the world fell away as you delved into it. 

So when Serafine plopped down beside you with a cheery, “What’cha find Cher(ie)?” you nearly dropped the book with a start. Once you gulped your heart down from your throat to your chest, you started to explain. 

  “Look here, Mr. May was taking a percentage of the profits from the Lackadaisy and hiding it away somewhere. He was going to use it on a second speakeasy, or reinforce his original one if need be.”

  “It needs it,” Serafine grinned like a shark. “But dey ain’t gettin’ it. Any word on where dis loot’s hidden?” 

  “May was cryptic about that,” you showed her the poem. “I think if we find those keys, that’ll let us access the treasure, and it’ll be ours for the taking!” 

  “I like how to t’ink Cher(ie). More money for us, and also some for you,” she said. 

  “You mean, an even split down the middle, right?” Your own bluntness surprised you. There wasn’t anything you could do if Serafine and her brother decided to give you a smaller cut, but you felt you should clarify what you wanted anyway. 

Serafine hummed, “Play your cards right, and maybe you will.” 

Close enough. You’d work on it. 

Viktor

You couldn’t read in the truck. It was too dark. Plus, reading in cars gave you motion sickness anyways. 

The ride back to Viktor’s home was quiet. Exactly how he preferred it. This time, there was an unspoken undercurrent of tension. He was tensing for the worst. You were bubbling under the surface with joy of discovery. 

Once you made it back, you placed the food you’d brought home on a table for later and went to join Viktor. He eased himself into his chair. You perched yourself next to him on the arm, leaning against him for balance, and so he could see the book too. 

There was a lot to go through. Viktor made a few comments here and there, otherwise this was all new information to him. He’d had no idea Atlas was squirreling away bits of the Lackadaisy’s profits in some secret hideout. He had even less idea of what to make of the poem. His English was good, but flowery metaphorical language was still tricky for him sometimes. 

  “It’s instructions in code,” you explained. “He’s saying we need to find these three things and the mermaid will give us the treasure.

  “…Right,” he huffed gruffly. He didn’t seem convinced. 

  “I think we should take a crack at it,” you said. 

Viktor’s ears went back as he made a displeased noise. 

  “Oh come on. You could use the money,” you said as encouragingly as you could. “And I’d finally have enough to produce my radio show. I wouldn’t need my stupid boss’s permission anymore, just hire some actors, rent the studio, and do it!”

Viktor inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. His green eye opened to look at you knowingly. 

  “You are going to go on ridiculous mermaid hunt vith or vithout me aren’t you?” he grumbled. 

  “Pretty much,” you shrugged, smiling. 

  “Then I vill go too.” 

  “I’m glad,” you said, leaning a little more on him to enjoy the soft tickle of his fur. The warmth of his body. “This wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without you.” 

Wick

He drove you home. The book sat securely in your lap the entire way. You kept staring at it, itching to decipher everything inside. When you reached your apartment building, you invited him inside for hot coco and some cookies you’d baked the other day. Something to munch on while you went over Atlas’ notes. 

You read probably half the book out loud to him, since he couldn’t read very much without his glasses. You were both shocked to find out Atlas had been taking out a percentage of the Lackadaisy’s profits every night and transferring them to some secret hideout. Apparently guarded by a mermaid…? 

  “I can’t for the life of me think of any place in St. Louis that would have a mermaid,” said Wick. 

  “A bit of digging at the library might fix that,” you offered. “Might help with solving these clues too.” 

  “You’re not seriously thinking of tracking these, uh, items down are you?”

  “Of course I am,” you said, no hesitation. “With this kind of money I could produce my radio show on my own, without my boss.” 

  “Oh…Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” 

You felt like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Your body froze up. Wick was giving you a borderline sad look that made you want to hide under your coffee table. 

  “I’d be happy to help you fund-“ 

  “No!” That came out louder than you’d meant. You felt guilty when he flinched. “No, thank you Wick. But I gotta do this on my own. And you’re my friend. Asking you for the money felt…wrong. I didn’t want you to think I only liked you because you’re rich.” 

It was hard to meet his gaze. Softly, he laid his hand on your balled up  fist. For the split second your eyes were on it, your brain wondered how such a small touch could send such big shivers up your spine. 

  “(Y/N)?” You looked up at him. Damn him for having such beautiful soft blue eyes. “I think I understand. When I was just starting out I hated that I needed my parents’ money to just to get things rolling. I wanted so badly to prove I could run a successful business on my own. As hard as I tried though, I found that I still needed help.” 

You nodded for him to continue. 

  “I can’t make you take my money, so I won’t offer again. I would, however, be grateful if you let me help you in your search.” 

You blinked, “Really?” 

He smiled and nodded, “Of course. I’ve been out on a few archeological digs in the past, if I can help you that way instead, I’ll gladly go along.” 

  “Even though the money technically belongs to Mitzi May?” you asked. As much as you didn’t want to talk about it (or her), you needed to be sure. 

Hesitation crossed his features. It took him a few seconds to find the words. “Um…yes. It appears so,” he seemed surprised at himself. “Mitzi’s a tough lady though. She’ll probably pull through without it…maybe….hopefully…” 

You reached across the couch and hugged him. To stop him from overthinking things. And to express how grateful you were, truly. 

Zib

You couldn’t wait to get home and read through your new discovery. 

Once the two of you arrived at your apartment, you were more than happy to let Zib stay the night on your couch. You weren’t sleepy anyways, eager to spend all night reading through Atlas May’s secret other-speakeasy book with Zib. 

However, Zib didn’t seem to share your enthusiasm. He was low energy by default, but as he sat on your couch next to you, your quilt on his shoulders, and listening to you go on about what it could all possibly mean, he seemed to grow more and more distant. He slowly stopped responding to your remarks. Even when you asked him directly what he thought of something, he’d either huff, or shrug, or, worst of all, ignore you. It was starting you make you anxious. Sometimes Zib would disappear into his own head and it could be difficult to pull him back out. 

Plus, carrying on a one-sided conversation just felt awkward. 

  “Zib, are you listening?” you asked. You got a soft kind of half grunt in response. “If we find all three of these keys, it’ll unlock a treasure! Isn’t that exciting?” 

He snorted. His golden eyes peered out from under his hat at you, narrowed and suspicious. 

  “Sounds like a wild goose chase to me,” he said dismissively. His tone made you bristle for a second. 

  “It’s not. This book is way too detailed to be some kind of fake,” you said. 

  “Trust me, I knew Atlas May. Fairy tales, poems, and mermaids were not his thing.”

  “Well I don’t see the harm in just searching for-“ 

  “Drop it (Y/N)”, he growled. 

Those words were spoken so softly, and yet so filled with fury. You recoiled away from him like he’d bitten you. He’d never spoken to you like that before.

And then the moment passed. Whatever shadow was over him all of a sudden evaporated as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. 

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry (Y/N). That was uncalled for.” He emerged to look at your ceiling and draw in a deep, steadying breath, “It’s just…Atlas was…is…responsible for a lot of not so great things going on in my life right now. Things I might never shake off. And I don’t want him to ruin this too.” 

He waved his hand to indicate you and him. 

“Whatever this is,” he added in a hushed voice so low you wondered if you were meant to hear it. 

Your eyes took in his thin tired frame hunched on your couch, messy hair, and rumpled clothes that hung off him loosely. A sadness clung to him. You tilted your head concernedly and moved close enough that your thigh brushed against his. 

  “He can’t possibly ruin anything Zib. He’s dead. And you’re not. You know that right?” Gingerly you put a hand under his chin to make him look at you, “You’re here. With me. We’re both still breathing. We still get a say in what happens in our lives, you got that?” 

It felt like an eternity went by, the both of you locked into that position, staring at each other. Until finally, Zib blinked slowly, with a tiny nod of agreement. 

  “Good,” you said, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you been holding. You let your hand drop, “You know, the fact that these clues lead to Atlas’ money should be a selling point for you to go after it.” 

  “Tch, how you figure?” he asked, sounding a bit more like himself already. 

  “You said it yourself, he took a lot from you. This is your chance to take something back,” you said firmly. “I know the band could use the money.”  

He sighed. 

  “Can’t argue with that. And what would you do with it?” he asked. 

  “Get my radio show produced, of course,” you said cheerily. “With enough money I won’t need my boss’ help or permission. I can just get everything I need and do it.” 

  “In that case, call me Robinson Crusoe, cause we’re going on a treasure hunt,” he said, crooked grin finally making a reappearance. 

Your mood rocketed back up to overjoyed. 

  “Thanks Zib,” you hugged him gleefully. “We’ll split the profits fifty fifty, sound good?” 

  “Yeah Dove. Sounds good.”

He hoped this collaboration went better than the previous ones.

Chapter Text

A Kudu is a type of African Antelope. Once you looked that up in the dictionary, it was glaringly obvious where the first key must be hidden. You decided to make a day out of it. After all, there was no reason you couldn’t search for the key and have fun at the same time. 

Freckle

Freckle had never been to the St. Louis Zoo before, despite growing up in the city. You at least had the excuse of being a transplant. You had to wonder what Mrs. McMurray had against animals. Of all the things you’d led Freckle by the hand into, this seemed by far the most sin free.

As long as you didn’t count the hunting for gangster treasure part.

The good weather really brought out the people, there were families and couples all over lined up along the enclosures, eagerly peering over the fences at the exotic wonders within. 

Due to your ulterior motive, Freckle was jumpy when you walked through the front entrance. As if he was convinced the entire zoo somehow knew what you both were up to. As the day went on, you didn’t try to look for the key, you just relaxed and enjoyed what the park had to offer. It did the trick. Freckle calmed down, and started taking a more active interest in the animals. 

He especially loved the Galapagos Island giant tortoises housed in the new Reptile House. You were sorry you had to break that moment to start looking for the key. 

  “Wha- you think it’s here?” he asked, surprised. 

  “The poem said ‘stone cold blooded home’. Reptiles are coldblooded, and this where they are literally housed,” you spread your arms, gesturing to the grand interior around you. “So, we’re looking for something with a golden tongue. That’s our mermaid’s voice.” 

  “Okay, uh, hmmm,” Freckle’s ears pinned back, his brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms as he tried to think. It was really adorable and it kind of distracted you from your own concentration. “As far as I know, even most reptiles have pink tongues, just like us.” 

You nodded in agreement. You were pretty sure there were some snake species that had black tongues. Except, that wasn’t what you were looking for either. 

  “We can’t be looking for an animal. The zookeepers would notice something was up,” he said. 

  “Stone cold,” you murmured. “What if it’s one of those?”

You pointed up at the elaborate carvings of alligators, snakes, and frogs that decorated the walls. 

  “Hey, yeah,” said Freckle, “People could walk right by it and never notice.” 

You and Freckle went up and down each corridor, one at a time, carefully inspecting each carving of a mouth for anything out of the ordinary. The both of you seemed to have inspected every inch of the wall art until you remembered the largest reptile pit in the center of the building. 

Several smaller reptiles were free to roam in the enclosure set up to imitate a swamp like environment. Its biggest draw, of course, were the half dozen alligators, some longer than you were tall, lazing about in the muddy water. Presiding over this most dangerous exhibit, was the most detailed sculpture of an alligator head, its jaws wide open protruding from the wall. You could just make out inside of it a shiny metallic tongue. 

You both stared at your prize. Then looked down at the huge predators below. 

  “Well, this is going to be interesting,” you said. 

Freckle silently wished he’d stayed home in bed. 

Ivy

She hadn’t been to the zoo in years, and was more than happy to turn it into an outing as well as a search. She decided to think of it like an Easter Egg hunt, but with money instead of painted eggs and chocolate. 

The two of you blended right in with the other zoo-goers, walking in with arms linked like you owned the place. Ivy eagerly showed you around to all her favorite spots her parents used to show her as a kid. She was also really excited to see the new bear pits. The two of you were lucky. The zoo had a pair of adorable Sun Bear cubs rolling around in the grass when you visited. Their mother enjoyed the sun a short distance away. Afterwards, Ivy treated you to ice cream cones, and you explored the aviary. 

Then, you both arrived at the Reptile House.

Ivy had a determined look in her eyes, like she was sizing up the building the way a boxer does their opponent, looking for weak spots. 

  “The key is in there, isn’t it?” she said. 

  “Most likely,” you nodded. 

  “Then let’s go get it.” 

It was almost as if Ivy had a homing beacon inside her head, with how quickly she found the key. And it was directly over the reptile pit. A swamp like enclosure, best known for its extremely large, extremely predatory, alligators. The golden tongue was nestled within the jaws of the stone head of an alligator, protruding over the murky waters. You sighed. 

You should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy. 

Mitzi

In all the years she’d lived in St. Louis, she’d never set foot in the zoo before. Some part of her likened it to a barn, what with all those animals, and being mostly outside. She was a ‘high society lady’ now. She had no interest in such places. 

Now that she had a reason to go, however, you were determined to show her how much fun the zoo could be. 

  “You’ve never set foot in the zoo before either, Darlin’,” she remarked, a tiny amused smile on her painted lips. 

  “It’s been on my to-do list since I moved here,” you said. “Besides, who doesn’t like animals?”  

You took her to the huge walk-in bird cage first. What with all the feathered accessories she owned, you felt Mitzi had an inclination towards birds. You were right. She loved watching the peacocks strut around and show off their fancy colorful tails. There were even a few chicks chasing after their mother. She cooed at that. You chalked it up as a victory. 

You wandered languidly around the grounds afterwards. Two more patrons in an ocean of people. After taking your time at a little food shop for lunch, the two of you finally approached the new Reptile House. Outside its main entrance there was a plaque on the alabaster clay wall listing the names of people who’d made charitable donations making construction of these exhibits possible. 

Mitzi stared at it just a little too long with an impassive expression. You sensed the relaxed tone of your visit starting to shift.

Atlas May was listed in the column of names, like a wolf disguised among sheep. 

  “I remember he’d always donate money to ‘charitable causes,’” Mitzi said. “I thought it was always just to throw suspicion off us. Make us look good for the papers. It seems there was more to it.”

  “Come on, let’s get inside,” you said gently.  You gingerly took her arm and guided her through the door. 

A huge skylight over a pit containing a swamp like environment was the primary source of light in the main lobby area of the building. Several corridors branched off in every direction, showcasing the various species of snakes, frogs, and lizards in the zoo’s care. Giant tortoises were in a downstairs area. The hallways echoed with voices and the laughter of children.

Mitzi wanted to get on with the search, so you didn’t really get to look at the exhibits. Since Atlas obviously had a hand in the building’s construction, she felt reasonably certain the key was hidden in a wall somewhere. You had the idea that the golden tongue might be one of the decorative carvings of reptiles that looped around the reptile house. The issue was, which one? There had to be a hundred reptile carvings at least, not counting the ones on the outside.

  “He wouldn’t put it outside,” Mitzi said thoughtfully. She pulled the fur wrap around her shoulders a bit tighter. It wasn’t cold, she just loved wearing it. “If I knew one thing about Atlas,  he liked to show off. He didn’t brag, no. He let his clothes, his cars, and the lavish decor of the Lackadaisy do that for him.” 

You couldn’t help stealing a moment to eye the emerald pendant peaking out between her hands near the base of her neck. No doubt Atlas showed off with gifts too. 

  “So we’re not looking for any ol’ statue. We’re looking for thee statue. What’s most eye-catching?” she said, her eyes searching the walls. 

  “The Alligator Pit!” you said with a gasp. It was the heart of the Reptile House and easily the biggest exhibit. You turned around to hurry back to it when Mitzi grabbed your arm. 

  “Slow down Darlin’,” she said with a laugh. “It’s not goin’ anywhere, and we need to look inconspicuous.” 

You nodded, and she linked her arm with yours. That nice cozy feeling from earlier nestled back in as you walked almost like a proper couple.

Above the pit, there was one decorative alligator statue, life size, jaws wide open. If you looked hard enough, you could just make out something metallic in its mouth, glinting in the sunlight. Elated, you pointed and whispered. 

  “There.” 

The two of you shared a happy conspiratorial look. Your joy of discovery was cut short by a low rumbling from the pit. You peered over the railing. Your stomach dropped. 

For whatever reason, you’d thought there were only two alligators down there. Six predatory reptiles with bone crushing jaws drifted lethargically in the murky water, or sunned themselves on the rocks, blending in with the plant life. There was no way to access the sculpture without dangling right over their scaly heads. 

You looked at Mitzi. She knew what you were thinking. While she wasn’t eager to face the big swamp lizards either, she shrugged. 

  “You know what they say Honey. No risk. No reward.” 

Mordecai

Admission was free. You went in by yourself on your day off. One more nameless face in the crowd of fellow zoo-goers led by the allure of cheap entertainment and good weather. 

You had a pretty good idea of where the Golden Voice in the poem might be stashed, but there was no rush. You’d been wanting to visit the St. Louis Zoo ever since arriving in town and you were going to take your fill. 

The bear pits were the second newest thing about the zoo, so you started there. The Sun Bear cubs were the sweetest little things. They looked like living teddy bears! 

As you wandered about the park, a funny feeling crept up your spine. You had an idea of what it was. You stepped out of the way of the foot path for other people to get by and pulled out a little pocket mirror. Holding it up, you pretended to fix your hair while using the glass to peer over your shoulder. 

Yep…there he was. Dressed in his usual all black, perfectly pressed trench coat despite how warm out it was. He was pretending to be interested in one of the exhibits.

…Should you be concerned how you were growing complacent with Mordecai’s stalking you? 

You got an idea. You pocketed your mirror and casually made a beeline for the aviary, not bothering to look back because you knew he’d follow you. Guests had to go through two sets of doors to enter and exit the bird cage to ensure the feathered ones didn’t fly their coop. Once you got through the second door, and you hoped out of his sight, you made a run for it. There was a turn in the path going behind a wall of rocks- exactly what you were looking for! 

Once you were behind it, you stopped and took a few seconds to recompose yourself. Hearing hurried footsteps, you leaned one hand against the wall and put the other on your hip. You didn’t need to be subtle. 

Mordecai stopped dead in his tracks just in time to keep from running into you. The look on his face was priceless. 

  “Hey there, tall, dark and handsome,” you said, grinning ear to ear. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a bird cage like this?” 

You relished in his floundering as he worked his jaw for a minute, desperately trying to find words to save face. 

  “Well what do you think I’m doing here! I’m looking for the voice!” he spat out, flustered and indignant. 

  “In the bird cage?” you tilted your head, playing innocent. 

  “Of course. Because… birds sing. So, obviously, the voice would be here.” 

  “Uh-huh. And you just happened to come in here at the same time as me?” 

  “…Yes.”

  Oh. He really thought you were going to buy that did he? Didn’t wanna fess up? 

“Well, how lucky for me. Now we can find it together, since, obviously, you know exactly where it is, right?” you said. Your smile was syrupy. 

  “Uhm,” Mordecai was rifling through his brain to find good words. 

  “But before that, I want you to come see the owls with me,” you turned and started along the path again. 

  “Owls?” he raised a brow in confusion. He frowned, wondering if this was some kind of trap. 

No choice. He followed after you. 

The owls in question had thick white brows over their eyes. Kind of like a certain tuxedo cat assassin. 

   “See? That one looks just like you,” you said cheerfully. Mordecai gave you a flat look. “But I’m sure he’s a lot nicer. He would never lie to his dear friend’s face. He would probably respect their privacy and not stalk them all over the city too.” 

  “…(Y/N)” 

  “Nope, this owl, trusts and values his friend. He lets them help with his problems. Like solving a murder. Or finding lost treasure.” 

  “(Y/N)” 

  “And he doesn’t try to obfuscate by saying ‘This doesn’t concern you’ or ‘It’s better you don’t know’. And certainly never takes over his friend’s workplace to hide stuff from the other owls without asking permission first.” 

  “(Y/N), you can stop now,” Mordecai pinched the bridge of his muzzle, pushing up his little round glasses. “I get the picture.” 

  “Are you sure? Because I could go on,” you said. 

  “No. No,” he took a deep breath, and turned to you. “I…I apologize for my behavior. It was never my intention to make you feel unappreciated, or belittled. You are much more intelligent than I gave you credit for.” 

…Well, shit. That was more than you were expecting to get out of him. You felt your irritation smooth over. 

  “That was all I wanted to hear,” you said, a small but sincere smile on your face. Mordecai coughed into his fist, discreetly bashful.

  “Yes, well,” his eyes darted away for a moment. “While I’m being honest with you, I should mention that while I’m certain the voice is in the zoo, I don’t know exactly where. This park is so big, it could take days to find-“ 

  “It’s in the Reptile House,” you said simply. 

He stared at you, wide eyed, borderline offended by your bluntness. 

  “How do you know that?”he asked. 

  “It was in the poem. It wasn’t hard to memorize. It said the golden tongue would be in the house of the stone cold blooded. So, reptiles,” you said with a shrug. 

  “Then why did you come to the aviary?”

  “For starters, to teach you a lesson,” you said. He grew a bit sullen and scowled. “Secondly, I just wanted to see the zoo. There’s no time limit on this. We don’t have to hurry.” 

He softened ever so slightly. He said with a sigh, “Be that as it may, I would much prefer to collect the voice as quickly as possible.” 

  “Hmmm, could we do that after lunch? They serve pretty good sandwiches here,” you said, eyes pleading just a little. 

He sighed. 

  “Fine.”

You made a small happy noise. 

  “But only because I skipped breakfast this morning.” 

Lunch was…interesting. You’d forgotten about his “List of Forbidden Condiments” and so you were seriously reconsidering if this had been a good idea as Mordecai explained to the chef exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it (and vaguely implying unpleasantness if his demands were not met). Apart from that hiccup, it went smoothly. Mordecai even confessed that he’d only come to the zoo because he realized you weren’t in any of your usual places on your day off, and correctly concluded you were up to something involving the poem. He’d also looked up what Kudu were, and the zoo was the only place they could be found.

You didn’t voice it, but you were pleased as punch you’d solved the riddle before he did.

Later, at the Reptile House, people shuffled up and down the corridors, crowding around the windows to gawk at the animals on the other side. At the center of it all was a large swamp enclosure. 

Mordecai didn’t seem to know where to go. Mostly, you suspected he just didn't want to get close enough to any of the wandering clusters of other guests to risk any physical contact with them. Especially not children. He pressed his back flat against the wall to get as far away from everyone else as possible. 

  “How are we supposed to find a voice, anyhow?” he said to you. “Even if all these people weren’t in the way, I don’t imagine any of these exhibits contain animals that can talk or sing.” 

  “The poem said golden tongue, that’s another way of saying golden voice,” you explained. 

  “Ah, I see. We’re looking for the animal with a golden tongue.” 

  “Uh, I don’t think hiding a key in an animal would be a practical,” you said. 

  “A key?” He gave you a kind of puzzled look, “I thought we were looking for a tongue?” 

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. This is what you meant when you said Mordecai wasn’t good at metaphors. 

  “The tongue is the key,” you clarified. “And I think it’s in a statue, since the poem mentioned stone.” 

  “Oh, of course,” he nodded as if he’d known that all along. “To sum up, we’re looking for a statue with a gold tongue in it?” 

   “Yes,” you confirmed. 

Mordecai’s keen green eyes scanned the room, “Found it.” 

  “Wha- really? That fast?!” 

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” he brought you to the railing of the swamp enclosure and pointed at a life size alligator head presiding over it, jaws wide open. “ And I rarely am, that is our tongue.” 

You looked more closely. Hidden behind the stone teeth you could just make out something metallic, dimly glinting in the light. You felt a rush of excitement. The golden voice was right there! All you had to do was climb up and get it. Just one little thing….

Below in the enclosure, you spotted at least six big, mean, and real living alligators sunning themselves on the rocks, or drifting in their pool. 

   “Alligators,” Mordecai groaned beside you, putting his head in his hand. “Why did it have to be alligators?” 

Nico

He’d always been interested in animals. He had no issue hunting them down to eat, and passing their bones off to his sister for jewelry, but you could never say he was cruel to animals. The creatures that didn’t end up on his dinner plate, he treated respectfully.

There was this rare child-like wonder about him as he watched the giraffe use their long tongues to eat leaves left at the top of poles to simulate trees. How one of them had to spread its long knobby legs out so its slender neck could bend down far enough to drink from the pool. 

  “You’ll definitely never see one’a dose in de bayou, Cher(ie),” he said.

  “Is this your first time seeing a giraffe in person,” you asked. 

He nodded, “You?” 

  “My parents used to take me to our own local zoo when I was little. They had giraffe and lots of other animals too. This is my first time here though. I’ve been wanting to check it out since I moved to town, but never had the time. I’m kind of glad the first clue pointed here,” you said with a little laugh.  

  “Ah, oui, our ‘ulterior motive’ as it were,” he grinned conspiratorially. “You know where we should start lookin’ for our first key to de treasure?” 

  “I feel very confident it’s on a wall in the Reptile House,” you said. 

  “That’s just what I was thinkin’ Cher(ie), let’s go!” 

The Reptile House was shiny and brand new, and crowded as a result. People huddled around the enclosures, their voices bouncing from one end of a hallway to another in a blended cacophony of chatter and laughter. At the heart of it all, was a large swamp enclosure. Nico was drawn to it instantly. He whistled when he looked over the railing to see what was contained within. 

  “Look’it dat Cher(ie), dey got some ten footers!” 

You looked down. At least six or eight huge alligators milled around in the mud and the murk. Enormous predators that could easily rip apart any of the cats happily passing by, secure that they were safe from harm thanks to the high walls of the pit, and the knowledge that alligators can’t climb. You marveled at the roughness of their scales. They could very easily be mistaken for a piece of driftwood out in the wild. A truly deadly deception. 

  “It’s like dey took a little piece of the swamp and moved it here,” Nico laughed. “Hope de keepers been keepin’ dem well fed. It gon’ get ugly if dey don’t.” 

Your eyes wandered around the enclosure, sponging up every detail. Looking up, you saw the skylight, and the blue sky beyond. At last your gaze fell on a floor to ceiling column on the other side of the enclosure, where a life size head of an alligator jutted out, it’s smooth stone jaws wide open. The sunlight glinted off something metallic nestled its mouth. You gasped, feeling a wave of excitement. You tugged on Nico’s arm and pointed, all but jumping up and down like a little kid. 

  “That’s it! That’s it! In the statue up there,” you said. You didn’t care if you were loud, it was already so noisy, and everyone was so wrapped up in their own business they wouldn’t notice. Nico followed your hand. 

  “Ah, bein! Good eye Cher(ie),” he said. You beamed with pride. “All we gotta do now is figure out how ta get it without anyone seeing. And without becoming dinner.” 

That caused you to pause. There was no way anyone could reach the golden tongue without putting themselves directly over the gator pit. 

  “Now I see why Atlas May put de key in here,” said Nico. “Built-in security.” 

Rocky

From the moment you entered the zoo, Rocky was practically dragging you all over the place at lightening speed in his zeal to see all the animals, and find the golden voice. He simply could not remain still. He’d pull you to one enclosure, point and yell, “Look at that (Y/N)!” then gasp and pull you to the next amazing animal. He lingered longer in front of the monkey cages. The mischievous little fellows seemed to find Rocky as intriguing as he did them. He’d copy an action or noise they did. They’d copy something he did. Eventually it turned into an entertaining feedback loop of Monkey-See, Rocky-Do. It was quite a show actually.  

That had to come to an abrupt end when Rocky also started climbing on the bars of the cage and a zoo keeper chased the both of you away. 

Once the coast was clear, you had lunch from one of the many vendors in the zoo. You took the opportunity to enjoy your moment of stillness before Hurricane Rocky inevitably whisked you away again. This time he breezed you all the way to the Reptile House. Almost to the main entrance, he stopped dead in his tracks, redirected his feet, and brought the both of you to a halt directly in front of a commemorative plaque. One of those “This facility was made possible thanks to the charitable, and mostly tax deductible, donations of these rich people pretending like they care about the general public” type things. You didn’t know why Rocky was so interested in it. Until he pointed to one name specifically. 

  “Atlas May,” Rocky breathed, as his grey fingers brushed over the letters set in polished stone. He turned back to you with a huge grin, “We’re on the right track (Y/N)!” 

You were excited too. So ready to find the golden voice and complete step one of your adventure. Rocky actually already knew what a kudu was, since he’d worked with one back in the circus, amongst a host of other exotic animals (that all seemed to want to eat him whenever he was around, even the vegetarians). It hadn’t been hard to work out from there that the first key was in a reptile statue, and the brand new Reptile House was the perfect location. 

You were surprised to see how very many statues there were though. An entire procession of alligators, snakes, frogs, turtles, lizards, and other things you couldn’t name artistically carved in the upper walls wrapped around the entire interior of the not-so-small building. 

  “Alright,” Rocky said, taking charge. “I’ll look at the ones on this side. You got the other.” 

It wasn’t a bad idea (shockingly!) so you went with it. Rocky was doing his damndest to observe every tiny detail he could of each statue he encountered. You were pretty far ahead of him on your side when you walked back to him and told him he only needed to look at the mouths for a golden tongue. 

  “Oh, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks (Y/N). That’ll streamline my process.” 

You dutifully resumed your own side of the task. While you did, you wondered if this really was the most efficient thing. Sure, for Atlas, it would be easy because he would have the exact spot memorized, but if it was you, you’d want something a little easier to spot. What if you yourself forgot where you hid your precious treasure key amongst a sea of lookalikes? 

You entered the lobby, the biggest space in the Reptile House, and incidentally where the biggest enclosure was located. A swamp sat peacefully below in a pit, walled off by railings for the public’s safety. The support columns around it had carvings all along them too. That was worth investigating. You went through three, before you looked up and saw a big, life sized alligator head jutting out of the top of a column and over the murky waters. It’s jaws were open. Nestled inside, you made out the barest glint of something metallic and yellow. 

You whistled and waved for Rocky to come join you. He jogged over to you, bumping into a few other people on the way. 

  “Did ‘ya find it?!” 

  “I sure did,” you pointed proudly at the statue. 

 “Aces! All we gotta do now is find a place to hide until everyone leaves when the zoo closes and-“

A low but loud guttural growling emanated up from the pit. Rocky went quiet. The both of you slowly peered over the railing into the swamp enclosure. 

Down below were probably five alligators - that you could see. Big, scaly, strong, toothy, alligators longer than Rocky was tall. One of nature’s finest killing machines. 

There was no way to reach the golden tongue without climbing out onto the column, directly over the beasts and their snapping jaws. 

You should’ve known that Atlas jerk wouldn’t make this easy. 

Serafine

She liked animals. She didn’t like cages. 

You were waffling back and forth trying to deduce if Serafine was really having fun wandering the zoo with you and looking at all the animals. Her expression for the most part had been impassive. That wasn’t the best thing. However, if she’d been displeased, or mad, she would’ve said something ages ago.  

  “Serafine?” 

  “Yes Cher(ie)?” 

  “If you’re bored, we can just skip everything and go straight to the key,” you offered. 

  “Oh, mon petit papillon, I’m not bored. I’m just thinkin’,” she said with a smile. 

  “What about?” 

  “About what might happen if all de animals here were allowed to be in one big place, rather den divided up like dey are. It would give people a more accurate idea a’what really goes on in de wild.” 

You thought about it for a second, “It would. I don’t think the little prey animals would like it though.” 

  “Circle of Life, Cher(ie),” Serafine laughed. “De big animals eat de little animals, but eventually de big animals die and decay into de earth. From dat, plant life grows. And de little animals, eat de plants.” 

  “Huh, I never thought of it like that,” you said.

  “We’re all connected. It’s hard to see it sometimes ‘cause dose connections all get tangled up in a big mess. Like a giant pile a’yarn. But if you’re patient, and know where t’look, you’ll see dem.”

The two of you were already standing outside the new Reptile House for the zoo. When had you gotten there? Serafine stepped up to a big plaque on the wall, a dedication to generous wealthy donors who helped fund the new building.

  “Case in point,” Serafine said, pointing to one name in particular. 

Atlas May. 

A thrill went through you. You were on the right track. The twinkle in Serafine’s eyes told you she was feeling the same excitement. 

Inside was noisy. Other guests congregated around the enclosures, eager to see what exotic animals they could find within. Serafine honed in on a cobra exhibit as if drawn to it. 

  “Bonjour beaute`,” she cooed, “can you say hello back?” 

The snake lifted its head. A pale pink forked tongue lashed out. Then it laid back down. 

You weren’t sure if that constituted a hello in snake speak, but Serafine was pretty happy about it. And if she was happy, you were happy. 

The huge swamp enclosure located in the heart of the Reptile House was practically calling to you. It was the most obvious thing there, though, so probably most people went to it first. You stood at the railing and looked down. Below, you counted no less than six long, lethargic, alligators lounging around the rocks and in the waters. It reminded you of the alligator bones hung up in the Savoy’s suite back in the Maribel. The skull especially. How it was as long as your arm, and still lined with teeth. 

Maybe thinking of the hanging bones was what made you look up at the big skylight above, which provided most of the light. Eyes raised, you spotted another alligator head, this one made of stone, jaws slightly agape, presiding over the swamp enclosure like some shrine to a long forgotten god. It was above one of the many support columns surrounding the perimeter of the enclosure, and decorated with carvings of various reptiles. Inside its mouth, you could just make out a glimmer of something yellow-ish and metallic. 

Your heart jumped. You called Serafine over to share what you’d found. 

  “Nice work Cher(ie). It shouldn’t be too hard to climb up dere and get it,” she said. 

  “Uh, but what about…” you pointed at the alligators below. You couldn’t explain it, but somehow it felt like they knew what you knew and were just waiting for you to cross over the railing into their domain to be eaten. 

Serafine laughed it off, “Don’t mind dem. It’s only a problem if we fall.”

Viktor 

In all honesty, this was probably the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. 

No customers to begrudgingly oblige, no boss lady criticizing his manners, no need to rush to get things done putting stress on his body. Viktor almost seemed content walking the paths with you and looking at the various animals the zoo kept in its care. Of all the creatures, he seemed to take to the mountain goats the most. They reminded him of his home country, he said. 

You saw the corners of his mouth upturn slightly while watching some of the little goats play. 

  “Is that a smile?” you asked.  

  “Vhat? No,” he reverted back to scowling, though there was less energy put into it.

  “You’re having fun~” you sang. 

He huffed, crossing his arms, and you chuckled. 

After a peaceful lunch, the two of you finally got down to brass tacks. The mermaid’s voice was in the Reptile House somewhere, you were sure of it. You’d had to explain the metaphor of a golden voice and golden tongue to Viktor, how it meant a beautiful sounding voice, but in this case it might literally be a golden tongue you’re looking for. And not the fleshy kind. 

You winced a bit at the echoing noises that knocked around the corridors of the building, knowing Viktor wouldn’t like it. Fortunately, his size and general aura of intimidation had people getting out of the way without being asked, so moving around was easy. There was a large swamp enclosure in the center of the Reptile House that got your attention first. The lush green foliage and sounds of babbling waters made it inviting. You saw a frog, a newt, a few turtles, it seemed pretty nice. 

  “Yes, except for alligators,” said Viktor with a shrug.

  “What alligators?” you asked.

Viktor pointed to two rough objects floating in the water that you’d mistaken for rocks. Tucked away near other rocks and plants were still more alligators lazily lounging around like they weren't some of nature’s best killing machines. A thought occurred to you.

  “You know, of all the places in the Reptile House, this spot seems the most dangerous. It would be a pain if Atlas hid the golden tongue here.” 

You looked at Viktor. Viktor looked back at you. 

  “He totally did, didn’t he?” 

  “It sounds like him, yes.” 

And a few minutes later, you did indeed spot the golden tongue, hidden inside the jaws of a life size statue of an alligator head jutting out over the murky waters where the gators were swimming.  

You were beginning to rather dislike Atlas May even more. 

Wick

The two of you managed to set up a day where you’d both be free to go to the St. Louis Zoo together. It was a lovely day, and you both blended in with all the other zoo-goers seamlessly. 

You had a grand time visiting one amazing exhibit after another, and watching the animals sleep, eat and play. Wick seemed to especially take to the Meerkats from Africa. Go figure, the cute little burrowers made their whole lives underground in the rocks and preyed on bugs. The only bump in the road came when Wick flat out refused to set foot in the aviary, and wouldn’t say why. 

You tried reasoning with him. All the birds in there were friendly. It was mostly water fowl like herons, egrets, ducks- 

A strange sort of squeak noise came from him as he recoiled at the word. You decided to drop the matter after that, if he was reacting this badly to it. Was Wick afraid of birds? 

He was back to his usual self after  lunch. It was time to investigate the Reptile House. 

Wick zeroed in on the ornamental carvings that wound all the way around the upper interior walls of the corridors pretty quick. He explained what type of plaster it was, and could even tell what sort of tools had been used to craft the desired shapes. Admittedly, that was kind of an impressive Sherlock-ian observation from him. Needless to say, he was far more interested in the architecture of the building than in any of the animals. Which was how he found the golden voice- or tongue rather.

  “(Y/N),” he gripped your shoulder, and pointed with his cane, “I think that’s it.” 

You followed the cane with your eyes to a life size statue of an alligator head jutting out over a column overlooking the biggest enclosure in the Reptile House, a swamp. It’s stone jaws were open just enough for you to see a gleam of golden nestled within. You felt excited. 

  “Yeah, you’re right,” you were practically hopping up and down. “Good eye Wick!” 

  “Oh, it was nothing,” he beamed. 

  “Now, to get it, one of us is going to have to climb up there-“ 

  “I can do that,” he volunteered merrily. 

  “You can?” 

  “Of course. I’ve done plenty of rock climbing in the past. This’ll be a cinch!” 

  “That’s…really brave of you Wick,” you said. He preened a bit. 

  “Think nothing of it. What are friends for?” 

  “Especially since you’ll be right over the alligators.”

  “Yes, especially since-….what?” 

Leaning over the railing, you pointed out the half dozen large, toothy and muscular amphibious predatory lizards occupying the swampy environment below. 

For a sew seconds you genuinely feared Wick was going to faint. 

Zib

The weather was perfect. It attracted a lot of other people as a result. All the better really, the two of you could blend in more casually while you sought out your prize. 

…When you got around to it. You wanted to have a little fun first.

Zib seemed inclined to agree, though that may have just been his reluctance to the whole treasure hunt affair creeping up again. As the two of you walked around enjoying the park, he loosened up, little by little. He was even joking around by the time you got to the zebras. 

  “Are they white with black stripes, or black with white stripes?” he asked, insincerely. “The world may never know.” 

Lunch was spent discussing various animals in songs over sandwiches, and then it was time to get down to business. 

The Reptile House was big and brand new. It was already crowded with other patrons, their voices echoing through the branching hallways, illuminated partially by electric lights, and partially by the huge skylight above the swamp enclosure at the heart of the building.  

  “And we’re looking for what exactly?” Zib inquired. 

  “I’m pretty sure we’re looking for a carving like that,” you pointed up at the many, many carvings along the wall of all manner of reptile, “with a golden tongue in its mouth.” 

  “Right,” he said. His shoulders slumped, tired of looking already. “This won’t take all day.” 

Slowly, you walked up the hallway, being mindful of the other people around you. You wanted to be thorough in your search. After a while, Zib spoke up. 

  “I don’t think we’re doing this right.” 

  “What do you mean?” 

  “I mean Atlas wouldn’t waste his time searchin’ around for the right frog or whatever.”

  “Well, no, because he’d already know which one is the right one.” 

  “Nah, these all look the same. Even he’d get confused without some kind of built in tell.” 

Zib scanned the area. His eyes fell on the swamp enclosure. You followed him as he walked towards it. You peered down over the railing. You spotted a few turtles swimming around in the water, completely at ease with the alligators not three feet away from them. The more you looked, the more of the monstrous reptiles you could see. You counted six, though, for all you knew, there could be more hiding in the water or amongst the foliage. 

  “Bingo,” you heard Zib say. 

You looked up. He was staring intently at a life-size alligator head jutting out of the wall from the top of a column built into the railing around the swamp pit. Through its teeth, you could see a tiny glimmer of metallic yellow.

  “Aces!” you said. “Now, how are we gonna get it without becoming alligator chow?” 

  “Don’t look at me Dove,” he said with a shrug. “You’re the one always comin’ up with death traps and how to escape them around here, remember?” 

Chapter Text

Good news! You’ve found the voice. Bad news: it’s a golden metal piece lodged in an alligator statue’s jaws directly over a pit of real alligators! Well, it wouldn’t be a real treasure hunt without some kind of obstacle or trap, now would it? 

No sweat. All you have to do is find somewhere to hide until after the park closes and everyone clears out. Then you’ll be free to do what’s necessary to get the first treasure key. What could possibly go wrong? 

Freckle

He’d told you lots of stories from when he was a kid about all the various ways he’d managed to escape being roped into his cousin’s insane antics. Nearly half of them involved climbing and leaping over gaps in high places. And so you agreed, it only made sense that Freckle be the one to make the climb up to the alligator head and retrieve the first key. It didn’t stop him from whimpering and muttering under his breath frantically the entire time. He threw his legs over the railing, and slowly, carefully, made his way up the column. The last of twilight’s rays let in just enough light to see. You also helped out with your flashlight. Bringing that along had been a smart move. 

  “It’s alright Freckle. You’re almost there!” you said encouragingly. 

Freckle reached the top, coming eye to snout with the rock reptile. 

  “I swear, if this thing chomps my hand off, it’s over,” he whined.

He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away, as he gingerly stuck his hand in between the teeth. You watched intently from the safe side of the railing. Freckle felt around until he had a good grip on the cold metal piece, and pulled. It didn’t give. Freckle wiggled it a little. He realized it was slotted in, like a puzzle piece. So, all he had to do was un-slot it and- yes! 

The golden tongue came loose in his hand, and his hand was still attached to his body! 

Before he could celebrate, there was a gut wrenching crunch noise. The head fell forward. It was no longer attached to the wall. You shouted in dismay. 

  “Freckle!” 

Too late! He was already falling over backwards into the dark water below. 

Luckily, the heavy stone missed him. Not so lucky, the gators had been alerted to new prey in their domain. Freckle’s panicked splashing around didn’t help. 

  “(Y/N!)” 

  “Freckle! This way! Climb up this way! Hurry!” 

You shined your light below you. The rocky wall should give Freckle plenty of handholds to get out with. He swam towards it. When he touched it, he made the mistake of turning around. 

An alligator head was cutting through the water right for him. Every bit of him froze up as he screamed. 

You don’t remember jumping over the railing. You felt the wind in your whiskers as you dove, claws out, the water and your target rushing up to meet you. With an angry shout, both you and the alligator disappeared thrashing under the water. 

Freckle was stock-still, completely gobsmacked by what he’d just witnessed. A few seconds later, he saw the alligator come up again, further away from him and swimming in a different direction. His heart sank. Where were you?!

You gasped for breath as you broke the surface.

  “(Y/N)! Are you okay?” he called.

  “Yeah! I think I scared him off!” you said in between gulps of air. 

  “You scared him off?!” 

Freckle looked incredulous. 

  “I don’t think that’s gonna work again. We should go,” you swam over to him. 

The adrenaline still coursing through your bodies helped immensely with getting you up and over the railings and back to safety. The both of you lied on the tiled floor like beached whales, gasping for breath, waiting for your heart rates to come back down from the stratosphere. 

Beside you, you heard Freckle…giggling? 

It wasn’t the nice giggling you were used to either. It got louder, and louder, until Freckle was doing full on belly laughs that rang with madness as they echoed through the Reptile House. Your ears pinned back, suddenly more afraid of your friend than you had been the gators. You had to make him stop. 

  “Freckle?” you reached out and gingerly took his hand. 

He snarled. His bright eyes turned on you, gleaming like hot coals. He just wanted to tear you apart. 

You froze up like a rabbit. 

Then, he blinked, and the Freckle you knew was back. He was on the verge of tears, and apologizing already. You soothed him. Forgiving him was easy. That was just a part of him you had to deal with sometimes, but it’d be okay. You trusted Freckle to master that side of himself one day.  

Ivy

She was kicking off her heeled shoes already.

You told her no. It was dangerous. You should be the one to climb up the column and get the key, but no. Ivy wanted the honor of claiming the mermaid’s voice herself. 

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be easy,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s plenty of places to get a good grip, and I’ve been climbing trees since I was kid.” 

You sighed, and relented. There was just no talking her out of it. You used the flashlight you’d been smart enough to bring along to help illuminate her path up the column. She didn’t hesitate to stick her whole arm in the statue’s open jaws. After jostling the golden tongue around for  minute, it came loose in her hand. Ivy made a triumphant noise-

That shifted into a shriek as the alligator head suddenly came loose from the wall and fell on her, plunging her into the water below. 

  “Oh no, IVY!” 

You peered over the railing, shining your flashlight along the water. Your stomach churned when the light caught several pairs of reptilian eyes glowing eerily in the darkness. You heard splashing below, and looked to see Ivy’s hands waving barely above the water. The golden tongue was still clutched in one of them. Her head wasn’t surfacing though. 

Sensing more of a problem than the gators, you hopped the railing and dropped into the cold water. Your flashlight wasn’t made to be waterproof. It lasted just long enough for you to see that the teeth of the statue had torn into Ivy’s dress. It was acting like an anchor, holding her underwater as she frantically tried to swim to the surface. 

Before you could help, you had to get air. You surfaced, took a deep breath, then went back down into the dark. You used your claws on every bit of fabric you could find until Ivy started to rise. You kicked off the bottom of the pool to join her, coughing and spluttering and gasping desperately for air.  

  “(Y/N)!” she sounded like she was choking. Had she swallowed water? 

  “I’m here! I’m here!” 

You put an arm around her and guided her to the wall. It was full of cracks and crevices, so you should be able to climb up. Assuming Ivy had the strength. You didn’t think you could carry her up a sheer rock wall. At least Ivy had stopped coughing. She clung to the wall, gulping down air greedily. In the dim light, you could see her cute bob-cut had become a sopping wet tangled mess. Her bright yellow eyes peeked out at you meekly from beneath her bangs. 

She looked so small. 

Her eyes suddenly widened, and she whispered, “(Y/N)” 

The fur on the back of your neck stood up as you sensed something close to you. Close, alive, and hungry! 

You saw the snout and teeth, and you’re pretty sure you screamed loud enough to wake up every animal in the zoo. There was also a flash of black and gold as Ivy leapt at it, bringing the golden tongue down right on its nose. 

And…that worked! 

The alligator flinched, and turned away from you. You and Ivy looked at each other. Without a word, the both of you started climbing up the wall as fast as you could, until you were up and over the railing and safely back on dry land. The two of you rested your backs against the bars of the railing, stunned by what had just happened. 

That was a bit more excitement than you’d initially bargained for. 

  “I’ll call that a tie.” 

  “What?” you said, turning to Ivy, confused. 

  “It’s a tie,” she smiled. “You saved me from drowning. And I saved you from getting eaten.” 

You stared at her a couple of seconds. Something between a sigh and a laugh left your throat. 

  “Yeah, we’ll call it even.” 

After resting, when the two of you were ready to get up and move again, Ivy looked down at the remains of her dress. She was irked. 

  “Wha? (Y/N)!” 

You realized you’d cut off quite a bit actually. More than enough to warrant a murderous Viktor should he ever find out. 

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that,” you smiled bashfully with a shrug. 

Mitzi

You handed her the flashlight to hold while you’d scale the column. 

  “Lucky you thought to bring this Darlin’,” she commented, switching it on. 

  “A good mystery writer is always prepared,” you said proudly. 

She smiled at that. You mentally congratulated yourself on impressing her, even just a tiny bit. And she’ll be even happier when you bring that first key down for her too.

You weren’t wild about having to dangle yourself out like a worm on a hook for the (hungry?) alligators below, but there wasn’t any other way to do this that you could see. So, over the railing you went. At least all the little carvings of reptiles in the column that led up to the alligator head gave you lots of places to hang on to. It was almost as good as a ladder. 

Finally, you came muzzle to snout with the stone reptile. You gently eased your hand inside its jaws, hoping it wouldn’t suddenly clamp down on you. You felt the smooth cold metal of the golden tongue on your pads. Grasping it, you found you had to wiggle it a bit to get it to ‘unlatch,’or something, form its spot. 

The second you did, there was this awful crumbling sound. The jaws dipped forwards into you. Instinctively, you pushed away from it. The next thing you knew, you were falling, distantly aware of Mitzi screaming, and then you were enveloped by black water all around you. 

You hit the bottom of the pool. It hurt, but luckily, you didn't break anything. You swam right back up, gasping for air, and desperately trying to wipe water from your eyes. 

You realized Mitzi was yelling something at you. 

  “What?” you shouted up to her. She hissed back. 

  “Don’t yell! And don’t splash around none either! Be as quiet and calm as you can!” 

Oh, right. For the few moments you’d been falling you’d completely forgotten about the alligators.

There were three in the water with you. That you could see. You had some distance, but you were surrounded, and you had zero chance of fighting even one off, let alone out-swimming any of them. One was already curious and swimming towards you. 

You couldn’t scream if you wanted to. You were too scared. There was no escape as this big reptile glided through the water to make you into its next meal. 

Something fluffy and white landed squarely on its snout. Mitzi’s wrap! The alligator snapped at it. As it shook the wrap around, it got more tangled around its nose, distracting it. Carefully, you tried to swim as quietly as you could to the wall of the swamp pit. You could climb out if you could reach it. Only problem was, there was a gator floating right there in between you and your way out. 

  “You need to swim under it!” Mitzi called. 

Even in the dim light, she could make out the look on your face, Are you crazy!?

“Look, you’re harder to find if you’re under water, and gators aren’t built to attack anything swimming below them. Trust me!” 

There wasn’t a whole lot of choice. 

You gauged where the alligator’s clawed feet might be the best you could, took a deep breath, and submerged. You squeezed your eyes shut. It was too dark to see underwater anyways. Blindly, you swam forward, hands out searching, hoping, you’d touch rock and not scales. It felt like forever. Your lungs were starting to burn. And then, you ran into something solid, and flat. 

You swam up. You took a huge gasp for air once you surfaced. The rock wall was right in front of you. You didn’t even wait to catch your breath. You just grabbed ahold and started climbing. Mitzi helped you up back over to safety once you were in range for her to do so. 

Back on land, you sank to the floor, soaking wet, and panting like you’d run a marathon. Mitzi knelt beside you.

  “Are you alright Darlin’?”

You nodded. Your voice didn’t want to work again yet. 

  “Did you get the key?” 

For a split second, you had no idea. Did you get the key? Or did you drop it and now it was at the bottom of that damned alligator pit you’d just escaped?

You started feeling around your pockets. You found something smooth and about as heavy as a dictionary. With a sigh of relief, you brought your hand up to show her the golden tongue, the mermaid’s voice, the first key to the treasure. Her eyes lit up at the sight. 

  “Hey,” your voice came back, “how’d you know all that stuff about alligators?” 

Mitzi came back to reality. A look of embarrassment crossed her features before she expertly covered it up. 

  “Well, when you’ve traveled around as much as I have, you pick up a few things. Let’s just say the boys and I really enjoyed Louisiana whenever we visited.” 

Mordecai

He really wasn’t an animal person, you’d discovered. 

The mere mention of spiders or mice in the office at JAZKAT was enough to send him into a tizzy, he’d shown no interest in any of the animals at the zoo, and now you find out he has some kind of personal beef against alligators too? 

  “It’s not against alligators per se, it’s more to do with my…’colleagues’…at Marigold, and their superstitions,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

You blinked at him, arching a brow curiously. 

“It’s complicated.”

You held back a sigh. Everything about Mordecai was complicated.

At dusk, when the zoo was closed, and the other guests cleared out, you and Mordecai emerged from your hiding place to move forward with your plan to get the first key. There was barely any light coming in through the skylight, and the electric lights were turned off. You took out your pocket flashlight. 

  “You just happened to have that,” Mordecai asked, one white brow raised.

  “First rule of adventuring: Always bring a light,” you stated proudly. 

He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. 

  “Very well,” he said dryly. 

And without any warning, he climbed over the railing and started up the column. You’d thought he would’ve at least said something first. It would’ve let you offer to climb up instead, make yourself a bit more useful. He reached the stone jaws of the alligator head in what felt like nothing flat. He reached in and, after a few seconds of prying, detached the golden tongue from its place. 

There was this strange awful crunch noise. The alligator head fell forward, very nearly taking Mordecai with it into the murky water below. The cat himself lost his balance and fell, but was able to get his claws into the wall of the enclosure before hitting the water. You winced. He’d definitely broken a few claws from that. They’d take ages to grow back proper, and you knew he’d complain every step of the way about how horridly uneven they’d become. 

On the bright side, at least he hadn’t fallen into the water. Just the end of his long black coat. 

Water broke. You caught a flash of teeth. It missed his tail, but the alligator was dragging Mordecai back down by his coat tails. Only through sheer stubbornness did the cat remain firmly glued to the wall. You jumped over the railing. Using your own claws, you held onto one of the bars of the railing while you reached down for Mordecai, stretching your arm as far as you could. 

A tense moment passed where you were just reaching for each other, so close to touching, but still too far away. 

His grip slipped. He started falling.

You let go of the railing. 

You managed to grab his hand, and dug the claws of your other hand into the rock wall. It hurt. A lot. It felt like your claws were being pulled out of your fingers, and you digging your feet into the wall too didn’t seem to be helping as much as you thought it would.

Your grip on him allowed Mordecai enough time to regain purchase on the wall.

There was a loud tearing noise as Mordecai’s coat finally gave up. The bottom part of it tore off in the alligator’s mouth as it disappeared below the surface of the pool. The both of you stared at the swarm of bubbles left behind in its wake, eventually fizzing out. The water became smooth as glass again. Gradually, you and Mordecai started dislodging your claws from the rocks to climb back up to safety. 

 Leaning against a wall, you inspected the damage done to your hand with your flashlight. As you’d suspected, most of them were broken. You’d chipped your thumb claw. It was going to take some serious trimming to make sure they grew back right. To say nothing of how much the muscles ached. Good thing it wasn’t your dominant hand. You owned a typewriter sure, but how would you take notes when inspiration struck? 

Nearby, Mordecai was in a similar situation. He was oddly quiet though. Usually, he complained so much over small inconveniences you suspected sometimes he did it for fun. He should’ve been fussing up a storm over how disheveled he’d become. Broken claws, torn jacket, mussed fur, dirty shoes, etc. 

At least he’d held on to the key, so it wasn’t all for nothing. 

  “(Y/N).” 

  “Yes?” 

  “Thank you for your assistance,” he said, point blank. 

You were caught off guard for a moment, then a big smile spread across your face.

  “Hey, anytime. What are friends for?” you said, feeling better already.

His only response was a slow blink, face neutral as ever. His green eyes landed on your scuffed hand.

  “I know a good professional stylist who can help with that, and won’t ask questions. If we go together, I can get us a deal.” 

Your eyes went wide with surprise. A welcome tingling sense of joy bubbled up inside you.

  “Are you asking me out to get my nails done with you?” 

He blinked again, this time in mild confusion. 

  “..Yes? It’s the least I can do to repay you.” 

  “Oh my god, absolutely, yes!” 

Nico

He was too confident. 

Then again, when Nico volunteered to climb the column over the gator pit, you’d had no doubts in your mind either that this would go smoothly. It was after closing, no nosey passerby to get in the way, and the last rays of sunlight still illuminated the interior of the Reptile House. Nico was more than fit for the climb, and his fearless attitude bolstered your own confidence that nothing would go wrong. 

How the hell did you not account for a possible booby trap? You especially! The writer who wrote about all manner of death traps, how they worked, and how deceptively innocuous they could be until it was too late! 

As expected, Nico had no trouble climbing up to the the stone alligator head and retrieving the golden tongue from its open jaws. But then, the head detached from the wall. It fell into the black water below, dragging Nico down with it. 

You barely registered screaming his name as you all but threw yourself at the railing, peering down, frantically searching with your flashlight for any signs of him. Nico’s head broke above the surface, a bright spot surrounded by darkness. 

  “Nico!” 

  “I’m alright Cher(ie)- oh-"

Oh?! What did “oh” mean? You were a hair away from flying into full-blown panic. 

  “I think I’m stuck.” 

Your stomach dropped. 

  “What?!” 

  “It’s on my tail.” 

Did he mean the statue fell on it? Was it broken now?!

A much bigger thing to worry about made itself known. You saw the snout and long bumpy spine of an alligator swimming right towards Nico. You shouted a warning.

  “Look out!” 

The reptile was charging him. All of your fur was standing up. You were sure you were about to watch Nico- lovable, loud, brash Nico- get ripped to pieces by a hungry alligator. There were streaks of white in the water as Nico struck hard and fast at the alligator’s snout. It made a hissing noise, tossing its open jaws side to side as if confused, then swam a ways away from him…though not nearly far away enough. 

You could already see more rigid spines slowly cutting through the water. 

You cycled air in and out of your lungs a few times, adrenaline already pulsing through your system. Then you hopped the railing. Nico noticed you climbing down the rock wall to the water. 

  “NO! (Y/N), go back! I can handle dis!” 

Another alligator was approaching him. He swung out with his claws, hissing fiercely. The sting of the scratch discouraged the gator from coming closer…for the moment. 

  “You can’t fight alligators and get that rock off your tail at the same time!” you shot back. 

You held your flashlight above your head as you jumped the rest of the distance into the water, managing to keep most of your little light from submerging with you just yet. You could only hope there weren’t any alligators hiding beneath the water between you and Nico.  Once you were close enough, you took a deep breath, and dived.

Your spot light shown on the statue, now cracked and falling apart, resting at the bottom of the pool. Part of Nico’s tail, at the tip, was indeed trapped underneath. Your flashlight gave out just as you reached it. You needed two hands anyway. Bracing your feet on the bottom, you pulled with all your strength. You thought you felt it give, but you weren’t sure. Your lungs were beginning to burn. With no light, you couldn’t tell if Nico was free yet or not, and you didn’t want to go until he was. The demand for air was becoming unbearable. 

Something grabbed you by the nape of your neck and pulled you to the surface. It happened so fast, you didn’t have time to react. Next second, you were gulping down air, and Nico was in front of you holding on to you.  

  “(Y/N)? Can you hear me? You okay?” 

He sounded desperate.

  “Yeah,” you finally said, after you got enough air back in you. 

He put an arm around your waist and swum the both of you to the rock wall. You were prepared to climb, but Nico tossed you over his shoulder and did all the climbing himself, unprompted. 

…Holy shit, you knew he was strong, but, wow! 

Once safely back on dry land, Nico started looking you over for injury. He asked again if you were okay. 

  “I’m fine,” you said. At most, you were only exhausted from the whole ordeal. “How’s your tail? It’s not broken is it?” 

  “Nah,” he said, swishing it a little as proof. “Stupid rock caught my fur. One a’de drawbacks of bein’…fluffy.” 

You laughed a little at how he said that.

  “Good, because I’d hate to have to go back to the Maribel and explain your crooked tail to your sister,” you said. 

  “You think she’d be mad? No Cher(ie), she’d be laughin’ till de crows came home from how dumb de reason was I broke it in de first place!” 

He laughed with his chest. A hearty sound you loved to listen to. He suddenly remembered something. 

  “Oh, ‘fore I forget,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out something metallic. The first key. “Ta-da! One down. Two to go!” 

Rocky 

  “No.” 

  “But-" 

  “No.” 

  “Why not?” 

  “Because you can’t even climb ladders with those noodle arms, and those are made for climbing! The carvings on the column are just decorative!” 

Rocky pouted. You refused to let his cute sad eyes get to you this time. He was liable to slip up and fall into the gator pit long before getting anywhere near the golden tongue if you permitted him to try the climb. It had to be you. 

  “Here,” you said, pulling out your flashlight. “You can help by keeping the light on me while I go up. It’s getting darker by the minute in here.” 

It was after closing time, the zoo cleared out of guests, and the sun was setting. There wasn’t much light left filtering in through the skylight above. Now that you’d given him a task, he cheered back up. He saluted you with your flashlight. 

  “You got it (Y/N)! You can count on me to light your way!” 

With that, and a little smile, you slid over the railing. The various carvings of reptiles in the column afforded you many hand holds as you made your way higher. Below you could hear lightly splashing water. You chose not to look down. Nor think of the very large, very dangerous, predators inhabiting the area below. The stone alligator head you had to reach your arm into was bad enough already, never mind the real ones. The smooth metal of the golden tongue was cold on your pads. You gripped it and pulled. It didn’t budge. 

It took you a minute to realize you had to slide the tongue out a certain way in order to get it. Once you had it in your hand, you felt relief. All you had to do now was climb down and…and..

  “(Y/N)!” 

You barely heard Rocky’s shout as the stone head pushed you away from the wall and down into the murky waters with a splash. 

It wasn’t a deep pool. When you hit the bottom you came dangerously close to getting the wind knocked out of you. Everything ached as you swam up. Breaching the surface, you gasped for air. 

As your vision cleared, you waterlogged fur puffed. There were no less than three alligators in the water with you, and they were between you and the rock wall you could use to climb out of the enclosure. All three had their eyes on you. 

You couldn’t go forward. If you tried to swim the other way, they’d catch you long before you reached the muddy bank. One started inching closer. You instinctively swam backwards, trying to keep as much distance between it and you as possible. 

  “Don’t worry! I’ll save you!” 

That was the last thing you heard before you saw Rocky jump. Your mouth dropped open in shock and horror. 

“Pick on someone yer own size ye watery devils!” he roared as he fell.  

He landed on the back of one of the gators, feet first. It bucked, baying angrily, jaws wide open and snapping. The force of it jostled Rocky over to landing on the other one, startling it too. It attempted to swing around and bite him, but it caught the tail of the alligator that had been menacing you instead. And it did not like that!

After that, it was just a tangle of frothing water, writhing scaly bodies, and chomping teeth. You didn’t see Rocky anywhere. You did see his blue jacket and hat shredded to pieces floating near the alligators. His bright orange lucky tie even made its way over to you, frayed at the ends.

You picked it up. Tears welling up in your eyes. 

  “Oh…Rocky…” 

  “Yeah (Y/N)?” 

Your soul momentarily left your body. You looked beside you to find Rocky’s signature toothy grin, bright white and bobbing above the murky waters.

  “Hey, my lucky tie!” He reached out and took it, placing it around his neck again, “Thanks for finding it for me.” 

  “Rocky?!” you stared in disbelief, gaping like a fish. “How?”  

  “Eh, when the gators started rolling, I went under the water. They were busy snapping at each other, so I just swam over here,” he said with a shrug. “They got my jacket though.” 

You finally shook off your stupor enough to start looking for another way out of the swamp enclosure. You and Rocky headed for the beach, away from the fighting alligators. Unfortunately, the rest of the pack was there waiting for you, drawn out by the loud commotion. You tried to remember what you could about alligators on land. They were good swimmers, of course, not good climbers, but how were they at running?

You got your answer when one of them charged at you. This huge shadowy thing booking it on all fours towards you, going much faster than anything that size had any right to. You felt a primal fear you hadn’t felt in ages. 

  “This way!” Rocky shouted, running to the side. 

You bolted right after him. You reached a wall, craggy and full of crevices, and immediately started climbing. You put the key in your teeth so you could use both hands. It felt like it took forever to scale the wall and get back on the safe side of the railing. Though it could’ve only been a few minutes. 

Safe at last, you and Rocky both sank to the floor for a breather. You spat the key out into your waiting hands and held it up for inspection. The top part was smooth. The underside had some gear-looking things on it. Your brow furrowed with confusion, wondering what that could mean. 

Another mystery for another time. 

  “Rocky?” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “That was really brave, what you did back there.” 

His blue eyes sparkled from your praise, he smiled happily. 

  “Really?” 

  “Yeah. Not everyone would jump into an alligator pit for their friend.”

 He chuckled, “For you, (Y/N), I’d jump into pretty much anything.” 

And he would. You knew he really would.

Serafine

After hiding out in the zoo until past closing, the sun was close to slipping beyond the horizon, taking its light with it. The last rays of twilight filtered in through the skylight of the Reptile House, and all was quiet. A stark contrast to the buzz and bustling movement during open hours. 

The coast clear, you switched on your trusty flashlight and shined it down into the swamp enclosure below. Several shining pairs of eyes gleamed eerily in the black water. A tiny chill went up your spine. 

  “Aw don’t worry, Papillon,” Serafine said, coming up beside you. “Dey can’t do nothin’. Don’t be scared.” 

  “I’m not,” you said a bit too fast. 

She gave you an expression that said she didn’t believe you, but you were more than welcome to try to prove her wrong. 

  “I’m not! I’ll even climb up and get the key myself,” you insisted. 

That got an amused smile out of her. She hummed brightly. 

  “Alright Cher(ie), let’s see it,” she challenged. 

There was no backing out now. You handed her the flashlight. You took one steading breath before carefully climbing over the railing and starting your way up the column. Fortunately, as you’d predicted, all the little carvings in it made for an easy grip. All you had to do was not look down. It made ignoring the thought of all those hungry alligators below looking at you, hoping you’d fall, much easier. 

In the dim light, the stone alligator head almost looked real. You had a sickening feeling of the teeth chomping down on your arm as you willed yourself to reach inside. You hoped Serafine couldn't see your hand shaking. You wanted to yank the golden tongue out right away, but it wouldn’t budge. Not at first. You had to unhook it, or something, from whatever it was attached to. 

When it finally came loose in your hand, you inspected it. The underside had these little gears on it- 

The world suddenly went sideways as the statue fell forward into you, pushing you off the column. For a second that lasted forever, you saw everything in great detail. You saw the rafters and the glass of the skylight, the purple sky beyond it awaiting the arrival of the stars. The shapes in the column stood out more to you. Serafine, lit from below by the soft glow of your flashlight. She must’ve been saying something because her mouth was wide open, you could see her pointy white teeth. Her golden eyes were big, and she was reaching for you.

She was the last thing you saw before cold black water swallowed you up. 

You hit the bottom of the pool with a painful thud, you almost lost your breath. Your body started to float up, instinctively you moved to swim up- 

And you couldn’t go up. Something had your foot caught in it. Something pointed that dug into your skin. 

Alligator!

In truth, it was the statue’s teeth that caught you, not a living threat. Your fear addled brain wouldn’t let you calm down long enough to realize this, however. You kicked as hard as you could with your free foot. Trying to get the thing to let go, or force yourself loose. It wasn’t working. 

You needed to breathe. You couldn’t breathe. 

Panic coursing through your brain made you more frantic. Your lungs were burning.

You needed to breathe. You couldn’t breathe.

A light blinded you momentarily. Then it flickered and died. Hands were suddenly around your ankle, startling you. They pulled hard. Distantly, you felt your shoe come off. Even the pointy teeth didn’t feel so bad as they tore into your skin as you were finally freed. You swam like mad for the surface. 

You couldn’t suck in enough air fast enough to satisfy yourself. You coughed violently, and your head spun. Something grabbed your shoulder, tugging you somewhere. 

   “C’mon (Y/N), we need to swim for the wall!” 

Serafine, your oxygen starved brain spat out. 

Right, you were in the pool with the alligators and needed to get out. As your strength started to come back, your strokes got better. The rocky wall ahead had plenty of crevices in it to use to climb, you just needed to reach it.

A bumpy snout and yellow slit eyes rose up from the water between the wall and you and Serafine. It came right at you. You’re not sure if it was you screaming or Serafine. Because you saw her lunge at the big reptile at the same time it tried to bite, the gleam of her switchblade caught the evening light. 

You think she managed to stab its snout. It’s long head pitched around wildly in the water. Serafine grabbed onto it, trying to keep its mouth shut. Both disappeared under the water in a tangle of limbs and silvery froth. 

It went eerily quiet then. You stared stupidly, open mouthed, at the spot where Serafine and the alligator had gone under. Waiting for the slightest bit of movement. You barely noticed the large scaly head right next to you.

You shrieked. Reflexively, you tried to both swim away, and push the danger away from you. Shockingly, the reptile gave easily, and it turned over, revealing the large open wound in its throat. 

You heard Serafine gasping for breath not far from you. 

  “Serafine!” 

  “Let’s go Cher(ie). There’s blood in de water now. It’ll make dem other gators frisky.” 

The two of you got to the wall with no further trouble. You pocketed the golden tongue so you could use both hands for the climb. Half way up, you heard a bunch of splashing. You dared to look down. The other alligators were already tearing into the fresh meat of their former comrade, devouring it. You felt ill. 

Safely back behind the railing on land, your legs gave out and you sank to the floor, panting like you’d run a marathon. Serafine wordlessly sat beside you, tucking herself into your side, and putting a comforting arm around you. You were grateful for the warmth and the company.  

After a few minutes, as the adrenaline in your system subsided, your injuries began to make themselves known. You hissed at the pain in your foot. Upon inspection, you found several long gashes from ankle to almost your toes. None of them were deep, thank goodness, but it was going to be rough walking home. You’d have a limp tomorrow for sure. Serafine took the frilly sash from around her neck and used it as a bandage for your foot. She had an apologetic look on her face as she did so. 

     “Next time, Papillon, I’ll do de dumb dangerous t’ing. You got nothin’ to prove.”

Viktor

He glared so intently at the alligators below you wondered if he was having a staring contest with one of them.  

  “This is dangerous,” he stated. 

You took out your flashlight you’d been smart enough to bring from home, and switched it on. The extra light would be welcome. The sun was going down, giving the empty zoo over to darkness. 

  “I know,” you said. “But all I have to do is climb up, get the key, and climb back down. And there’s lots of good places to grip on the column. It’ll be easy.” 

Viktor growled disapprovingly. 

He probably would’ve gone up himself if he could. You handed him the flashlight to give him something to do. 

  “Something not right about this,” he said gruffly. 

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll be quick,” you smiled, giving his arm a reassuring pat.

He sighed, and said nothing more.

You carefully climbed over the railing and started your journey up to the key. You shut everything else out. All that mattered was making it to the jaws of the statue and claiming your prize. Looking at all those teeth, you hesitated a moment. You pushed at them experimentally to see if they’d do anything. They remained solidly in place. 

Okay….good…

You reached inside the mouth, your pads coming in contact with the smooth cold metal of the golden tongue. You wiggled it to get it free. A sense of relief and accomplishment came over you as you looked at it in your hand, smiling. 

There was an awful crumbling noise all of a sudden, then a crunch. The alligator head lurched forward into you. You barely registered shrieking as you fell, fell, fell, splash!

Somehow, you managed to hit the water with the statue under you, and it hit the bottom of the pool first. You felt it break underneath you, cushioning your own fall, though not without pain as your body made contact with the sandy floor. Instinctively, you picked yourself up, kicked off the bottom, and swam up. You breached the surface, your grateful lungs drinking in greedy gulps of air. 

  “Viktor!” You cried, looking up at the spot where he’d been behind the railing with your flashlight.

All you saw above was the empty darkness of the Reptile House. 

Your heart sank as you stared in disbelief. He’d abandoned you?  

It sort of made sense. He couldn’t very well jump in and rescue you. Not without getting himself killed in the process. Did Viktor even know how to swim? None of this did anything to ease the heavy sorrow knotting up in your stomach. The idea that Viktor would just up and leave you the moment you became a lost cause…tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

You shook your head, banishing those thoughts. You needed to focus! You were going to be gator grub if you didn’t get out of there right away! The wall had enough crevices and cracks in it to climb up to the railing, you just had to reach it before the alligators got to you. Only problem, you weren’t going to swim faster than them.

You could already see the serpentine spikey spines, led by bulbous toothy snouts, cutting through the water towards you. Silently stalking you like prey. You swam backwards to keep them in your sight, desperately clinging to the impossible idea that you might be able to dodge or something - do anything - if you saw an attack coming. And an attack was coming.

One gator swam out in front of the pack, gaining speed, charging at you like an angry bull at a red cloth.

  “No, NO!” you cried. It can’t end like this!

Something blunt and wooden smacked the alligator square on the head. It reared up out of the water with an angry hiss, then swam away. 

  “Stay avay from them you scaled bastards!” a thick Slovakian voice shouted. 

You turned, looking up to see him again. He’d come back for you! You felt like crying all over again, but this time for happiness! 

  “Viktor!”

He heaved what was obviously a broken bench over the railing and leaned over as far as he could, holding it above the water. 

  “(Y/N)! Grab on!” 

There was no time to argue. As if sensing their meal was getting away, the other gators picked up their pace, coming towards you. You swam for the bench. Using the wall, you lifted yourself up just enough to grab onto the armrest. 

  “I have it!” you called. 

You’d always known Viktor was strong. This though? This was down right Herculean! 

He pulled you right up out of the water, bench and all, just in time to dodge the snapping jaws of the alligators. He dragged the bench up to the railing. When you were close enough, he reached out for you, and hauled you to safety. 

  “You okay?” 

He had both big hands on your shoulders, his one eye filled with concern. 

  “Yes,” you answered, smiling softly. “Thanks to you. Again.”

  “Good,” he snorted. His usual gruffness came back. “No more climbing things. You alvays fall!” 

  “You know, you might be on to something,” you said tiredly. 

Maybe he was right. You shouldn’t go climbing up to any high places for a while. Viktor might not be able to handle it. 

Wick

He was getting jittery, you could tell. He kept wringing his hands around his cane. 

  “I feel like such a vandal,” he whispered, as the two of you made your way back into the Reptile House once the rest of the guests had cleared out. The sun was going down.

  “I know. Isn’t it exciting?” you said, bouncing along to the swamp enclosure. “Breaking rules and hunting down clues to find gangster treasure, it’s great!” 

  “Y-yeah. Great,” he said, trying to mirror your enthusiasm, and not succeeding. 

Your flashlight from home gave you much needed extra light to see by. The last rays of twilight that fell through the overhead skylight dwindled. You checked over the railing to see what the alligators were up to. Perhaps they’d be sleeping? 

No such luck. The beam of your flashlight caught several gleaming green eyes peering back at you from the inky watery darkness below. Beside you, you heard Wick swallow nervously. 

  “If you wanna change your mind, I don’t mind climbing up instead,” you suggested. 

Wick came back to reality from staring at the alligators. 

  “What? Oh, no, no, no. Dearest (Y/N), I made a commitment, and I intend to see it through!” 

He took off his hat, and hung it on his cane, leaned against the railing. 

“Alligators or not,” he finished, almost weakly. 

  “Happy climbing, then,” you said, holding up the flashlight. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can see where you’re going.”

He gave you a small shaky smile, then slowly climbed over the railing and ascended the column. The carvings of reptiles that wrapped all the way around it provided a number of handholds and footholds for him. Making for an easy climb. At the top, coming nose to snout with the alligator statue, he hesitated a few moments before working up the courage to finally put his hand between the jaws to get at the golden tongue. It seemed he had to work a bit to get it to come out. 

  “I have it!” he called. 

You could indeed see the yellow piece of smooth metal in his hand as he waved down at you. You smiled, opened your mouth to praise him-

A loud, awful thunk noise was heard, followed by what sounded like either grinding or crumbling rocks. Either way, next thing you knew, the alligator head came off the wall, falling to the swamp below, and it took Wick screaming down with it! 

  “Wick!” his name was out of your mouth before you even knew what was happening. 

You leaned over the railing as far as you could, scanning the water with your flashlight. Finally, he came up, coughing, but alive. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Only to completely panic all over again when you saw the long, winding spines of the alligators snaking through the water towards Wick. He saw them too and started swimming as fast as could for the wall. It was craggily, made to look like real rocks, so very climbable as well. Only problem, Wick wasn’t going to be faster than the gators. 

You couldn’t think! Wick was going to get ripped apart by alligators and there was nothing you could do about it, because you couldn’t think of a way to help him-

His cane caught your eye.

It was a stupid idea, but as you gripped the polished wood and vaulted over the railing, you really didn’t care. You were desperate. 

You crashed into the water, coming up next to him. 

  “Wha- What are you doing down here?!” He was flabbergasted, “You were safe!” 

Before you could answer, a long snout with teeth was coming up out of the water, jaws open. With all your might, you plunged the end of the cane into the open mouth. The teeth came down on it with a sickening crunch, almost catching your fingers, as the cane was snapped in two. 

The alligator swam off, violently whipping its head side to side. Probably trying to spit the splintered wood out. You were left with a splintered little stump in your hands. You and Wick swam the rest of the way to the wall. When you made it, you turned and threw the remains of the cane at the nearest alligator head, buying a few more seconds to start scaling and get out of snapping range. 

Once the both of you dragged yourselves to safety over the railing, you flopped on to the floor like fishes, panting for breath. You both stared at the skylight, waiting for your hearts to stop beating so fast.

  “Sorry about your cane,” you mumbled, your voice gradually returning.

  “Think nothing of it. I have five others at home,” Wick said, almost with a laugh. He sounded kind of hoarse. Probably from the screaming. “Better the cane than us at any rate.” 

Couldn’t argue with that. 

  “Do you have the key?” you asked. 

  “Uh…” 

Wick had to pat himself down for a moment. A second later, he reached into his inner coat pocket and retrieved the golden tongue. 

“That’s a relief,” he said, inspecting it. “I was afraid I’d dropped it for a minute.” 

As he turned it over in his hands, you saw that the underside had some gear looking things on it. The two of you speculated what that could be for, before picking yourselves up to head home. 

Zib

   “Nope. Don’t like this. Not one little bit,” he said. 

He squinted and put a hand up to block the light from your flashlight when you turned it on.

“Where’d you get that?”

  “I brought it with me,” you said smiling. “A good mystery writer is always prepared.” 

You shined the light around the Reptile House now empty, apart from the animals, since it was past closing time. The last rays of twilight dripped down through the skylight, bathing everything in long shadows and soft dwindling light. The beam fell on the column, the many carvings that decorated it projecting a tangled mess of light and shadows all over it. The stone alligator head perched at the top was your goal.

In the enclosure below, you could make out a few bumpy rocks in the water that you knew weren’t rocks. You hoped they were sleeping.

  “This is a really bad idea,” Zib said.

  “There isn’t a better way to do this. One of us has to climb up and get the key. And I’m guessing you’re not up for that.” 

His ear twitched as he scowled. You sighed and handed him the flashlight. 

“I’ll be quick. And then we’ll get out of here. We’ll be just in time for your act at the Lackadaisy,” you said, trying to be reassuring. 

The scowl gave way to a softer, more concerned expression, though he remained silent. You took that as your cue. You hopped the railing and started your climb. The little carvings gave you plenty to grab onto, and you were thankful. The sooner you got this over with, the better for Zib’s nerves. If this went well, he might even be less antsy hunting down the next key. You made it to the top soon enough. Without a second thought, you reached into the open jaws, and grabbed the golden tongue- only to find it stuck tight. 

You had to jostle it some before you realized you needed to slide it out of some slot it was connected to. It came out in your hand easily after. A sigh escaped you, the hard part was done- 

There was an ominous crunch. The head moved forward, detached from the wall. It pushed you into open air! 

You didn’t hear yourself scream on the way down, nor did you hear Zib cry out for you. The next thing you knew you were being swallowed up by the cold darkness of the water. You hit the bottom of the pool with a muffled whump. Luckily, you didn’t break anything, and you swam for the surface. You gasped for air, and tried to calm down long enough to get your bearings. Which was a bit hard to do knowing the alligators were on the prowl, and knew you were there. Your heart was racing.

  “(Y/N)! (Y/N)!”

  “I’m okay,” you called up to Zib.

Though probably not for much longer.

  “Don’t yell,” he shouted. “And don’t splash, that’ll encourage ‘em! Try to stay calm!” 

Calm!? Sure. No problem. You were only in a pit full of ruthless killing machines that could swim much faster than you and- oh god! 

You could see the bumpy snout of one lazily drifting towards you. How were you supposed to get away from that? Especially without throwing water everywhere? 

Something small dropped into the water not far from the alligator. It seemed to catch its interest as it slowed down. It happened again. You carefully moved your arms to propel yourself backwards, away from the gator and towards the wall. It was designed to imitate rocks, so it had many crags and crevices you could hold on to. You just had to reach it. 

The alligator resumed pursuing you again. You felt your hackles going up, even under the water, and you moved too fast. You sent ripples across the pool, informing every gator in the water of your location. 

Your flashlight dropped down from above, hitting the alligator squarely on the head. Confused, it lashed around, searching for the source. 

  “(Y/N)!” you turned to see Zib leaning as far over the railing as he could without falling. “Swim underwater!” 

You’re not sure what kind of face you made, but it caused Zib to roll his eyes in exacerbation. 

“Look, there isn’t a better way to do this! If you swim under the water, you’re harder for them to find!  Just do it!” 

You didn’t have much choice. You just hoped there wasn’t another alligator under the water too that would be in your path. You took a few sweet breaths of air, one last deep breath, and submerged. It was pitch-black underwater. You kept your eyes squeezed shut to stave off the sting, kicking your feet to move forward. Blindly you felt around with your hands, only catching empty water, or the occasional twig, or leaf. Your lungs started to burn.

At last, you made contact with something solid and too big to be an alligator. You broke the surface, greedily gulping down much needed air. You could see Zib at the top of the wall, his bright yellow eyes standing out in the dark. Pocketing the key, you grabbed on to the wall and started up it like a squirrel escaping from dogs. When you were close enough, Zib reached down to help haul you up and over the railing to safety.

Your legs chose that moment to give out and you sunk to the floor, dragging Zib with you as he refused to let go of you. 

  “(Y/N)? Hey, are you hurt?” 

  “No,” you said, once your breathing returned to almost normal. “I’m okay.”

He pulled you into a hug, not caring if it got his own clothes wet. You were grateful for the warmth. 

After a few minutes, you felt you’d recuperated enough to travel. Standing up you saw that something was missing. 

  “Where are your shoes?” you asked him, noting his bare feet. 

  “Where d’you think?” He gave you a flat look, “At the bottom of the pool. I couldn’t think of anything else to throw to distract the alligators for you.” 

  “That reminds me, how do you know how to get around alligators?” 

Zib shrugged casually, “The band and I spent some time in parts of Louisiana and Florida where you couldn't go ten steps without tripping over one of those overgrown lizards with teeth. The locals taught us a few things. Lucky for JJ…and you.” 

You bookmarked that little chestnut in your head to ask JJ about later. On the bright side, it looked like you were going to be right about getting to the Lackadaisy in time for the band to play. Zib probably didn’t have any spare shoes, but he could borrow yours if he didn’t want to play barefoot, even if they didn’t quite fit. You really didn’t want to explain to Mitzi how he’d lost his shoes to an alligator. 

Chapter Text

With the first key to the treasure in your possession, you’re feeling pretty good about yourself. However, while you’re trying to sort out where the second key could be while going about your life as normal, some odd things happen. 

Nobody except you two know anything about Atlas’ treasure…right? 

Freckle

You accompanied him on his shopping trip for his dear old mother. You loved these little domestic outings, they were often relaxed. Freckle liked bringing you along too. Not just because you were his best friend, but because he had a habit of over over analyzing what goods to buy that led to him staring between two or more items for a half an hour, and he trusted your judgment. His mother hadn’t complained anymore than usual over what he brought home, so the system worked. 

While he was internally debating over cans of spam, you looked out the store’s front window. Outside hanging from a rack were large, freshly caught fish for sale. Remembering how the poem mentioned fish tails as a clue to where the second key was, your mind wandered off. As you stared, your mind started to nag at you about something. Something about the fish? No something between the hanging fish.

The half-hidden shape of a person. Staring…. Intently.….At you. 

  “(Y/N)?” 

You gasped with a start, your head whipping back to Freckle. He was holding up two cans.

“What do you think? Meyers? Or Micheals?”

  “Oh, um,” you put a hand to your chest to help calm your heart, pretending to adjust your coat, “Meyers. It’s cheaper.” 

He gave the can of spam a kind of suspicious squinty look before shrugging and adding it to the basket. You turned back to look out the window again. 

Through the gaps between the hanging fish were no shadowy figures to be seen. Only the normal bustle of the city at mid afternoon. You wondered if you’d imagined it. 

  “(Y/N/)?” Freckle caught on to your apprehension. “Are you okay?” 

  “…Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” you said.

The dread pooling in the bottom of your stomach called you a liar. 

Ivy

You and her were taking a trip across town to visit this cute little tea shop Ivy’s classmates had recommended to her. You sat together on the trolley. Ivy swung her feet rhythmically, bumping against the seat lightly and humming cheerfully. You took out the Little Mermaid book. Reading while in a moving vehicle nauseated you, but you could stomach it enough to look over a few paragraphs in hopes of finding some indication of where the second clue might be hidden. A lot of places in town had “fish tails” and you couldn’t be certain that was a literal interpretation. 

Ivy suddenly grabbed you arm and squeezed. Before you could ask, she shifted closer to you and whispered.

  “Don’t look now, but some weirdo’s been staring at us for the whole ride.” 

That caught your attention. You put the book away in your satchel. 

  “What weirdo?” you asked, keeping your voice low. 

  “The skinny guy in the grey hat and coat, square glasses.” 

As discreetly as you could, you let your eyes search the interior of the trolley. A man fitting Ivy’s description was sitting up in the front, where the inward facing seats were located. Yeah, he was looking at you two. He gave you kind of a weird feeling. 

On the other hand, funny feelings and long stares weren’t illegal, nor did they prove anything. You didn’t see anything that could be done about it. At least not until after you’d gotten off the trolley. 

Ivy whispered conspiratorially, “I have an idea. Let’s get off at the next stop and see if he follows us.” 

It was a detour in your plans, but you agreed. At the next stop, you two got up to exit. You had to go past the shady guy. He was watching you closely. His eyes were ice blue and just as cold. It was hard not to feel like you were under some kind of microscope. Ivy stuck up her nose, making a show of ignoring him as she passed.

Once you were out the door of the trolley, you turned around just in time to see him stand up and hurry to the door. Now certain something was up, you gripped Ivy’s arm and urged her to walk faster. Ivy took the hint. She linked her arm with yours and you two all but ran around the corner at the end of the block. 

Right where Ivy knew the bus stop would be, and there was your big four wheeled ticket to salvation, boarding now. You both leapt up the stairs of the bus, Ivy all but threw the fare money into the box, and you both sat down quickly next to a window, peering out intently. The lanky man in the grey coat was outside, looking this way and that. As the bus started to pull away, he looked up and caught you staring.

Ivy, in true sassy Ivy fashion, blew a raspberry at him.

The glare he sent you two gave Viktor’s death stare a run for its money.

You really hoped you’d never see that guy again. 

Mitzi

It was a normal routine lunch run. Until it wasn’t.

You noticed him because he was about as big and broad shouldered as Viktor, and even dressed similar, but he still had both eyes, and different colored fur. You noticed the other one in the coat with the angular spectacles because he followed along with the big one. Both of them followed you off the trolley, and took every turn you took through the streets. You almost didn’t go to the Little Daisy Cafe because you were afraid they’d figure out that was one of your haunts. But it was also your fortress. You felt safe there. Especially in the underground Lackadaisy. 

And so, you took a gamble. 

At a busy street, you didn’t wait for traffic to clear up. You sprinted across causing brakes to shriek and horns to angrily blare. You didn't care. You just kept running, turning down one alley and going up another hoping to loose them. By the time you burst through the cafe’s front doors you were panting and shaking like a scared chihuahua. 

Mitzi was already there, talking casually with her chef at the counter. When she saw the state you were in, she knew something was wrong. 

  “(Y/N/)? Darlin’ what is it? What happened?” she asked, with a worried glint in her green eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you decided it would be a good idea to get away from the glass see-through doors for the time being, meeting Mitzi in the middle near a booth.

  “I-I don’t know,” you tried to explain. Your brain was still muddled from the panicked running you’d done. “These- these two guys on the trolley just started following me, and I didn’t know what else to do. I ran all the way here.”

 Mitzi’s ears pricked up in alarm,“What’d they look like?”

  “Uh, well, one of ‘em was a big fella,” you raised your hand to about the level you thought the guy’s head would be, for reference, “bright yellow fur with some stripes…or spots…I couldn’t tell.” 

  “Mm-hm. Was the other one a grey and white skinny fella in a grey coat and hat?” 

  “Yeah…How’d you know?” 

Mitzi didn’t say anything. Rather she told you with her eyes flicking between you and one of the glass windows. 

A horrible sinking feeling set in. You turned around. Through the glass you could see the pair making their way towards the cafe. 

Your response was to swear and dive under the nearest table, tail puffed, hoping they hadn’t seen you.

Mitzi didn’t like seeing you like that. As the men grew closer to the cafe, she dipped down to whisper. 

  “Just stay put Sugar, I’ll handle this.” 

  “But-“ 

You wanted to protest, fearing for her safety, but she was already up and striding towards the door with all the confidence and grace in the world. Before they could touch the door handle, Mitzi had pulled the front door wide open. She gave them her most welcoming smile, and really drizzled on the southern accent. 

  “Good afternoon gentlemen. I apologize for the inconvenience, but due to, uh, supply chain issues, my little ol’ cafe has to close up early today. I do hope you fine fellas can understand.” 

  “Aww, I wanted a sandwich,” the big one lamented. The grey and white one rolled his eyes. 

“Think of something besides your stomach for once,” he reprimanded before turning to Mitzi, polite as you please. “If you could please help us with a little something madam, we would be ever so grateful.” 

  “Help you? With what?” Mitzi batted her eyes innocently. 

The grey coat guy proceeded to ask if she’d seen “their friend” who just so happened to look exactly like you, from his description. Right down to the clothes you were wearing. You wanted to sink through the floor. They really had been following you! 

 “Hmm,” Mitzi pursed her lips, one dainty claw resting lightly against her cheeks as she made a show of pretending to think over what the men had said. “Nope. No sorry I dont- Oh! Wait I think I did see your friend. They ran right by here a little while ago. Looked like they were in an awful big hurry.”

She very nearly added, to get away from someone, but that might’ve been pushing it. 

“They went that a’way,” she oh so helpfully pointed down the street. 

Luckily, the men took the bait. The grey and white tipped his hat. 

  “Thank you madam, much appreciated.” 

  “Don’t mention it Hun,” Mitzi said with bright smile. You could hear the veiled venom in her voice. 

  “Come along you big oaf. We have a job to do.” 

  “Right! And then we get sandwiches!” said the big one happily.

  “No.” 

The big one’s face fell as he pouted a little. Even his shoulders drooped. The grey one sighed.

“I’ll make you something when we get back, alright?” 

  “Really? Aww thanks buddy!” 

  “Don’t call me that.” 

Mitzi didn’t hear anymore of their conversation as they set off in the direction she’d sent them in. She closed the doors, locked them with her key, and turned the open sign to closed. She told the chef to prepare your usual order for JAZKAT, and that he could take the rest of the day off. 

  “You don’t have to close on my account,” you said, emerging at last from under the table. 

  “It’s alright Sugar,” she shooed you into the booth to sit down with her. “Thursdays are usually slow anyway, and I don’t want to have to deal with those characters again if they come back. I know hired help when I see it.” 

Your stomach dropped.

  “H-Hired help?” you stammered. As if things couldn’t get any worse, someone might be paying those guys to stalk you!? “From who!?” 

  “Not Marigold. I can say that much for certain,” Mitzi said thoughtfully. She steepled her fingers. “Darlin’, for the next couple weeks or so, I’d advise you to be extra cautious movin’ around on the streets. We’ll call you a cab to make sure you get back to work in one piece. It’s possible those bozos mistook you for someone else, but it’s best you don’t chance anything for now. You got that?” 

  “Uh…yeah,” you agreed. 

You looked out the window at the city outside. The same city you’d greeted with a smile when you left home this morning. It seemed so much more dark and threatening now.  

Mordecai

Maybe it was because of all the stalking he’d done before that you made it to work safe and sound.

You left your apartment on time, and started your usual commute on foot to the JAZKAT radio studio. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Lingering long shadows stretched themselves across streets, darkened alleyways, and you felt the last chills of the night. It was normal for you, and you welcomed the familiar sights and sensations. 

The streets were sparse. They would never be truly empty in a bustling city like St. Louis. You didn’t take any interest in any of the other passerby's until that feeling of being stared at surfaced again, and you, as casually as you could, looked over your shoulder.

You saw a familiar coat, hat, and the faintest reflection of glasses. You rolled your eyes, but smiled fondly. This was just how Mordecai showed affection for people: From a distance. It’d  been weird at first, stalking is considered a red flag in relationships for a reason, and his career choice didn’t exactly inspire confidence, however, you trusted Mordecai enough now to believe that he was an exception to this rule.

You had recently saved him from getting eaten alive by alligators after all. Things would have to really shift between you two for him to consider harming you. 

Assured you were safe, you were feeling playful. You could afford to be a few minutes late. It wasn’t hard to wind the check-in clock back a little to punch in “on time”. A secret you and your coworkers guarded fiercely from your boss. You took a wrong turn on purpose. Then another. After walking down the wrong street, you did a complete loop around an apartment building. Entering on to the main street again, you turned a corner, and swiftly hid behind a stand, locked up until business hours, to await a no doubt frustrated Mordecai. Crouched down, you couldn’t see him. You heard the click of expensive shoes hurry out of the alley and stop dead. A small giggle caught in your throat as you pictured his confused, annoyed face. You toyed with the idea of risking popping your head over the stand to peak at it. He walked off away from you before you had the chance. 

When you couldn’t hear him anymore, you got up. He was nowhere in sight. Thinking you’d won your little game, you got back on track and headed in for work. You walked in the front doors of JAZKAT, punched in “on time”, said hello to a few coworkers, and opened the door to your office.

He was already there. Hunched over another one of your manuscripts.

  “You’re late,” he said blankly without looking up. You scoffed. Annoyed you weren’t going to be at your desk today after all.

  “How’d you beat me here? You went the wrong way.” 

  “I never go the wrong way. I have exceptional navigation skills.” 

  “This morning you did. I gave you the old ring around the rosey and you walked off in the wrong direction.” 

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been here for,” he took out his shiny bronze pocket watch and flipped it open, “eighty seven minutes.” 

You did the calculations in your head. The result was something…unsettling. 

  “You’ve been…here…all morning?” You needed confirmation.

  “Not all morning, just the past eighty seven minutes…eighty eight minutes.” 

You felt your stomach drop. The rest of you followed suit, sinking down on to your crate by the door. 

  “Then…the guy who followed me…wasn’t…you,” the realization of how close you’d come to possible harm was making the hamster wheel in your brain spin at turbo speed. Your heart beat faster. 

Mordecai’s ears pricked up. His head swiveled in your direction, “Someone followed you?” 

You could only nod. 

“Who?” 

  “I don’t know. I thought they were you.” 

  “Me?” He set his paperwork down, giving you his undivided attention. “Explain.” 

  “They looked like you, at least from distance. I didn’t see them up close,” you said. You explained the events of your walk from there. Mordecai listened intently. 

When you finished, a look of cold determination came over him. He started packing up his work. 

  “This warrants some investigation,” he said dryly, buttoning up his coat. He handed you a folded slip of paper. “This is an alternative route to your apartment I took the liberty of drawing up. Follow it. Go straight home after work. Keep the doors locked, curtains drawn, and be mindful of your surroundings. I’ll contact you tomorrow.” 

You glanced over the directions he’d handed you. You looked up at him, nervous. 

  “Do you know who it was?” 

  “I have some suspicions, but I need to make certain. I’ll have a better answer for you tomorrow.” 

He placed his hat on his head, picked up his briefcase, and started off. He halted when you called after him. 

  “Stay safe,” you said.

He turned back to you, “You as well, (Y/N).”  

Nico

You were getting drinks and relaxing in the Marigold Room together when he’d had to leave you for a few minutes. It hadn't bothered you. You knew he’d be back soon. 

It bothered you very much when someone else sat down exactly where Nico had been not two minutes before. An older looking gent, grey and white fur, square glasses with icy blue eyes behind them, and a stare just as chilling. 

You were expecting him to say something. When he didn’t, you cleared your throat awkwardly. 

  “I’m sorry Sir, but someone else is sitting there already,” you said nicely. 

You couldn’t be rude. This was the Marigold Room. All manner of killers and thieves were known to mingle and blend in with the common folk here. You couldn't risk raising his ire. 

  “I won’t be long,” he said. He sounded posh. And his mannerisms reminded you of a strict school teacher…who might be a murderer. “You are (Y/N) (L/N)? Correct?” 

That set off an internal alarm bell.

  “Whose asking?” you said. A common deflection you’d picked up from Nico. 

  “If you please, we’d like to have a word with you.” 

Your eyebrows shot up, “We?” 

He nodded behind you. You looked over to see a very burly tabby in overalls and a cap sitting in the next booth, smile and wave at you, with a dumb grin on his face. All the alarm bells went off. You turned back to glasses guy.

  “In private,” he said. The icy tone of finality made your stomach clench. 

Before you could stall for time, or come up with an excuse, someone put their hand on the table in front of you, blocking you from glasses guy. Your heart leapt. Nico! 

  “Any’ting you gotta say to (Y/N) you can say to me Cher,” he growled, grinning down at the man, showing off his teeth. 

His tone sent your insides dancing for completely different reasons.

Apart from a slight raise of eyebrows, glasses guy didn’t seem phased. He slid out of the booth. 

  “The atmosphere has shifted to something less agreeable,” he said politely, a totally blank expression. He went around Nico, the boxer didn’t take his eyes off him. “Perhaps another time. Come along.”

He gestured to his cohort. The bigger guy knocked back the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth with his arm, and trotted off with him. You and Nico watched them leave. The second they were gone, Nico bent down to be at eye level with you. 

  “You alright Cher(ie)?” he asked concerned. 

  “Yeah, they didn’t do anything, thank goodness.” You stared at the ice cubes half melted in the remaining amber liquid in your glass, mind stirring. “They knew my name.” 

  “How?” 

  “I don’t know. I didn't think to ask.” Maybe you should’ve? At least tried to get some information out of them rather than the other way around? When the guy said your name your mind just went blank as your body geared up to launch into flight-or-fight. 

Nico confirmed neither of those guys worked for Marigold, and vowed to ask around to find out whatever he could. In the meantime, he was driving you home tonight. 

  “At no charge Cher(ie),” he smiled and winked. 

It brought a little smile to your own face.

Rocky

You’d gotten into the routine of meeting up with Rocky most days after work at the park. It afforded you the opportunity to catch up with recent events in both your lives, and you could put in some time doing your own research or writing while he played his violin for a little spare money. To no surprise, Rocky had a very long history of doing this before joining up with the Lackadaisy band. He’d put it on hold to pursue other things during his daytime hours, but you encouraged he take it up again. It was honest work, and he needed to start saving for the future.

He really took to it anyhow. After you two became regulars, people became familiar with him and felt comfortable having little conversations with him. Part of you always worried whenever someone decided to chat with Rocky. He was always happy to be sociable. The problem was he could be too happy, switching from charming to creepy without realizing it.You just had this yucky feeling of waiting for the axe to drop.

So far nobody’s tried to run him out of the park yet. Or even raised their voice at him. You wondered if that was a record for Rocky. 

One day, it was windy. Not very conducive for one such as yourself who's hobbies and passions involve a lot of loose papers. Rocky was doing his thing, lost in his own world filled with music while you occupied a bench not far away, tapping a pen to your lips thoughtfully. You weren’t composing this day. Rather you had a folded map on your notebook. You were trying to mark down every cannery, fish stand, and sea food restaurant you could remember their being in St. Louis. The second key, the mermaid’s heart, being around fish tails, allegedly. 

A gust of wind snatched the map away from you. You chased after it as it went tumbling across the grass, unfolding more in the process. It got a fair bit of distance away from you before it was stopped.

A man pinned it down with point of his umbrella, and picked it up, to your relief. 

  “Oh, thank you Sir,” you said brightly as you trotted up to him. 

He didn’t acknowledge you. He looked over your map with everything you’d circled in ink, along with little notes you’d made you thought might be helpful for your search. For a second, you panicked, thinking he might be on to you. But that couldn’t be. Nobody else knew about Atlas’ treasure. 

“Um, Sir,” you tried again, still being polite though he was beginning to creep you out. “Can I have my map back please?” 

The only indication he’d heard you was one grey ear flicking in your direction. His icy light blue eyes were still focused intently on your map through his angular glasses. 

  “May I,” he finally said. You were confused. 

  “No? I’d like it back please.” 

He sighed like a disappointed school teacher, “You said ‘Can I’. Proper ettiequte dictates such questions be phrased beginning with ‘May I’.” 

Oh you hated this guy already. Restraining yourself from rolling your eyes, you exhaled through your nose.

  “Fine. May I please have my map back?” 

At first it didn’t look like he was going to respond again, flipping to the other side of your map and studying that. Before you decided to hell with it and giving this guy a piece of your mind, he held the now perfectly folded paper out for you to take. With some suspicion, you plucked it out of his grip. Your eyes flicked between it and him. 

“Thanks,” you said, and started walking away. 

  “I’d be careful if I were you,” he called after you. “Some of those places aren’t the friendliest after dark.” 

A cold shiver went up your spine as your feet stopped dead. From how he’d said that, it felt like some kind of ominous warning. Before you could turn around though, you saw Rocky heading your way in a hurry, violin case in hand. 

  “(Y/N)! Hey (Y/N)!” he ran up to you, barely pausing for breath. “Are you alright? You just disappeared on me, I didn’t see where you went!” 

You turned to look behind you, but the mysterious man was gone. Your brow furrowed. 

  “Yeah,” you gave your attention back to Rocky. “Yeah I’m fine. The wind stole my map for a bit and I had to chase it down. Do you mind if we leave now? It’s getting late.” 

  “Not at all! After you,” Rocky made a show of doing a little bow and extending his arm. His grin was back, now that he’d found you safe and sound. 

The whole walk back to his car, you kept your head swiveling around like a periscope searching for enemies. No one stuck out to you as suspicious. However, there was this nagging feeling in your spine that you were being watched. 

As you climbed in the car, you were more grateful than ever that you’d let Rocky start sleeping on your couch every night in your apartment. You didn’t want to be alone. 

Serafine

She was late…again.

You really didn’t want to go up to room 223 and deal with Serafine’s other friends, but floating around the Maribel’s lobby might look suspicious, and you weren’t stupid enough to go and wait by the Marigold Room’s door. You greeted the operator, a lanky teenage fellow in a loud red uniform, as you stepped into the elevator and gave him the floor you wanted.

As the operator was closing the gate, a gentleman dressed all in grey came sprinting up, asking the elevator be held. The operator obliged. He asked the man which floor he wanted as he got in. 

  “Same as this one please,” he said, indicating you. 

Your eyes went wide, as you studied him more closely. He was on the taller side, as men went, but had the physique of a scarecrow under that big coat. He had rectangular glasses, through which peered icy blue eyes. His fur was mostly grey, though you could see a few patches of white. You didn’t recognize him from anywhere. 

He couldn’t have heard which floor you were going to.

Your only explanation was he must be another member of the congregation you hadn’t met yet, and he recognized you from descriptions from the others. 

When the elevator stopped, he stepped aside to let you off first. As you walked down the hallway, you looked over your shoulder to see him trailing slowly behind you. The fur on the back of your neck stood up, and you quickened your pace.

You decided it didn’t matter if this guy saw what room you went into. If he was in the congregation, all was well. If he wasn’t, you didn’t live there, the Savoys and their followers did. May this man harass them at his own peril. 

You wrapped your knuckles loudly on room 223. The grey lady with the symmetrical hair cut cracked it open. 

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, her tone a perfect mix of bored and disappointed. 

  “Yeah, hi Zumi, can you let me in please?” 

  “Zulie,” she glared. 

  “Right, Zulie, my very good friend Zulie and one of many in this room. It’s so good to see all of you again,” you spoke loudly enough you hoped the guy could hear you from his end of the hallway. Zulie just blinked at you, unimpressed. You fake laughed and dropped your voice. 

“Look, there’s a weird guy out here. Can you open the door please?” 

  “Weirder than you,” she said deadpan, eyebrow raised. You wanted to scream. She was one to talk!

  “Yes!” You let the annoyance creep into your voice. You didn’t have time to stand there and argue. Grey coat guy was getting steadily closer. 

Zulie was saying something, but your fight-or-flight didn’t care anymore as it took you over. You shoved your way inside, knocking Zulie back on her rump with an undignified shocked squawk. You immediately turned and latched the door shut tight. 

You were now safe(?) from the strange man. Whether you were safe from Zulie’s wrath was a different matter. The lady was giving you a death glare as she started getting up, spitting several “How dare you”s at you as you held up your hands placatingly, and frantically apologizing over and over. 

  “What’s dis commotion,” Serafine’s commanding voice cut through the atmosphere. 

She appeared out of nowhere, hands on her hips, looking between the two of you as if you both were quarreling children.

You and Zulie both launched into your respective sides of the story, talking over each other until Serafine held up a hand for silence. She told you to go first. You told her everything. At the end, she poked her head outside the door, looked around, but didn’t see hide or hair of the person you’d described. 

  “He doesn’t sound like one of ours, nor Marigolds,” she said, taking a drag from her cigarette, sitting down on her couch again. She’d steered you into sitting next to her. “He may have been a common thief, thinking you were a guest here he could rob.” 

You nodded. The explanation sounded reasonable. Even if recalling what happened made you feel a bit sick. Serafine flicked the remains of her cigarette into an ash tray. 

“Let’s not let that ruin our evening, okay Papillon?” She said, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Whoever dat was, he’d be a fool to try again in de Marigold Room. And I’ll drive you home after.” 

Yeah. Yeah, Serafine was right. You shouldn’t let this get to you. You were perfectly safe inside this den of gangsters and thieves. At least from a basic mugger.

The irony was not lost on you.  

Viktor

You hadn’t meant to stay in the library as long as you did. You got sidetracked! That book on the history of sea monsters and other marine based folklores had been really fascinating! That wasn’t your fault!

The sun was going down, and you’d promised Viktor you’d stop by today with some books he’d asked you to check out for him. You were determined not to flake on him. The strap of your book bag practically cut into your skin from how heavy it was. You focused on your stride, one foot in front of the other. You weren't going to get to Viktor’s place any other way. The faster you walked, the sooner you’d get there. The sooner you could lighten your load too. 

A broad shouldered tabby in overalls stepped out from an alley all of sudden, right in front of you. You ran right into him. A few books slipped out of your overpacked bag on to the ground. 

  “Oh! Sorry about that,” he apologized. 

  “That’s alright,” you said, busily gathering your things up. All you wanted to do was grab your stuff and leave. You didn’t really pay attention to the man beyond him being there. 

As you were checking to make sure you had everything, you realized one book was missing. “The Little Mermaid”. Atlas’ book! 

  “Um, I think this is yours?” 

The big guy held the book out to you. It looked kind of small in his hand. Grateful, you took it. 

  “Thank you,” you said cheerfully. You stowed it away and walked around him, “Have a good day!” 

He waved goodbye to you. And you thought that was the end of it. That should have ben the end of it. 

You were almost around the corner of the block when you heard yelling behind you. 

  “You didn’t get the book!?” 

You pivoted on your heel. You saw the tabby guy, hat in his hands, looking apologetic, getting yelled at by a tall thin man in a grey coat. 

“That was the whole point of planting you here!” 

Tabby guy said something, but he was too far away to determine what. Tall guy pinched the bridge of his muzzle in exasperation though. 

Your stomach sank into your toes. That had been a set up?! 

Before they could realize you’d heard them, you sprinted around the corner, and kept going. At Viktor’s flat, you were grateful the door was unlocked. You stumbled inside, immediately locking it behind you. You were panting like a dog, trembling. 

  “(Y/N)?” 

You looked up to see Viktor in the threshold of the door to his flat, to the side of the staircase. There was mild concern on his face.  

“Vhat happened?” 

Once your breathing returned to normal, you went with Viktor into his flat and told him the whole story.

  “I don’t understand it,” you said, settled in a chair, your ears drooping as you hugged yourself. “I was sure we were the only ones who knew.” 

Viktor had drawn the curtains. Periodically, he’d peer out to survey the outside world. 

  “I vas sure I knew about all of Atlas’ operations,” he rumbled. He let the curtain fall back into place. “Then…you find mermaid book.” 

You remained silent, allowing your thoughts to run their course through your head. The idea that you might have some unfriendly competition for finding the treasure made you nauseous. There was no telling what those men might do to you. Money made people do desperate horrible things, after all. 

Viktor settled back into his arm chair. He seemed pensive as well. 

  “Is it okay if I stay the night?” you asked. 

You knew how much Viktor’s personal space meant to him, but you didn’t want to be home alone right now. To your surprise and great relief, he nodded. 

  “Given circumstances, that is good idea.” 

Wick

At this point, you spent about as much time over at Wick’s house as his house staff did, only without pay. You were on a first name basis with not only Lacy, but Bix the driver, the gardener, the maids, and the chef. The private library was slowly becoming your second home. It contained many useful things about the city of St. Louis thanks to Wick’s keen interest in history. Invaluable for trying to figure out where the second key could be. 

You had a map spread out across a table with your notes and markings scribbled on it. You were highlighting all the places in town that had to do with fish. Unsurprisingly, that meant most of the riverside. You’d also marked off a few sea food restaurants for good measure. You had a few books lying around next to you, one documenting the history of St. Louis’ founding, another about the ports of St. Louis specifically, and, of course, Atlas’ “Little Mermaid” book. 

You’d like to say you were being thorough, but you felt like you were going in circles. The idea of searching every cannery and fish market in town was daunting. You must be missing something…maybe you needed to look at it from another angle. 

  “Or maybe you just need to eat.” 

You jumped so badly you upset the table, knocking a few things to the ground. 

  “Oh! Lacy!” You put a hand over your rapidly beating heart and let out an adrenaline fueled laugh. You hadn’t seen Wick’s secretary come in, or even heard her get so close to you. She only blinked at you, unfazed. 

  “You were mumbling to yourself,” she said.

  “I was?” Your ears drooped a bit. You believed her, it was something you did sometimes. It helped to talk to yourself while composing or puzzling things out, but it was so embarrassing when people caught you doing it. 

She looked you up and down. “I think you need a break. Dinner’s ready in the dinning room. I already informed Mr. Sable. The both of you get so absorbed in your work.”  

There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. Food sounded pretty good actually. You bent down to clean up the floor. Lacy stopped you. 

“I’ll tidy up, don’t worry. You go on ahead, I’ll join the both of you shortly.” 

You were reluctant to let her clean up your mess, but it was only a few books and papers. She’d be done in maybe three minutes at best. You smiled and thanked her, and headed out of the library. 

You were just in time to meet Wick in the corridor, looking unkempt. His hair was frizzier, the front of his shirt was open three buttons more than you’d ever see before (not that you were complaining), and he still had his reading glasses on, slightly askew. Given what Lacy had said however, you probably didn’t look any better. 

  “Ah, (Y/N),” he greeted you warmly, “how goes the search?”

  “Like trying to find a sardine in a haystack, honestly-“ 

An ear piercing scream erupted from the library, startling both of you. Realizing Lacy must be in trouble you ran back in to find the poor secretary backed against a wall shaking and stammering. Wick went up to her.

  “Lacy? Lacy! What’s wrong?”

  “Someone,” she gulped down a breath and pointed at an open window, “Someone was trying to get in.” 

  “What?!” 

Lacy explained how she’d finished picking up everything off the floor and started to leave, only to come back a few seconds later when she heard a strange noise. A man had been trying to climb through the window. She screamed, and he went away. You went to the window in question and stuck your head outside.

You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It did strike you right then just how isolated Wick was from the rest of the world. His house was surrounded by well kept landscape that was lovely during the day. In the long shadows of the twilight, you couldn’t help but think of all the places there were for someone with ill intentions to hide. Wick’s closest neighbor was fifteen minutes away on foot. Frowning, you ducked back inside. You shut the window, made sure it was locked, and drew the curtains. 

Wick took Lacy with him to the dining room to get her some tea and something to eat, while you stayed behind to make sure every other possible entry point from the outside was locked up. 

Now, it wasn’t that much of a surprise that some one would try to sneak into Wick’s Manse. Obviously, a place of wealth would be on some prowler’s list. This reasoning didn’t do anything to calm this sickening dread you felt in the pit of your stomach. For it had not escaped your notice that the window the would-be invader tried to go through had an unobstructed view of where you’d been sitting for the past, what, three, four hours?

You shuddered as you finally exited the library, walking fast to get back to Wick and Lacy, and the safety of numbers. 

How long was that guy watching you before he’d made his move?  

Zib

You went straight over to his apartment after work. Somewhere you could wait out the hours between quitting time and sundown before heading out to the Lackadaisy together.

The sun was entering the final phase of its descent. As the two of you left his apartment, you noticed someone across the street, reading a newspaper. It was the same guy you’d seen when you entered the apartment building hours ago. You recognized him by the same grey hat and coat, and how tall and skinny he was, like a scarecrow. You thought it odd, but didn’t pay it any mind beyond that. 

At least not until you were about halfway to the Little Daisy. You’d gotten a funny feeling. You glanced behind you, and there he was again. Under a street lamp, the light made him all the more sinister looking combined with his weirdly lanky body. You gripped Zib’s arm tight. 

  “I don’t know how to say this, but I think we’re being followed?” you said, keeping your voice low. 

  “What?” 

  “That guy behind us. He was outside your building when I arrived, and still there when I left. Now he’s here.” 

Zib didn’t look back. Your word was good enough. 

  “Crap,” he muttered with a slight snarl. 

  “What should we do? We can’t lead him to the cafe.” 

Zib didn’t answer right away. You stayed quiet to let him think. Your own mind was already spinning, trying formulate an escape plan, when Zib stopped in his tracks. You stopped too, looking up at him curiously. He was staring intently down a very dark, trashy alley. Vaguely, you could see something moving back there. 

Rats? Or another stalker?  

Zib deliberately pulled you into the alley with him. 

  “What are you doing?” you whispered as loud as you could.  

Going into a dark secluded area where no one could hear you scream was exactly the opposite of what one should do when being followed by a potentially dangerous weirdo. 

  “Trust me,” was all he said. 

The smell was rancid in the alley, you tried to breath through your mouth. Your eyes spotted a shock of white in the darkness. Someone’s tail. Some homeless looking person with white fur was rooting around in the trash. 

“Hey Virgil,” said Zib. You gawked at him. He knew this guy!? “My friend and I have a little problem I think you can help us out with. There’s a dollar in it for you.”

Virgil had crazy eyes, and he was twitchy. But he seemed lucid enough to understand what was being offered. 

  “A dollar?” he had a really raspy, high voice. He nodded eagerly, “Yes! Yes! I want a dollar!” 

  “Great, all you gotta do is keep the gentleman who comes in here after us occupied for as long as possible,” He pulled the afore mentioned dollar out of pocket. “You got that.” 

  “Yeahyeahyeah I can do that!”

Virgil snatched the dollar out of Zib’s hand. He looked at it like was a twenty-four karat gold bar. 

You heard a can, or something metal, being kicked across the cobblestones. Your tail puffed as you looked back to see the lanky man at the entrance to alley, light gleamed off his glasses, making him appear otherworldly. 

  “That’s him,” you said, pushing closer to Zib. 

  “Alright Virgil, you know what to do,” the musician said. 

  “Yes Sir, I sure do,” he smiled. His face suddenly went blank. “What was it again?”

Zib sighed, “Just…pretend he’s got a bagel in his pocket and go get it!” he pointed down the alley. 

  “Ooooh! I love bagels!” Virgil needed no more motivation, as he started running at the grey coat man, arms waving. “BAAAAAAGGEEEEEELLLSSSSS!” 

  “WHAT IN THE HELL!” 

As scary as the grey coat guy was, apparently Virgil was scary to him. You didn’t want to wait around and watch how it played out though. Zib had the same idea. He grabbed your hand and started guiding you through the many twists and turns of the back alleys. He really knew his way around here. 

Before you knew it, both of you were safely walking through the glass doors of the Little Daisy Cafe. You were relieved that was over, but, something nagged at you. 

  “I can hear you thinking from here (Y/N),” Zib said as he tripped the lock on the secret door to the speakeasy. “You wanna talk about it?” 

  “It’s just, I can’t shake the feeling that guy wasn’t some random mugger,” you said. “He waited for us.” 

Zib hummed affirmatively. The two of you started down the hidden staircase to the door to the caves. You could already see the welcome sight of Horatio standing dutifully at the door with a smile. 

  “Looks like I might be staying at your place for a while then,” Zib said with a shrug. “Until that guy looses interest hanging around my place anyways. Such a shame, I’m gonna miss sleeping in that rickety dump.” 

You smiled, “As long as you keep a window open while you smoke.”

  “Deal,” he grinned back.  

Chapter Text

Gravity is what keeps the moon orbiting around the Earth. Gravity keeps the Earth orbiting around the sun too. That’s science. The force that seems to be keeping you two in each other’s orbit? It was kind of like gravity, in that it kept pulling you together. But just like the moon, Earth, and sun, it kept you apart as well.

Freckle

One way to get into Mrs. McMurray’s good graces was through hard work. In this case, chores. You had very little experience in gardening. Fortunately Freckle had been helping his mother tend all the flowers she’d planted around the house since he was little. Amidst your trimming, raking, and weed pulling, the old lady had requested the two of you bring in a small bouquet of flowers when you were finished. She needed a new centerpiece for her dining room table. 

Freckle was very choosey about which flowers to pick. He knew his mother’s taste better than you, so you waited patiently while he debated with himself for over ten minutes at a time about which blossoms to cut and which to leave. You couldn’t complain about what he did choose. He’d handed you a few roses and a daffodil already, in full bloom. They smelled wonderful. 

You looked up from admiring the flowers in your hands to catch Freckle staring at you, this gleaming awestruck look in his eyes. It made something inside you flutter. 

  “What?” you asked. You checked your arms and chest. “Do I have a bug on me?”

  “No! No, you’re perfect- I mean fine! N-Not fine as in attractive, I mean that you’re okay,” Freckle stammered, fidgeting with the clippers and another freshly cut daffodil. He quickly added, “But you’re not not attractive either!”

  “I’m not?” you quirked a brow, not certain you understood. Freckle panicked. 

  “No! I mean yes! I mean- uh- you’re gorgeous!” 

A moment passed where neither of you said anything. The universe froze, holding its breath, and you two followed suit. You just stared at each other, wide eyed. 

Freckle buried his head in his hands, sounding like he was on the verge of tears, “Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorryyyy.” 

   “For what? Giving me a compliment?” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. You stepped a little closer to him. “I’m a grownup, I can take a compliment Silly.” 

He peeked out at you between his fingers. You gave him an encouraging smile. His gaze went down to the flowers in your hands and he remembered the task at hand. With a little nod, he added the daffodil to the bunch. His hands brushed against yours in the process. Instead of pulling away shyly, they lingered this time. You looked at him. He looked at you. 

You couldn’t tell who started leaning in first. 

  “Are ye two lollygagging out here?! What’s takin’ so long?” 

Always count on Mrs. McMurray to wreck the mood. Freckle jumped away from you like he’d seen a rat, tail puffed. While you knew she’d have gone on a fire and brimstone tirade if she had caught you and Freckle…doing what you were about to do…you were still pretty annoyed at her for interrupting. 

Ivy

She’d forgotten her homework at your place. So, being the good friend that you are, you travelled all the way to her university to return it to her. Only downside, you hadn’t visited her dorm, let alone her campus, in a long time. You’d quite forgotten your way around. 

The campus was nice at least. Well kept grassy lawns and paths, and the buildings were pretty to look at. Students milled around leisurely, some studying at tables, others snacking and chatting with friends, typical college stuff. You’d been wandering around for the better part of forty five minutes until finally you spotted a familiar hair cut amongst a group of girl students. 

You cupped your hands around your mouth and shouted, “Ivy!” 

Her ear flicked, and she turned to see you waving at her. She looked surprised as you jogged up to her. The other girls were regarding you curiously.

  “Oh, (Y/N), you’re here…” she smiled, but seemed a bit nervous. “Why are you here?” 

  “You left homework at my place,” you said, digging it out of your book bag to give her. “I just thought I’d return it, and, y’know, it gives me a chance to come say hi to you.” 

There was some odd twittering going on with the other girls behind Ivy. They whispered behind their hands, giggled, they looked at you like they were in on some joke that you weren’t. 

  “Is this your ‘study buddy’ Ivy?” one of them asked teasingly.

  “Yeah, that really aces person who works at JAZCAT that you keep going on about?” said another one.

That made you tilt your head a bit, perplexed. Ivy talked about you? You supposed she would, there wasn’t any reason not to, but the students were acting like it was some big secret revealed. Ivy for her part just rolled her eyes at them. Instead of taking her homework, which you offered, she grabbed your arm with both hands and hugged it possessively. 

  “Yes, this (Y/N), from JAZCAT. Now if you’ll excuse us for just a minute,” she started dragging you away from them. You ended up in a nearby green house, filled with all sorts of plants sprouting from terracotta pots and flower beds. The sun filtered in through the glass, making the inside just a few degrees warmer than outside.  

  “So…” you started, “you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Ivy sighed dramatically and crossed her arms, “Uuuuuugghghh, my dumb dormmates think we’re dating or something.”

  “Oh!” You had to absorb that for a few seconds. You chuckled, “Well, that’s funny isn’t it?”

  “It’s preposterous is what it is!”

  “What do you suppose gave them that impression?” 

Ivy looked at the floor, bashful all of a sudden, “I might’ve bragged about you a little bit to them. You work in radio. You’re on the radio. You’re practically a celebrity to them.”

  “I just do the weather,” you pointed out. Though you still felt very flattered. You didn’t know you had fans. Wow.

  “I told them about your stories too. I even read a few you let me borrow to them. They loved them.”

  “You did? They did?!” 

You didn’t share your work often with anybody not in the business. Mainly because it wasn’t a yet finished product, and you didn’t want the public seeing your mistake riddled drafts. Hearing that other people actually liked your stuff though? It sparked such an intense joy within you. You couldn't stop grinning. 

  “Of course they did,” Ivy said matter-of-factly. “It was brilliant. You're brilliant.” 

For a minute, neither of you said anything, only stared at each other. Maybe it was the high of finding out people enjoyed your work. Maybe it was the heat of the green house, or how the sun glinted off Ivy’s golden eyes when she looked at you like that, or, hell, all of the above. You stared softly into her eyes, slowly inching closer until-

You heard a high pitched squeak from somewhere. You and Ivy were broken out of whatever trance you’d fallen under as you both simultaneously turned your heads towards the disturbance.

The two of you had an audience. The students from earlier were huddled outside the green house, peering in at you, watching intently as their breath fogged up the glass. 

  “Don’t mind us, keep going,” one had the audacity to say, rolling her hand on her wrist. 

Ivy growled at them, fur puffing up. It was all the warning they got before she bolted outside, screaming in rage, and attempting to swat as many of them as she could with her textbook while they ran away shrieking. 

You stood there, taking it all in. You sighed. This is what you got for trying to have a private moment in a room with transparent walls.

Mitzi

The dark skies and windy streets seemed all the colder once you exited the cafe. You took a few steps, then looked up to her window. It was dark. She was tucked away safe and warm in her domain. You should return to yours, with your books and your typewriter, and things that you knew. Perhaps it would be best if you abstained from the Lackadaisy for a while. It felt like chopping off a limb, leaving your only connection to any real fun, excitement, and endearing people behind to go right back to where you were before: Square One.

The night had started off so well too. You got off work, went straight home to change into your party clothes, and then walked with a skip in your step all the way to the Little Daisy Cafe and the always welcoming, if quiet, Lackadaisy beneath. You had a good feeling about tonight. 

Horatio was dutifully at his post. When asked, he informed you that Miss. M was still upstairs in her apartment. You thanked him and opted to visit her first before engaging in any illicit activities. That and some alone time with Mitzi sounded great. Just the two of you. 

Your visions of romance dimmed when you entered her study to see her bent over a pile of paperwork at her desk, wavy hair rumpled, and bags under her eyes. She still smiled at you though. That was a good sign right? If she was feeling overworked, you should do something to help with that. You suggested taking a break and coming downstairs with you, you’d wait for her to get cleaned up first. Even with a diminished customer rate, you knew image was important to Mitzi. 

She declined, indicating the paperwork she had to get through. Apparently she’d been putting it off, and couldn’t wait anymore. Alright, you’d stay there and keep her company then. It probably wouldn’t take her too long to get finished….yeah, you got bored fast. Time to try something else. 

You struck up a casual conversation with her, asking what exactly the paperwork was for, and after a little bit, you got her to laugh. You adored hearing her laugh. She looked up at you, emerald eyes sparkling, the moment felt electric. So, you leaned in.

There were fingers at your lips, keeping you at bay. You opened your eyes, surprised to see her looking away from you, a downcast expression across her features.

  “I’m flattered honey, but I just can’t,” her eyes reflected sorrow. “It’s too much, too soon. Do you understand?”

  “…Sure,” you said softly, lying to her face. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I must be distracting you. I’ll just, uh, head back downstairs.” 

Mitzi sighed with relief. “Thanks Darlin’. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Good night.”

  “Good night.” 

If Horatio noticed your change in attitude, he didn’t say anything. Viktor was behind the bar as usual and the Lackadaisy felt even emptier than ever. You couldn’t say if that was better or worse for your mood. You sat down on your stool and ordered. When your drink arrived, you swallowed down half of it in one go. 

What was wrong? Was it you? Was it her? Everything had seemed to line up so perfectly in that moment and then it was torn down in an instant. 

You stared into the amber liquid in your glass, swirling around the ice. You mentally replayed the events over and over, eventually expanding to past conversations with Mitzi days and weeks prior to tonight. ‘Too much, too soon?’ You’d thought this budding relationship had been going splendidly. You were both getting to know each other, getting closer. Romance was the logical conclusion. Everything was going smoothly.

On the other hand, if there wasn’t a problem, Mitzi wouldn’t have said anything. So what was wrong with this picture?…It wasn’t you was it?

  “Hey Viktor?”

The behemoth of a bartender grunted in affirmation that he’d heard you.

“Can I ask you a question?”

  “Just did,” he grumbled.

  “Am I…” you searched for a word that would encapsulate all of what Mitzi had said, “…clingy?” 

  “Like bear climbing tree,” he said. 

That he’d answered immediately, no attempt whatsoever to soften the blow, was like a kick to the gut. Granted it was Viktor, he never sugar coated anything. But it still stung. Your knee-jerk reaction was to say defensively no you weren’t, because you knew what people said about clingy people, and that couldn’t possibly be you, but you kept your mouth shut. Your mouth pressed so thin it looked like you’d swallowed something sour. 

Finally, you were able to form a word, “Explain.” 

  “Vhat is there to explain?” He shrugged his massive shoulders, “You follow Mizz M. like lost puppy and demand attention like one. You get vorse vhen Atlas brought up.”

Okay, so the hackles went up a little bit at that name, and maybe they always did, but you had a good reason! 

  “Well, he..” you floundered for a moment, attempting to get your words in order, “You see how she gets. It makes her sad, and mopey. I am only trying to be a good supportive friend and get her mind off him. I’m helping her get over her grief.”

Viktor fixed you with a glare that made you freeze up. He’d stopped cleaning the glassware in his hands. 

  “Anyvone close to you ever die?” 

  “Yes?” You weren’t sure where he was going with this. 

  “How long it take you to ‘get over it’?” 

You had to think for a second. The biggest deaths to affect you had all been family. The hardest one was your grandmother, whom you’d been close to you. She’d left by natural causes. You’d still shut down. You couldn't write or even listen to the radio for days after the funeral. Years later you still held onto her quilt, using it as a source of comfort and warmth. It didn’t smell like her anymore. Worse yet, your memory of her seemed to blur a little more every year. Some days, you couldn’t remember her face or what she sounded like. One thing that would never leave you though, was that she made you feel loved. 

To this day, you still couldn’t think about her sometimes without tearing up. So to answer Viktor’s question, you said, “Long time.”

  “Then vhy you expect different from her, hm?”

Your ears flattened, you went back to your drink. Viktor likewise went back to his job, having made his point. 

Why was it so important to you that Mitzi get over Atlas? You thought you’d been helping her get through her emotional turmoil, now it felt like you’d had ulterior motives without realizing it. Every time that man was brought up it was like he was in the room with you, that he’d risen from the grave to sweep Mitzi off her feet yet again, and you’d be left behind in the dust. All that love and warmth she’d given you would be taken away. In short, you were jealous…of a dead man. Maybe that sounded absurd, but it really felt like this goddamn ghost wouldn’t stay buried, no matter how many times you tried to beat it back down with a shovel. 

If he would just stop haunting both of you, you could get on with your lives, and finally take the next step in your relationship. It was taking so long for him to leave, and now you realize, he might be a permanent fixture. And there was nothing you could do about it! To exercise his spirit from your life would be to drive Mitzi out with him. 

You felt stuck. You knew what you wanted, you just couldn’t have it. You emptied the remaining contents of your glass down your throat, and ordered another one. It was that kind of night now. 

Hours later it was a miracle you could walk straight. The lights above in her apartment were off, and you really needed to get home and crawl into bed yourself. You felt like sleeping with your quilt tonight. It wasn’t a pleasant notion, pondering how much of your past actions had been selfishly motivated versus done out of affection. You didn’t think of yourself as a bad person. You’d rather jump off the Eads bridge than have Mitzi think of you that way too. All pathways to fixing this problem kept leading to one thing: Mitzi needed space, and you had to abide by that. 

Understandable. Logical. The reasoning was sound.

If only you weren’t so damn…clingy…letting go would be easier.

Mordecai

It was a typical day at the JAZCAT Radio Station. You were in the break room grabbing some coffee and an extra pen when one of your coworkers, Lois, popped her head in the door. 

  “Hey, is your gangster friend in today?” 

  “Unfortunately,” you said dryly. It was still too early for you to not respond completely like a robot.

  “You might wanna get back to your office quick then.”

  “Why?” 

  “Because the boss is on his way there.”

And just like that you were wide awake. Funny how panic works so much better than caffeine. 

  “What do you mean? He doesn’t go to my office, he calls me into his!” You tried very hard to keep from shrieking. 

Lois could only offer a confused shrug, “Well, today, he’s visiting.” 

You jumped to the door. You could see your boss talking to someone, however he was indeed positioned in a way that suggested he was going to your little nook. You had to get there first. If you didn’t, either your boss would fire you, or Mordecai would kill him, or both. 

With a brief thanks to Lois for the heads up, you sprinted into the hall. You couldn’t let your boss see you yet, so you had to take an alternative route to avoid him by going through studios with adjoining doors. Some were mercifully empty, others weren’t. The in-house band did not appreciate you barreling through while they rehearsed, and you’re pretty sure half of Missouri heard your running feet as you stomped through a Coca-Cola commercial. 

Finally at your office, you wrenched open the door. Mordecai’s shocked expression greeted you. He’d been in the midst of standing up for a stretch when you barged in like a lunatic, practically shoving into him, and slammed the door shut. 

  “What on earth are you-  There’s not enough room in here for-“

You shushed him.

  “My boss is coming. You need to be quiet so he doesn’t know you’re here.” 

He didn’t seem to quite understand, but that’s when knuckles wrapped against your door. Your boss’s gruff voice called your name. You took a second to fix your hair. Take a breath. You opened the door just enough to stick your head out and smile. Pretending you didn’t have one of the most feared criminal murderers in the city right behind you. 

You weren’t in trouble. Turns out your boss wanted you to come up with a little comedy sketch for a fifteen second commercial. People around the studio kept saying you were good at writing, and he needed some fresh ideas. True, he used the phrase “at the bottom of the barrel” but you were grateful nonetheless, and promised to get right on that. You told him thank you for such a wonderful opportunity, have a good day, and you calmly closed the door.

On the inside, you were screaming. Out of happiness for your new assignment, and because you finally noticed what close proximity you had to Mordecai. You refused to turn around. Even when you could feel Mordecai breathing down your neck- literally. You had to restrain yourself from clawing the wood of your door. 

  “Well?” He asked, annoyed. He sounded right in your ear. Your heart was pumping. 

  “We have to wait a minute to be sure he’s gone,” you said. You heard the irritated eye roll. 

Unsatisfied with that answer, he squished himself between you and the wall so that he could listen at the door with his own ear. He scowled. 

  “I can still hear him. He’s stopped to chat,” you caught a flash of teeth as he added a disgusted snarl to that final word. Distantly, you could also hear your boss outside, laughing heartily at something.

While Mordecai was absorbed with eavesdropping, you were growing steadily more interested in the tuxedo cat pressed shoulder to shoulder with you. You didn’t know how long you’d been staring when you asked the question. 

  “Mordecai, when you’ve solved Atlas’ murder, what are you going to do?” You kept your voice low. He blinked, ears twitching. You’d caught him off guard with that.

  “I’m going to eliminate the culprit, or culprits, who did it. Atlas would want justice for what was done to him and his business,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

To be fair, it kind of was. Why go to so much effort to crack a case and then not do anything? It sounded more like revenge, but, in the gangster world, that was justice. You felt this was also more of a personal crusade for Mordecai. 

  “I meant after all that,” you said. “What do you want to do? Go back to the Lackadaisy? Stick with the Marigold? Find a new gang entirely? Or wasn’t there anything else you wanted to do with your life?” 

His sharp green eyes weren’t focused, you could see the gears turning behind them, searching for an answer suitable to give you. 

  “I…I haven’t given it much thought actually.” 

  “You know, when I was a little kid, I wanted to be a detective, but I fell in love with radio plays instead,” you said, smiling, thinking back on fond memories. “What did little Mordecai want to be when he grew up?” 

By how he stiffened, you sensed you’d touched on something deeply personal without meaning to. Usually, on the rare occasion you did that, he’d get huffy and clam up again. Refusing to speak to you for the rest of the day in sentences longer than one word. This time, you got a real answer.

  “I didn’t really- We were poor. After my father died, I was the only male in the house. I did any job I could get to help us survive. I couldn’t focus on anything beyond when our next meal would be.” 

You’d never seen him like this, wistful, regretful, his edges softened if only for the moment. You committed that image of him to your memory. 

“There wasn’t time for silly daydreaming about growing up. All I wanted was to help us get somewhere clean, and safe,” his voice dripped with sadness and remorse. 

While the inquisitive part of your brain badgered you to ask more questions ‘Who is us?’ ‘Your family?’ you knew better than to upset him. Especially not at work.

You hummed thoughtfully, putting a hand to your chin as though contemplating some deep philosophical conundrum.

  “A doctor.” 

  “What?” He looked at you confused, breaking out of his stupor.

  “I think you’d be a great doctor,” you brightened. The idea seemed better the more you thought on it. “Your bedside manner needs work, not gonna lie about that, but you’re clean, smart, you’ve got a really good memory, and you can handle blood and guts. You’d probably make a good surgeon!” 

  “I detest sick people,” he said, though without most of his usual bite. “People in general really. They’re all walking sacks of dirt and germs.” 

  “You seem to be doing alright in here with me,” you pointed out. Your boss was probably long gone by now, yet you wanted to drag this out.

  “I’ve grown accustomed to you. You’re less off-putting now than you were when we first met.”

  “Germs and all?” You smirked. 

He didn’t quite glare at you. It was more of a hard, disapproving stare. “Germs and all.” 

For some reason, that got to you. Mordecai liked you, in his way, and that ignited a glow of joy in you. It made you bolder. 

  “Hey, can I, um,” you moved just a bit closer, ears pinning back shyly. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

His response was to press his back to the wall in an effort to get as much space between you and him as possible, green eyes the size of dinner plates, and looking at you like you’d grown spider legs.…So, not the best reaction for your ego. 

  “What?!” You couldn’t tell if he was scared or astonished. He was straining not to yell. “Are you serious!?”

  “Well, yeah,” you said, looking at the ground, regret creeping up along with embarrassment. You fiddled with your hands. “Cause, I like you. And, I thought you kind of liked me…but…”

You trailed off. You’d overstepped. It was a stupid thing to ask in the first place. 

  “I do like you. Just not-“ 

Your head whipped up, ears swiveled in his direction. He was struggling with what to say.

“That is, I don’t think you’re completely terrible, I just can’t afford to think like that about anyone, and..I…”

You’re not sure what sort of face you’d been making. You felt all over the place, sad, hopeful, happy, confused, etc. When he paused to look at you, he made up his mind about something. 

“Alright,” he said. Your heart leapt! “Just, make it quick.” 

It was impossible to describe how excited you felt as his hands slid across your cheeks to hold your face. You remained absolutely still so as not to frighten him off. He studied you for a minute, working up the nerve. Finally, painfully slowly, he started leaned in. Your eye slid closed. Lips already tingling with anticipation.

Someone started banging on your door, scaring the both of you. 

  “(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Is everything alright in there? Your door’s been shut for a half hour.”

You sighed. Lois. She meant well though, you couldn’t be mad. Mordecai looked at you for how to proceed. His hands had relocated to your shoulders. You smiled, a touch disappointed, and slid them off you. 

  “Raincheck,” you said. He blinked at you, face blank. You clarified. “Another time.”

  “Ah, yes. That might be best.” 

As he straightened himself out, you opened the door to let Lois know you were okay. 

Nico

Up to this point, you’d only seen the customer side of the Marigold Room. Nico managed to sneak you into the backrooms where the more nitty gritty parts of the operation took place. Not as in gory, Nico knew to keep you well away from that, more how the shipments of liquor were delivered and how they were smuggled in without regular folks seeing. It was a truly fascinating process.

He took you to the garage where they parked all their vehicles. You were quick to point out the one you’d climbed into by accident when you first met Nico when you saw it. Turns out, the vehicle sees regular use from Nico, his sister, and their “Petite’ Hache". A third member of their work group whom you hadn’t met. For nostalgia’s sake the both of you hopped in, him at the wheel and you in the back. 

  “You scared the shit out of me when I realized you weren’t my cab driver,” you said. Your arms were folded over the seat, pillowing your head. “I was afraid you were gonna drive me off to a bridge, kill me, and throw my body in the river. “ 

  “Naaaah, ‘course I wouldn’t a’done that Cher(ie),” he said jovially. “I’d a’fed your body to de pigs.” 

   “Pigs?! What pigs?” Your face fell. You were genuinely curious now. Pigs ate people?! You’d never heard that. 

Nico shrugged, “Pigs’ll eat about anything you feed ‘em Cher(ie). Dey ain’t around no more anyhow. A fire burned dere farm down. I still say de pigs did it! Dey were gettin’ tired of being treated like animals, and dey revolted!”

  “Killer pigs going on a murder spree to wreak vengeance upon cat-kind for systematically breeding them to be slaughtered, packaged, and sold at market as food. Hmm,” you mused aloud. “There’s a story in there. Maybe something tragic, or a social commentary on how people metaphorically devour each other to get ahead in life.”  

  “Sounds like a winner to me,” Nico grinned.

The both of you fell into quiet for a moment. You glanced up at the rearview mirror, your own eyes stared back at you. A question that had been nagging you for some time popped into the forefront of your mind. 

  “Not that I’m ungrateful of course for not being made into pig chow, but why didn’t you just kick me out or something? I assume you didn’t have anything important going on?” 

He chuckled at that, “Au contraire, I was waiting for Serafine and Hache to drive dem to a job.” 

  “No,” you gasped, genuinely surprised. 

  “Oui! Mr. Sweet needed us to protect a stock shipment. I just pulled up in front of de hotel, expecting my sister and our new friend, and den dis drunk idiot opens de door and climbs in, giving me orders like I’m dere personal driver or somethin’.” 

  “Oh dear,” you said, playing along. “I hope they didn’t give you a lot of trouble.”

  “Nah, dey was cute,” he winked at you with a sideways grin. You looked away, a blush creeping up your face. “Dey were interestin’ too. I can’t rightly explain it, but dere was somethin’ about dem I liked, so when I dropped ‘em off I gave ‘em a little callin’ card, all mysterious like. Told’em dey could look me up whenever dey wanted. Not long after, dere dey were comin’ in de door of the Marigold Room!”

  “I remember that part. I still have the bruises from how hard you hugged me,” you said affectionately. Nico barked a laugh. 

  “And de rest, as dey say, is history.” 

You had no idea when the space between the two of you had gotten so small. You were practically hanging over the seat while Nico was sitting sideways, one muscular arm over the leather barrier, golden eyes fixated on you. There was something magnetic and pleasant about the situation. You were both inching closer, eyes closing-

  “Mister Savoy!” 

Your head rammed into the car ceiling as you jumped. 

  “OW! God what the fuck really!?” You swore, rubbing your head where it hurt the most. All positive emotions you had fluttering inside you melted into a soup of anger and vexation. Nico took some of the edge off by rubbing your arm reassuringly. Meanwhile, the bastard who’d interrupted your moment went on a lecture right outside Nico’s window.

Something about how “canoodling” in company cars was highly unprofessional, and most unsanitary, and blah blah blah. This jackass made you hit your head, it hurt, and you wanted some payback. 

You threw open your door, stood on the step, which gave you a much appreciated height advantage, and yelled at him over the top of the door.

  “Hey!  Just who do you think you are buster?! We weren’t even doing anything, but because you’re out here being all high and mighty in a penguin suit, you think you can just boss us around!?” 

It went very quiet all of a sudden. The bastard, a tuxedo cat in black suit and red tie, with little circular glasses balanced on his muzzle, stared at you wide-eyed in shock. Nico had a similar expression, except he seemed stuck between roaring with laughter and “oh no.” 

  “Excuse me?” Glasses guy finally spoke. 

  “You heard me. Now go inside and get back to serving food! Those snack trays ain’t gonna walk themselves around!” 

Nico was full on belly laughing. It didn’t cure your headache, but it sure made you feel good on the inside. The look on the guy’s face was an especially satisfying mix of shock and pompous outrage. His fur bristled as anger took over. 

  “Do you know who I am?” He seethed. You shrugged uncaringly.

  “Pfft, nameless staffer number six hundred forty two?”

  “I am Mordecai Heller!” 

  “Ooooo Mordecai Heller. Isn’t that…special….”your mocking tone trailed off as realization began to break over you like a sudden cold shower. “Mr. Sweet’s shadow and favorite hatchet man Mordecai Heller?” 

He glared at you. The fury of a thousand suns in his green eyes. You shrunk behind the car door with a pathetic squeak. Well, you’d had a good life right? Kind of wish you and Nico had gotten to finish what you’d started before you had to die though. 

  “Dat’s why we call him our Petite’ Hache, (Y/N),” Nico cut in, calm and cheerful as ever. As if there wasn’t a scary assassin guy pissed off at you five feet away. He stepped out of the car.

You stared in disbelief, “He’s your third guy!?” 

  “This tart is that other person you and Serafine go on about!?” Mordecai seemed just as stunned to hear your name. Nico nodded, smiling ear to ear. 

  “Oui! Mordecai, dis is (Y/N). (Y/N), Mordecai. Now you’ve met, and we can be one big happy family,” he said proudly. 

And spoken with the confidence of one who is unable to read the room.  

Rocky

After a few days, you ran out of excuses for why you wanted to avoid the park. You finally relented and told Rocky about the strange man who’d subtly threatened you. To which he’d been surprised and angry that someone had the audacity to do that to you, but he also didn’t understand why you hadn’t said anything to him. 

Because, on the way home, you weren’t sure yourself yet if that was what the man had been doing. He was pretty cryptic. However, the more you replayed the conversation in your mind, the more you felt he had ill intentions after all. So first you hadn’t told Rocky because of uncertainty. Then it was because you didn’t want him to worry about you when he had much bigger things to be concerned about in his life. 

Rocky was having none of that. After he picked you up from work, he drove you straight to the park to help him look for the weird guy to “gently persuade” him to never go near you again. Nobody talks that way to his best friend and gets away with it! He was already out of the car and asking people if they’d seen the man before you could tell him what a bad idea that was. 

You tried to tell him to just leave it alone. Even if you found the guy, what if he was armed? Or there were other people around? What could Rocky do in public that wouldn’t get him immediately carted off to jail? And you weren’t about to give up your search for the mermaid’s treasure anyways, you two would simply have to be more careful from now on. This was not being careful! 

The grey clouds that had been hanging in the sky all day made good on their threats and it began to rain. Rocky wasn’t deterred, but you insisted on dragging him to a gazebo to talk things out and wait for the showers to pass. Many of the other park-goers fled the area for drier warmer places. It seemed you and Rocky would have some privacy for a while. You sat him down and told him in no uncertain terms that you didn’t want him galavanting off after a potentially dangerous mystery person for your sake. 

He pouted and crossed his arms, “Aww, but (Y/N), I wanted to defend your honor. Wreak terrible vengeance upon your enemy!” 

  “And I appreciate it.” You said, attempting diplomacy. “But we don’t really know what we’re dealing with yet. We shouldn’t go looking for trouble, not that kind anyways, until we have more information.”

A gleam came into his eye. You couldn’t tell if it was a good gleam or a bad gleam. A look of comprehension crossed his face. 

  “Oh, I get it. Know thy enemy! First we find out what we can about the guy, and then we ruin his life forever! Good thinking (Y/N)!” He looked so proud. 

  “Um…sure,” you said, deflated. He was half way there, maybe you could convince him the rest of the way another time. Hopefully before you saw that glasses guy again and Rocky would try to pounce on him, disregarding what you’d said. 

The rain had not let up. Rocky had brought along his violin, safely in its case, as per usual. He took it out to play. For what felt like forever, Rocky made the strings sing sweetly in time to the steady rhythm of the rain. He always looked so peaceful when he played. You forgot for a while what you’d been bothered about. 

How you were feeling must have carried over to your expression because Rocky stopped playing with a string screech when he caught you staring at him like that. 

  “Uh, are you alright, (Y/N)?” he asked, suddenly timid.

  “Never better,” you moved a little closer. “Why do you ask?” 

  “You- you’ve got this smile on your face, and your eyes are twinkling like stars, and…looking at me,” he laughed a bit nervously. 

  “Well, maybe that’s because I want something from you,” the heat crept up your face as you said that. You fidgeted with your hands. 

  “Oh, ha, ask and ye shall receive my friend,” he grinned, taking off his hat to place over his heart. Even bent at the waist slightly for you. 

  “I was thinking…maybe, since it’s just us, we could ah,” you didn’t finish that sentence. Too shy to say the word. You pointed at your lips and made a pronounced hum noise instead, hoping he’d understand. 

He did. His blue eyes went really big, his fur puffed a little.

  “Really?” You nodded. He gulped. “Oh!…Golly!”

His tail was flicking back and forth excitedly. His demeanor was that of a little kid being told they could have any toy they wanted from the biggest most expensive toy shop in town. He placed shaking hands on your shoulders. You hung your arms loosely around his neck, and leaned into him, chest to chest for the first time. He was trembling all over as you gave him a hooded stare, soft, expectant- 

Rocky ducked his head down, laughing loudly. For a moment your stomach dropped, thinking he was going into one of his fits. You slipped a hand around his waist to rub his back. 

  “Rocky?” 

  “Oh, Good Glory!” He proclaimed loudly to the ceiling.

  “We don’t have to if-“ 

  “No, no! I can do this! Just gotta get the jitters out.”

He stepped away from you and did what might be described as some sort of jig. He shook out his arms, and kicked one leg at a time. He sighed at the end.

“There we go, now,” he tried and failed to give you a smoldering look, big eyebrows waggling, “where were we mon amour?”

You stifled a laugh. You slid arms over his shoulders again, dropping your voice, “I think we were about to get a tad more familiar with each other, mon drole de violoniste.” 

He went stiff in your arms, as though he’d suddenly turned to stone. His smile was small, tight, and plastered on, while his eyes stared unseeingly. 

“Rocky?” No response. “Are you okay?” 

He collapsed in a dead faint. You shouted with alarm as you tried to catch him. Only partially succeeding.

“Oh my god!” 

He was fine. He’d wake up later laid out on the bench of the gazebo, the rain long over with, with you sitting nearby looking pensive. You weren’t going to try this again for a while. 

Serafine

Whatever job she and her brother had been sent on must’ve gone well because she all but swept you up in her arms and carried you off to the Marigold Room once she returned to the hotel. She was feeling festive, and you were more than happy to go along. A couple drinks, some games, much laughing and talking, it all went by in a blur. Then Serafine was giving you a look. Something mischievous, bordering on predatory in her glimmering gold eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol, but that look made you feel warm inside. 

With no preamble, she got up, took your hand, and led you off to some dark little corner, a big smirk on her red painted lips. You gulped. Your head was spinning. You were either being led to your doom, or to the best night of your life. 

Going around the corner into another hallway wasn’t very private. Serafine must really trust her reputation to keep people from bothering her later on, should anyone see. She pushed your back against the wall, hands on your shoulders. Your heart was racing. Serafine took her time dragging her hands up the sides of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, to cup your face. She hummed. 

  “Mon petite’ papillon,” she whispered, leaning in. You closed your eyes. 

  “Serafine? There you ar- Oh good lord!” 

Your eyes flew open. You saw a tuxedo cat with green eyes behind little circular glasses, wearing a heavy black coat and bright red necktie, gaping at you both in utter disgust.

  “Mordecai?” Serafine’s low voice dripped venom, “Is dis important? I’m occupied.”

He scoffed, “I should say. Mr. Sweet wants to see us in his office. Now.”

  “What for?! We did everythin’ right!” 

  “I concur. I’ve merely been informed that he wants to meet with us. It is best we not keep him waiting,” he said sternly. 

Serafine sighed, eyes rolling to the ceiling. 

  “Apologies Cher(ie),” she gave your forehead a kiss. Your face felt hot. “Another time. You should go home.” 

  “Uh,” your throat was dry. The words were stuck for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You watched her walk away with him, feeling happy and strangely unfulfilled at the same time. 

Viktor

It had been a long day for you over at JAZCAT, relaxing in the contemplative quiet of Viktor’s flat, away from the hustle and bustle, was just what you’d needed. He invited you to stay for dinner and you volunteered to help with the washing up after. You would wash, and he’d dry and put away, what with him knowing where everything was supposed to go and being tall enough to reach all the high places in the kitchen. It felt so very domestic. 

Afterwards, he sat in his arm chair, and you perched on the arm of it, leaning on him, basking in his body heat and lazily watching the flames dance in the fireplace. You felt so content. You could probably fall asleep right there. At some point, you looked up at Viktor to find him staring at you. There was something in his eye other than the reflection of the fire. Something new, yet you already knew what it was. 

It was the most natural thing in the world to let your hands slip around the angle of his jaw, fingers carding through thick fur. A subtle rumble of approval came from his chest. You started to ease your muzzle down to his-

He pulled away and got out of his chair. Fast. He was already walking out the door, tossing back something about needing more firewood, and he was gone. Though not before purposefully flipping down one of the framed photographs he kept on a chest of drawers, curiously. 

You stood on your feet awkwardly, feeling like an idiot, wondering what had gone wrong. Had you misinterpreted? Did you overstep your boundaries? Viktor wasn’t going to tell you to get out of his house and never come back, was he? As your mind buzzed with questions, your eyes fell on the downturned picture frame. 

You knew you’d seen it before. You’d been in Viktor’s flat long enough to see all the pictures he left out in his living area. As you grew used to them they’d all faded into the background and you hardly paid attention anymore. All that is to say, you didn’t remember what that picture was, but you were going to.

You flipped it up to see a pretty woman with a very cute baby in her arms. Ah, now you remembered. You’d thought this to be Viktor as an infant, being held by his mother. Upon closer inspection though, the baby’s muzzle didn’t have those caracal stripes you adored, disproving your assumption. Were these relatives of his then? 

Heavy footsteps drawing near prompted you to put the frame down exactly the way you’d found it and scurry back to the chair. You’d ask about it another time. 

Wick

After hours of being cooped up inside, Lacy insisted both of you go out and get some fresh air. Not a bad idea. You were familiar with Wick’s home, but hadn’t really gotten to see the extent of the land he owned. He was happy to take you on a walk around his estate. 

It was overcast that day, a bit chilly and windy, but constant movement kept you warm. As usual, you and Wick got to talking. Him about his latest business ventures. You about the going ons of JAZCAT and your never ending quest to write as many gripping, exciting, thrilling and chilling stories as possible. You even joked about using the almost break-in from a few nights ago as inspiration. 

As you walked around back, you got to see the swimming pool. You walked right up to the edge to peer into the clear blue water. You could make out the ghost of yours and Wick’s wobbly reflections on the rippling surface. 

  “You swim?”

  “On weekends, if the weather permits,” he said. “Perhaps one of these days you’d like to join me?” 

  “I’m afraid I don’t own a bathing suit.” Between your job, your writing, and the questionable state of the rivers you hadn’t had much opportunity to enjoy any type of aquatic recreation since moving to St. Louis. Hence, there’d been no need to spend your money on specialized clothing you were never going to wear. 

  “That’s no trouble. If you permit me your measurements, I can order one for you.”

You smirked, “You really wanna see me in a swimsuit that bad, huh?” 

Wick’s ears stood straight up. He coughed a bit, “I’m simply offering a gift is all. Not that I’d mind it. You are…lovely to look at.” 

It was your turn to feel flustered. You glanced off to the side, smiling a bit. 

  “Oh, thanks. You’re, uh, you’re not so bad yourself either,” you stepped a little closer. He chuckled at that. 

You got lost in his blue eyes, the way he was looking at you was so warm and inviting. It was easy to close your eyes, lean in, and-

Quack!

Wick started screaming bloody murder, scaring the daylights out of you. He wrenched himself away from you, throwing himself off balance. You lunged for him, caught his arm, but that was a mistake. You ended up getting pulled into the pool with him in a resounding splash. You fell into the shallow end, so at least you could stand up. You surfaced sopping wet, gasping for breath, confused, and anxious. 

  “Wick!” you cried. He popped up next to you, spluttering, equally drenched. You went to him. “Wick what’s wrong? What happened?” 

  “I- there was- didn’t you see-“ he stuttered. Then he stopped. It was like he realized he was saying something he shouldn’t. He sighed. You could hear the remorse in his voice. “I’m so sorry (Y/N). Let’s get inside and dry off.” 

He wouldn’t answer any more of your questions after that, not directly at least. Inside, he asked a maid to find you some clothes to borrow while he went up to his own bedroom to change. Wrapped in a towel with a hot cup of tea in your hands, you waited for him in the study, staring into the brown liquid, thoughts racing. 

  “(Y/N)?” Lacy walked into the room, a concerned crease to her brow, “The maid told me what happened. Are you alright?” 

  “Yeah, I’m fine Lacy. I don’t melt if I get wet,” you joked. Your laugh was hollow. 

Lacy came up to stand next to you at the window, overlooking the outside. You could just see the edge of the swimming pool. Your ears drooped. Lacy’s quiet presence nudged you to speak. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you confessed. “We were just standing by the pool, talking, and then he just started screaming out of nowhere. It was like he was trying to get away from me, and in the process, he lost his balance. I tried to help, but, well,” you indicated your damp appearance. 

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened either. I’m worried about him. But he won’t talk to me.” 

Lacy considered you for a moment. Her eyes darted from you to the pool, to you again. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” she began. She quickly had your undivided attention. “The reason he’s not saying anything is because he doesn’t want you to think he’s crazy. See, he believes, completely, that he’s…” she looked around first, then leaned in and whispered to you, “haunted.” 

  “Haunted?!” 

  “Shhhh,” she checked the door again. “Yes haunted. By a duck he killed as a child.” 

  “You’re kidding.” 

  “Not at all. He’s yelled at me plenty of times, begging for forgiveness and to be left alone, and he tells me he wasn’t yelling at me, he was yelling at the duck. I didn’t believe him the first time. I still don’t believe there’s really a ghost duck chasing after him, but he does.” 

You gave it a few seconds to let all that sink in. It did explain a few things. How Wick never wanted to go near ponds in the park, not even the bird cage at the zoo. It explained why he always went so rigid when you brought up ghost stories, and why he’d been so against performing a seance, even just for fun. 

  “Why did he kill the duck?” You asked. 

  “Family hunting trip,” Lacy shrugged. 

Ah. His parents had put him up to it. That made it worse. 

“Anyway, he’s the only one who can ‘see’ it, so he knows what it looks like when he lets it get to him. I suspect he’s embarrassed. I will say, apart from all that, he’s still a mostly functioning member of society.” 

  “Not insane, you mean,” you said. Lacy nodded. The tea in your hands had become lukewarm, you took a sip of it. 

The maid came in, announcing a fresh batch of clothes for you to change into. Gratefully you took them. Before you left for the bathroom, you thanked Lacy. That did clear things up. While you were getting dressed, you pondered how your next conversation with Wick should go. Now that you knew, should you tell him? Or would that stress him out more? 

Meeting up with him in the library, you could tell he was tense. He was smiling to keep up appearances. Today, you’d humor that, you decided. You would tell him you could deal with an undead waterfowl another day. 

Zib

He was still crashing at your place. It had been a week since the stalker incident. Fortunately, nothing like that had happened since, and you hadn’t seen the guy hanging around Zib’s apartment any of the few times you’d gone to check. It might be safe for him to go back now. Although, he seems to have made himself extremely comfortable on your couch. He might never leave.

Maybe you were kind of okay with that. 

He’d already been drinking back at the Lackadaisy that night. Nevertheless, he continued gulping down whatever sort of alcohol he had in his flask, lounging on your couch, your quilt around his shoulders. You were next to him, going over Atlas’ book again. He removed the flask from his lips with a satisfied sigh. 

  “Again with the fishy business, huh?” he asked, words slurring. You nodded. 

  “It’s gonna take more than a creepy scarecrow guy to scare me away from this,” you proclaimed. 

  “I noticed.”

His voice was so coated in drink you couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or not. At any rate, it was much closer to sunup than sundown, and you were getting drowsy. You closed the book and rubbed your face tiredly.

  “I’m gonna go to bed,” you mumbled loudly enough for him to hear. 

Before you could get up, a weight put itself around your shoulders. Zib had draped his arm over you like he was one of Mitzi’s fur wraps. From how he was leaning on you, it felt like he was too drunk to sit up properly himself. The warmth from his body was seeping into yours. You could smell the alcohol. 

  “Do you have to go?” He whined. If he was closer he would’ve been nuzzling you. A thought that made your insides dance. 

  “I’m not sleeping out here with you. You didn’t take your bath like you were supposed to, you still smell like an ash tray.” You had house rules for a reason. 

Zib whined some more, “Fiiiiine, but first, can I get a goodnight kiss?” 

He said that so completely casually that it caught you off guard. Sure, he was a flirt most of the time, but you’d never gotten that far with him before. You were at a loss for words. Meanwhile, he was still leaning on you, very much in your personal bubble, unfocused  half-lidded golden eyes hovering above chapped lips upturned in a lazy smile.

  “Uh…” your voice finally returned. “You’re drunk.” 

  “I’m always drunk. What of it?” His shoulders rolled in a very loose approximation of a shrug. And you felt every bit of it. 

  “Okay, yeah, but more than usual. You’re not- You might regret it in the morning,” you tried to reason with him. 

He blinked very slowly, as though even that small movement took great effort on his part to accomplish. His other hand made its way to your face, you could feel the light scratch of calluses earned from years of brass playing. You all but melted into his touch. He leaned closer. 

  “Regret is something sober me can worry about. Right now, (Y/N), I think…I think I…” 

You had a feeling of what he wanted to say, and you had to claw your couch cushion to not pounce on him out of euphoria. At least not until after he said the words. 

  “Yes?” you whispered, egging him on. 

It seemed he was going for the nonverbal approach after all, as his eyelids slid shut, coming nose to nose with you. You followed suit and-

He missed. 

You opened your eyes to find he’d fallen into your lap, sound asleep. You let your back flop back onto your couch, a tumult of emotions roaring through you. This insufferable man who drove you crazy in all the right ways snoring softly on your legs, what were you supposed to do with this? 

After a few minutes, your emotions quieted. Zib looked five years younger asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him. Although, you could probably scream in his ear and slap him and he wouldn’t stir. Alcohol could do that to a person. You extricated yourself from him, arranged him as neatly as you could, and tucked him in with your quilt. 

You’d gone a few steps toward your bedroom when you stopped, a thought striking you.You returned to Zib’s side, bent down, and kissed his forehead.

  “I love you,” you whispered. The words you’d wanted to hear him say. 

Words he couldn’t say sober, nor that you could say while he was awake to hear them.

Chapter Text

They say dreams are a window into the subconscious mind. They show you what you desire most. And what you fear. 

Freckle

He was burning.

He was burning and he deserved it for what he did to you! He tried so hard to be good, but it was futile. Because the battle had already been lost for such a long time. He’d simply never realized it. He was the devil in disguise that his mother had always warned him about. He was the monster!And he. Should. BURN! 

Freckle woke up with a start, breathing hard. His entire world felt off kilter. A second later, he realized that was because he’d slipped part way out of bed and was hanging off his mattress upside-down, blood rushing to his head. He righted himself too fast, becoming disoriented again. When he could see straight without a feeling of nausea he checked his alarm clock. It was still early. Even his mother wasn’t awake yet.

Quickly, Freckle changed into his day clothes, put on his shoes, and charged down the stairs on tip-toe. He was skipping breakfast and his shower. His mother would scold him when he got back. Outside, the chilled night air scratched his lungs as he ran. If his math was correct, and you kept to your routine (and were still alive), he should be able to catch you before you began your walk to the radio station. 

He was off by only a small margin. Your apartment building was in view. As he neared, he caught sight of you making your way across the street, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil he’d been going through that had urged him to run all the way out there. Freckle skidded to a halt. His lungs greedily sucked down badly needed air as his heart rammed against his ribs.

You seemed like an illusion. In his mind, he knew you were flesh and blood corporeal, and right there. Alive, breathing, going to work as normal. As you walked away, your image became smaller, blurrier, until you winked out of sight. When he’d bolted out of his house, Freckle had been consumed by the need to see you, to feel you, to make absolutely certain that you were among the living, and then tell you to never come near him again. For your own good. 

In the dawning hours of the day, the first sunbeams awakening the city, the persistent chill of the morning still stinging his lungs, and his legs aching from the long run, his earlier panic seemed foolish. It was just a nightmare. Everyone got them. The thought of telling you about it, that you’d been in it and he’d killed you in a blind rage didn’t seem like a good idea. He didn’t want to upset you over something as trivial as a bad dream. 

He turned and started home. He’d tell his mother he’d just gone for a walk. It wasn’t completely untrue. On his way, he passed by a man with a pipe in his mouth, trying to strike a match. He saw the little spark ignite. 

It was just like the match in his dream. The one he’d struck after coating himself in kerosene and- 

Freckle felt a lump in his throat as his eyes became misty. He walked faster. 

Ivy

She, Rocky, and Freckle were having a grand ol’ time rumrunning. Everything was all loaded up, and she, as the leader of the group, was of course granted the privilege of driving the car. 

Then everything went wrong. That tree wasn’t supposed to be there. She wasn’t supposed to be dead! She had things to do! Great, adventurous things! Daring illustrious stories to create to tell to her children! She couldn’t leave them! She and you hadn’t even met them yet!

Oh god, you! She needed to get back to you! You’d be so worried, so distraught! But no matter how far she walked, she never got anywhere. Her legs, broken and bent wrong, dragged through the dirt. She couldn’t see her face, but she knew it was mangled from the crash. She had to get back to you. SHE HAD TO GET BACK TO YOU!

  “Ivy?” 

Was that you? Were you looking for her?

  “I’m here! Wait for me (Y/N)!” She tried to yell. But her throat was dry, raspy. It was hard to speak. 

  “Ivy? Wake up!” 

Something shook her shoulder. Ivy’s eyes fluttered open as she gasped. She sat up in bed. She was in her dorm room. Her safe, familiar dorm room. Her dorm mates were gathered around her, still in their pajamas, concern painted on their faces. 

As her heart rate slowed to normal, Ivy’s ears fell back in slight embarrassment as she realized what had happened: a nightmare.

  “Are you alright?” The girl who’d shaken her awake asked. “You sounded like you were crying.” 

  “Yeah. I’m okay now, thanks,” she said, looking at her hands in her lap. Dark fur against soft white and yellow blankets. 

As the day proceeded, Ivy found she could concentrate on her classes even less than normal. Her mind kept wandering back into that valley of shadows. Where she was trapped, forever separated from everyone she loved. Lonely and forgotten. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough. When it did, she hopped the first trolley she could across town to JAZCAT station. 

She knew her way around well enough, and your door was always open. Literally. She finally got to see you, hunched over your typewriter with a pencil in your teeth, squinting at the text judgmentally. She couldn’t help it. She ran at you and smothered you in a hug. 

  “Woah!” you cried, startled. She’d come dangerously close to knocking you both to the floor. “Oh! Ivy? I wasn’t expecting you today.” 

  “I was just thinking about you and decided I’d come visit,” she said. You immediately picked up on the severe lack of enthusiasm she normally had. You pried her off to look at her, holding her arms concernedly.

  “Did something happen? What’s wrong?”

A sadness clung to her that you didn’t like seeing. You squeezed her arms reassuringly. Ivy gazed at you. The terror of never being able to be this close to you again reared its ugly head. She squashed it down. 

  “I just had a bad dream last night is all,” she admitted. As expected, you responded with sympathy, and a request to elaborate.“I was in a car accident, it was awful.” 

She didn’t tell you the worst parts. The ones that involved you, even though she never saw you. That was why they were the worst. 

Mitzi

She had a business to run, to restore to its rightful seat of glory, and no one was going to stop her.

All the neigh sayers, all the competitors, her own people who’d been telling her it would be better to just give up, throw in the towel, sell the business and start fresh, all of them were going to eat their words.  They’d see. She’d show all of them. It would be the biggest comeback in history!

She was dressed in her finery, her best silks, her best furs, her best jewelry. She looked like a queen. She was walking to the front door of her cafe, the secret entrance to her kingdom below the streets inside. She didn’t hear the car brake across the street as much as she felt it. This heart-clenching sense of foreboding, as the car doors opened, faceless men stepped out. The barrels of their Tommy guns gleaming in the moonlight. It looked like fireworks when they erupted.

She screamed and ran for the glass doors. They were locked. Desperately she pulled at the handles with all her might. RATATATATATA raging behind her.

  “LET ME IN! LET ME IN! PLEASE!” 

Red splatters across the glass. She pauses. Trembling, she looks down at her torso. Her purple dress is marred by wet growing splotches of red. She runs a hand over it, and sees how thickly it covers her palm and fingers as she brings it up. She can’t breathe. It’s gone quiet. 

There’s a thump. You’re suddenly at the door, behind the glass, eyes wide and fearful. You press your hands to the doors and yell her name. She can barely hear it, you’re so muffled. She tries to reach for you, but the glass is in the way. She presses a hand against it, leaving a red print. You place your hand on it from your end. She sees tears rolling down your cheeks. 

And then, you’re violently pulled away from her, swallowed up into an inky blackness that has devoured the whole interior of her once proud establishment. You were gone in a blink. 

  “No. NO! LET ME IN!” 

She left claw marks on the door as she tore at it with all the fury and anguish she could muster. Nothing mattered to her anymore except getting inside. She raged.

“LET ME IIIIIIN!” 

Mitzi woke up with her claws tearing into her pillow, revealing the stuffing. Her heart was beating at a mile a minute, and there was a cold sweat down her back. Her first instinct was to reach out for-

Oh. Oh that’s right. She slept alone now…

The sting of the old wound compounded with the terror of the fresh nightmare caused her to curl up into as tight a ball as she could, bawling like a child. 

A few hours later, she was seated in her favorite booth in her cafe, looking perfectly poised. No one would’ve guessed she’d had a whopper of a cry that morning. She’d felt the need to inspect her establishment for any…anomalies, and had done so. No hideous giant black nightmare blobs there. It was a silly thing to be worried about anyways.

Faceless men with guns stepping out of a vehicle to kill her, however, was a far more likely occurrence to happen in the real world than she’d care to admit. Each automobile that passed the cafe made her tense. Especially if they stopped for longer than a few seconds. She wanted badly to retreat back to the sanctuary of her upstairs apartment, but she had an appointment to keep.

You had been distant lately. You’d stopped coming to the Lackadaisy. While she welcomed the break from you to get some work done, she was starting to miss you. Few people kept up so well with her in conversation, and you knew how to make her laugh. You were still on time every day for your JAZCAT lunch runs, so you weren’t gone altogether. 

When you walked through the unlocked glass doors, a sight she’d seen a thousand times before, safe and sound, it was like a weight fell off her shoulders. She had to restrain herself from jumping up and throwing herself at you. You smiled, nodded your greeting, then placed your usual long order with the chef. Mitzi couldn’t wait for you to sit down. She slid herself out of the booth gracefully, then came up and hugged you.

She felt you go tense in her arms, you held your own hands away from her, as though she were poison. You fur puffed as you started stammering incoherently. 

God she’d forgotten how much she missed flustering you. Hearing your heart beat in your chest was the sweetest tune to her ears. The life was still in you. 

Eventually, you calmed down, daring to let your hands rest lightly on her arms. She stepped back to look at you. 

   “Uh, is this…okay?” You asked nervously. “Are you okay?”

   “Yes, darlin’. Everything’s as it should be.” 

Mordecai

He had seen and done many horrific bloody grotesque things in his life. He’d committed his first murder when he was still a child. 

None of it had prepared him for this. 

The mangled, broken and butchered state you’d been left to rot in made him want to retch. His pulse sped up as his fur stood on end. He left the door open. They’d find you faster that way. The radio people would inform the police for him when they arrived and found you in your office. He had his own investigation to do. He swore whoever did this would suffer greatly before he finally pulled the trigger and ended their pathetic miserable life. 

But he never found out.

He killed and he killed and he killed and it got him no closer to the true murderer. He felt himself coming undone. Being unable to find your killer was driving him insane. Killing was all he knew how to do! It was the only thing he was good at! If he couldn’t kill your killer, how could he give you justice? They were after him now. He’d spilt so much blood he’d become a problem. He fought back. They retaliated. It all blurred together. He didn’t know if he was shooting or being shot. 

Mordecai woke with a gasp.

He was in his own bed. In his own home. His perfectly pristine, tidy, and symmetrical bedroom was exactly how he’d left it when he’d departed the realm of consciousness. He rubbed his face, sighing. He felt sweaty. He hated feeling sweaty.

A quick shower. A fresh change of clothes. He skipped breakfast. He tucked his trusty handguns into their concealed places on his person, and slips out the window, down the fire escape. It was his preferred way of entering into the world: subtly, with no one being able to discern precisely which building he’d come out of. 

Not long after, he was in your apartment building, standing in front of your door. Staring at it.

What was he? A child? Had he really left his home early to come directly to yours to check on you because he had a stupid nightmare? Before he could ponder further about just leaving, your door swung open. You nearly walked right into him.

  “HOLY- Geez Mordecai!” You put a hand over your heart, trying to calm it. 

You’d opened your door only to find some shadowy figure lurking in your doorway. It was a wonder you hadn’t fainted. 

“How long have you been there?” 

Mordecai thought for a moment, “Twenty minutes.”

  “Why?”

He wasn’t going to tell you why. 

  “I…thought we could walk to your place of work together this morning,” he lied. Now that he’d said it though, he’d follow through with it. 

  “Oh. Okay, yeah. That’d be a nice change of pace, instead of you following me all the way there like a creep,” you chuckled. 

Now that you’d brought it up however, it was inevitable what the conversation would turn to. You two weren’t even all the way to the ground floor yet when you asked.

“How are things going on the hunt for my other stalker? Any updates?” 

  “None, I’m afraid,” Mordecai sighed again. He hated not knowing things. Especially extremely important things. Whether or not someone was out to kill you, for example. “Without a better description, I cannot track this stranger down. Nothing else has happened since then?”

You shook your head. That was good at least. Perhaps it was a random would-be mugger you’d managed to escape. Nothing more serious than that. 

The rest of the day proceeded as normal. Mordecai quite forgot all about what had compelled him to meet you at your home.

Until the next morning, when he let himself into JAZCAT and was standing in front of your office door. His hand rested trembling on the doorknob. Unwilling to turn it. 

He could still smell the blood.

Nico

He’d felt confident that he could protect you on his own. And if he couldn’t, his sister would always be right there to back him up. They were an unstoppable duo. 

He’d never thought he’d have to protect you from her.

He’d never thought he’d have to choose between you and her. 

Strictly speaking, he didn’t. The entire horrible situation was out of his hands. It was like he was invisible, unable to move. You were crying, she was in a rage and screaming at you. He didn’t know what was wrong, though he thought he heard his name come up a few times. And then his sister killed you.

She used her switchblade. She stabbed you over and over and over, and every time he felt a little more of himself die too.  

He tried to rush in, but he couldn’t move. He screamed, begged her to stop, but she couldn’t hear him. There was…so much blood on the floor. 

Nico opened his eyes, startling awake with a gasp. The bedroom of the suite he shared with his sister and their family in the Maribel Hotel was there to greet him. As it was most days. 

A bad dream, nothing more…At least he hoped it didn’t mean anything.

After he got dressed, he ventured into the living room where he found you and Serafine huddled together on the floor. She was showing you how to make sigils with salt and chalk, the both of you talking and smiling like siblings yourselves. The image of what happened in his nightmare still lingered in his mind. 

He put himself in between you two and used one arm each to hug both of you. Nico being affectionate wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, you and Serafine knew him well enough to tell something was off, and asked if he was alright. 

  “I’m fine,” he grinned. “Just real happy ta see my sister and best friend gettin’ along so well is all.” 

He didn’t want to let either of you go. 

Rocky

You weren’t supposed to be there.

You weren’t supposed to get hurt!

He’d seen the gun, and instinctively jumped out of the way. He hadn’t known you were behind him. He would have gladly taken the bullets for you, he hadn’t known! 

He saw the light in your eyes go out, snuffed like a candle flame. All the sunlight and warmth in the world went with you.

He laughed as he tore the perpetrator’s throat out, bits of flesh stuck between his teeth, and blood dribbling down his chin onto his shirt. The spots will never come out of his lucky tie. It was his very last heated moment. Next thing he knew, he had his violin in his hands and was marching along an old bridge, his loving Mississippi awaiting him below. Ready to embrace him for eternity, numb his pain away with freezing cold and watery stillness.

 He played his heart out. A final send off. His Swan Song. Dedicated to you and the life he and you could no longer have together. At the crescendo, he turned and peered over the high ledge into the murky water. His heart leapt. 

You were down there. Floating just beneath the surface, glowing ghostly white, and smiling. Your arms were held open to him. Ready for him. 

Without hesitation, he jumped.

You vanished as soon as he hit the water. There was nothing but pitch dark and cold around him, dragging him down, down, down….

He couldn’t breathe. 

You were resting peacefully in your bed when you heard a noise. It sounded like…breathing? 

Groggily, you opened your eyes.

There was a lanky dark figure hovering over you. Icy blue eyes gleamed like ghost lights, staring at you intently. Is that HIM?!

You screamed.

Rocky jumped back, hands flying up to cover his ears from your sonic defense. 

  “(Y/N)! It’s just me! It’s okay!”

You switched on a light, revealing it was indeed your favorite violinist and not somebody else in your bedroom. You slumped back down on your bed. It’d only been Rocky. Of course. He basically lived here now, so he would have easy bedroom access. This was the first time this had happened though…that you knew of….Rocky doesn’t watch you sleep does he? 

“What were you doing there?” You demanded. The adrenaline hadn't worn off yet. “You scared me half to death!” 

Rocky’s ears pinned back. He looked about as frightened as you’d felt a minute ago. He covered it up with a forced chuckle and a smile. 

  “Deepest apologies my good friend, on disturbing your slumbers and sweet dreams. I was possessed by an urge to check on you, but all is well it seems.”

You thought that was a bit odd, and if it had been anyone but Rocky you might have said it was suspicious. Instead, you took his answer at face value and checked your clock.

  “I needed to get up in an hour anyways,” you shrugged. You flung the blankets off you, and slipped on your house shoes. “I’ll go take a shower, and after we’ll make breakfast okay?”

 Rocky grinned, delighted, tail swishing happily. He hummed an enthusiastic yes.

He could hear the running water in the bathroom from the kitchen, where Rocky poured himself a glass of water from the sink. Ordinarily, he loved the sound of rushing water. He found it soothing. Not today though. As his mind wandered back, into those visions he’d rather leave behind, he found himself staring into his glass. A reflection that wasn’t his stared back.

He dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor. Water spilled. Rocky winced at the noise. He cleaned it up as quick as he could, not wanting you to see. The image of your ghostly reflection peering back at him refused to leave his mind. 

Serafine

When she brought you into the fold with her brother and her followers, she hadn’t anticipated any friction. 

It wasn't the norm. Your induction involved no rites, no promises, no swearing of allegiance. It wasn’t required of you. She trusted you. She adored you, and believed with all her heart that her people would see in you what she saw too.

She and her brother returned home one night to anxious faces and guilty looks. You were on the floor, unmoving. Your heart had stopped. Two insidious tiny puncture wounds on your wrist.

The snake got you, they said. They tried the antivenin. It hadn’t worked. 

She screamed at them all to get out. Her rage was legendary among them and they obeyed, fleeing the scene. Treacherous thoughts that they’d done it on purpose dug into her mind. The fools knew how to use antivenin. She’d taught most of them herself! She wasn’t so stupid as to allow venomous snakes in their home otherwise. 

Still. It couldn’t be too late to save you. It couldn’t be! Even if you were dead, she was willing to defy all the laws of nature to bring you back. Her brother kept your corpse company on the floor as she prepared the ritual. The forbidden one. 

Past lessons, warnings, echoes from her own teachers from long ago; No good ever came of meddling with the dead- she silenced it all. For you, she would risk it. She’d risk her life, her everything to bring you back. 

And so, she performed the ritual. 

At first, nothing happened. Her mind raced, had she done something wrong? Her brother spoke up suddenly, complaining that he felt something was terribly wrong. But then, you opened your eyes! 

You sat up and looked around. Her brother stared at you, gobsmacked. She threw her arms around you, crying with relief. She only noticed too late that you were still cold. 

Icy hands tightened around her throat, possessed of a strength you never had before. She felt her feet dangling above the floor. She stares, petrified, at you. Your face contorted into a sickening grin. Your eyes were the wrong color. 

It’s not you! 

Somewhere, she heard her brother shout. You threw her against the window with so much force it shattered. The wind whistled through her hair, her ears, she screamed as the ground rushed up to meet her. 

Serafine’s whole body jolted awake. She was in her bed, in the room she shared with her brother. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. She glanced at her brother’s bed to find it empty, the sheets a rumpled mess, as usual. After putting on some clothes, she ventured into the living area, only to be met by one of the snakes they allowed to roam around, dangling down from above on a sconce lamp. 

It made her jump. And she hated that. It wasn’t one of the poisonous ones though, so she let it be. 

There were scarce few congregants at this hour of the morning. She spotted Nico lounging in a chair, unbothered as ever. The sight of him, unharmed and at ease, alleviated something she didn't know she’d been carrying. Her ears flicked, she heard you laugh.

She saw you off in a corner with one of the long time members of the family, chatting away. It warmed her heart. You were so hesitant around the others most of the time, it was good to see you without that wariness, letting your inquisitive side take over and ask questions. You asked so much, a few of the family had complained it felt more like an interrogation than an interview. She knew you didn’t mean it. You simply had a great love for knowledge. 

She walked over to you and slipped her arms around your waist from behind. 

  “Good morning, Papillon,” she kissed your head. 

  “Oh, good morning,” you said cheerily back. “Did you sleep well?” 

She didn’t like lying to you, however, the subject of her nightmare wasn’t something she wanted to share. Not with you, nor Nico. As she spotted another snake gliding its belly across a bookshelf, she tightened your hold on you a little bit more.

Viktor

It was a normal night at the Lackadaisy. So, dreadfully slow.

You wanted to see the trap door that led up to the garage. Nothing else was going on. His boss could complain about him leaving his post as much as she wanted, she wasn’t going to fire him. He obliged.

The walk to the stairs seemed shorter than normal, not that he was complaining. When you two got there, you went right up. He watched you push the hatch open. He didn’t question why it was unlocked. You went up, and stepped into the garage. You turned around and smiled down at him. 

Something unseen dragged you away. You were screaming and screaming, calling his name.

He ran up the stairs as fast as he could. Unfortunately, that meant painfully slowly, with an emphasis on painfully. His knees felt rustier than normal. The staircase seemed much longer than he remembered it being. He was almost to the top-

He was suddenly falling backwards. In slow motion, he watched the trap door shrink away, then shut with a slam. He was plunged into blackness.

Viktor awoke sweating buckets and panting. He was in his room, filled with familiar things. It had all been a bad dream. His heart needed a few minutes to calm down. 

As you left your apartment that morning for work, you came down the last flight of stairs to the ground floor to find Viktor’s large form sitting on the steps, hunched over sadly. 

  “Viktor?” His ear flicked in your direction before his torso turned towards you. “What are you doing here?” 

He cleared his throat as he stood up, stretched a little bit. He seemed weirdly bashful. 

  “I…uh…vanted to give you ride to vork today,” he said. 

He watched your expression brighten, and he melted on the inside. 

  “Really? Thanks! Hey, since I’ll be there early now, how about I give you a tour of JAZCAT Station? I know you’ve been there once before, but I’d love to show you around for real.” 

Viktor accepted. You were already picturing Clark and Lois’s faces when you walked in with your favorite one-eyed bartender behind you. He’d left quite an impression on Lana, the front desk lady, last time.  

Viktor just wanted to keep you where he could see you for a while. 

Wick

It was his idea to explore the caves. You’d happily agreed to go along. The both of you oblivious to the danger you were walking into. It was all his fault. 

The ceiling just…collapsed. There was no warning.

You pushed him out of the way of the falling rocks. A heroic, final, act. He would never forgive himself. 

The more he thought about it. The more he believed he deserved to be punished. He couldn’t say exactly where the noose had come from. It was in his hands. He put it around his neck, and leaned over the banister until he fell. 

Wick woke up gasping, hands flying to his neck. 

There was nothing there. He sat up, panting, in his extra large bed, surrounded by plush pillows and blankets. Sunbeams streamed in through the cracks between the curtains at the windows. He stared at his trembling hands. 

A nightmare. Yes, that was it. Just a bad dream, nothing more. 

He got up and started his day, as normal. Things proceeded, as normal. If Lacy thought he was being extra jumpy, she didn’t say anything. Wick certainly didn’t care to notice how much more alcohol than usual he was adding to his food and drink As the day dragged on, he began to feel impatient. Why couldn’t the sun hurry up and go down already? 

At last, it was dark enough for debauchery of his favorite sort. He had Bix drive him to the Little Daisy Cafe. Horatio was at the other door, as always, and informed him that you were already there when asked. Wonderful! He really wanted to see you. (To make sure you were alive.)

He felt inexplicably lighter when he caught sight of you at the bar, smiling and drinking with the few other patrons. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

He gripped your shoulder in greeting before he took the bar stool next to you. Good to know you were real, he wasn’t still dreaming. 

  “Wick! You made it,” you said happily. 

  “Of course. You know I can’t stay away,” from you. “How was your day?”

  “Eh, same old, same old,” you shrugged. “Hey Rocky was telling me he found a deposit of Fools Gold in one of the tunnels, you wanna go look for it-“

  “NO!” 

Everybody was staring at him. Wick gulped, feeling self-conscious. He smiled, laughing nervously. 

“No thank you, I mean. Uh, I’ve seen enough Fools Gold. I’d much rather stay here and talk to you.” 

  “…Uh, alright. Whatever you wanna do.” 

As the night went on, Wick relaxed. Everything was fine. 

When he returned home, he went up the staircase, like normal. He reached the top, and going along the hall, he realized where he was. He was at that spot at the banister. A phantom weight around his throat. 

Zib

He was walking you home. It had become a habit. These cops showed up out of nowhere. He’d never liked cops. All of them seemed more interested in finding the tiniest excuse to brutally punish people rather than protect them. You and him weren’t even that drunk. Still, he had his flask on him, and that was all they’d need. Hurting him was one thing. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you. 

He told you to run. You did. He went a different direction, trying to lead them away from you. He ran, and he ran, until he couldn’t see them anymore. He continued to your apartment. Because, where else would you go? 

Your door was locked when he arrived, so he sat down next to it and waited. But you never showed up.

He tried looking for you. He searched everywhere for you. His mind slowly unraveling. You were nowhere to be found. He had to continue on in his dreary life without you.

He sang at night, on stage. It was the one last desperate shred of hope he had, how ever ridiculous it was. You loved hearing him sing. You never missed a performance when he did. So he sang, hoping you’d hear him and come back. He kept singing. He kept singing even after his heart stopped. Even after the lights went out forever, and the stage fell apart. 

He kept singing into the dark.

Zib didn’t know where he was when he woke up, it was too dark to tell. He had to fight to get the tightly wrapped quilt off him and sit up. He was on a couch, in what looked like someone’s apartment.

Your apartment.

That’s right. He’d been sleeping over for a while now. He rubbed his face. He discovered his cheeks were wet. He hadn’t been crying had he? It was only a dream. 

Nevertheless, he glanced at your bedroom door, slightly cracked open. Presumably you were asleep in there, not outside, lost, gone forever, so he crept along your floorboards as quietly as he could, and pulled the door open. In the dim light, he could make out your sleeping form on the bed, safely nestled under the covers, and, mercifully, still breathing. 

The tension melted out of his body. He slid to floor against your doorframe, he felt like jelly. He stayed there, watching you, until he eventually dozed off himself. The next thing he knew, you were right beside him shaking him awake and asking if he was okay. Light filtered in through the windows. He gave you his usual half lidded eyes and small smile. 

  “I’m fine. I just decided to make myself more comfortable.” 

  “On the floor?” 

  “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it Dove.” 

  “I think I’ll stick to my bed, thanks.” 

You went into your normal morning routine right after. Zib didn’t really have a morning routine, he just waited for you to get cleaned up so you could have breakfast together. He did bother to get dressed and put his shoes on. He was going to walk with you to work today, if you were okay with that. 

It was more than okay! You were dying to show him around JAZCAT! This was a perfect opportunity to do so. You really wanted to show him off to your coworkers. A lot of them still talked about the Lackadaisy band. The music at the Marigold Room just wasn’t the same. You were pretty sure Lois had a little crush on Sy back then too. That made Zib smile. The poor woman had no idea Sy leaned more towards the masculine of the species. 

On the street, about halfway to the station, you were chatting away merrily when he noticed a policeman. The lawman seemed otherwise occupied, didn’t even look at you two. Zib’s first instinct was still to put an arm around your shoulders, pull you closer, and walk faster. You noticed the shift in his demeanor.

  “Zib? What is it? Is it the guy!?” You gasped looking around.

Zib felt like an idiot. Of course you’d think of the creepy stalker he’d sicked Virgil on.

  “No Dove, I…uh…am just really eager to meet your coworkers. They sound like a good bunch,” he said. Like a liar. 

It did the trick. You went back to being all happy go lucky. He kept his arm around you the whole rest of the walk. 

He didn’t want to loose you. 

Chapter Text

The second key, the Mermaid’s Heart, was proving to be especially elusive. You’d done as the poem instructed, starting with “Fish Tails” and working from there. You’d gone through a few fish markets already and come up empty handed. You didn’t want to enter a cannery, due to the smell. It felt like looking for a needle in a haystack. There were countless fish places in St. Louis, how could you possibly figure out which one had the heart? You didn’t even know what the heart was! It was supposed to tick, so a clock? Were you looking for a fish that swallowed a clock?

Maybe you were looking for a trophy? It made more sense. A fish with its body permanently preserved and mounted on a wall was a potential hiding spot for small things. You’d used taxidermy animals as hiding places in some of your own mystery stories. Downside: this could mean it was in someone’s home. If you were lucky, Atlas would’ve left another clue in the book about who’s home he entrusted it too. Otherwise, you’d really have to dig into his personal history and come up with a list of potential suspects. 

The answer, surprisingly, came to you at work. Lois was gossiping with Lana at the front desk about weird side shows and the like that they’d been to. The word mermaid came up. Intrigued, you asked them what they were talking about. Lois told you about a news story she read not long ago about a fraud fossilized mermaid. Some shyster sewed the head and torso of a dead monkey onto a fish tail, put in a glass box, and called it a mermaid. Apparently, it’s been something of a trend. There’s a weird Taxidermy shop on the edge of the city that sells abominations like that, though it’s main products are fur coats and accessories. She’s pretty sure that place has a ‘mermaid’ on display somewhere. 

    “There was a whole scandal over it about a decade ago, if I remember correctly. The couple had to move away from New York because of it. They’ve been here ever since,” she explained.

You could have kissed Lois. You asked her what the name of the shop was.

Chimera Curious and Coats. 

You looked up the address in a phone book. You managed to get word to your treasure hunt partner to meet you there as soon as possible. You left work early with a flutter of excitement in your gut, ready to conquer this next challenge. 

Oh you had no idea what horror awaited you....  

When Lois said the edge of town, she wasn’t kidding. It was the very last building on the block right before the road opened up into flat countryside, stretching until it vanished into the woods. There wasn’t much foot traffic nearby, which also meant it was quieter than further inside the city. The building itself was only two stories high, similar to the Little Daisy Cafe. The store on the ground floor, and what appeared to be a living area upstairs. The outside of Chimera Curios and Coats had been painted a bright sunny yellow color. Golden font meticulously etched onto the glass of the windows read “Furs” “Curiosities” advertising what was inside.

What really sold the atmosphere of the place was the taxidermy dog sitting just outside the front door, like a loyal hound awaiting it’s master. Or maybe you should say dogs? It had three heads. Two different breeds were sewn on to the shoulders of the original. Six glass eyes stared up at you unseeing as you pulled open the door, a bell rang, and you went inside. 

It was certainly the most unique store you’d ever seen. It looked like a side show and a department store had gotten stuck sharing the same space. The walls were lined with shelves and clothes racks, stocked with every fur item imaginable, some sporting patterns you’d never seen on a coat before. All the typical things one would find shopping around for furs. Right next to them, arranged with a smidge more care were taxidermy hodgepodges. Things from benign jackalopes, to mishmashes of rodents, reptiles, and birds, to a few prettily posed ponies with horns sewn to their heads. The centerpiece of it all, was a full scale replica of the mythical creature known as the Chimera. The namesake of the shop, and weirdly fitting. It had the brawny and imposing body and head of a gorilla, its snarling face showed off its impressive teeth. Sharing shoulder space was a ram’s head, with a proud set of antlers curling around then forward into a sharp point. Circling around from behind was a very long body of a hissing viper, acting as the beast’s tail, and third head. 

You had to be honest, it was a truly impressive piece of work. You wondered how many professional taxidermists could lay claim to such skill. 

  “Hello darling.”

You jumped at the voice. You knew you weren’t the only one in the store, you’d seen a few other people milling around the shelves, you just hadn’t noticed someone sidle up next to you.

It was an older woman dressed extravagantly in furs and feathers, a golden long cigarette holder poised gracefully in her gloved hand. She was a grey and black tabby with dark curly hair that you could see a few streaks of white in. She radiated confidence, charm, and something slightly erratic. 

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” you said, calming down. You offered an apologetic smile. 

  “Think nothing of it my dear! You’re not the first to loose themself staring at the intricacies of my work, nor will you be the last, ha!” She took a satisfied drag.

  “Yours?” You looked between the monster and the lady, “You mean you made that?”

  “With my own two hands,” she said somewhat theatrically. “It was worth every penny to create.” 

  “Are you trying to sell it?” For a moment you thought you’d accidentally insulted her, by the scandalized way her amber eyes widened. She put a hand to her chest.

  “Sell my second greatest art piece? The culmination of my many years of experience and expertise and vision!” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially with a smirk, “If the price is right.” 

She threw her head back in a laugh. You laughed along too, a little bit. It was kind of funny. She seemed eccentric, but nice, and obviously she was someone very dedicated to her craft. As a creative, you could respect that. 

“In all seriousness, it would be such a pity to part with him after all the trouble I went to to put him together. I was extremely lucky to get a sponsor to fund the project.” 

  “So, do you work here? Or…” you left the sentence open.

  “Work here? Darling,” she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m the owner of this quaint little corner of St. Louis, and all the collections therein. Mrs. Lorelei Morgan, at your service.”

  “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), I work at JAZCAT radio station, and I’m a writer.” 

A flash of interest in her eyes, “A writer? Oooh, what do you write?” 

You explained your penchant for mystery stories, daring adventure tales, all with a slant towards the weird and macabre. That you also utilized taxidermy animals in a few of your stories delighted her. In return, she showed you around her store. She explained a few of her hybrid taxidermy creations to you, telling you how she acquires animal parts from parks, farms, and the nearby forest by hunting around for dead things. She has to pay money for larger creatures. She sews all the fur products herself too. Her unique coats are actually the shop’s biggest sellers. It sounded like she did everything, that must be exhausting. 

  “It is a lot to do. We artists must always suffer for our work, as I’m sure you know. However, I’m not all alone. My dear sweet husband Sheldon helped get everything started when we moved here years ago. He’s a classically trained taxidermist himself. Tragically, he suffered an accident that left him crippled. He no longer leaves our home upstairs.” 

  “I’m so sorry,” you said. “That must be hard.”

She nodded, “He gives me emotional support only now, but I can make do with that. I’ve also got a never ending supply of hapless college kids looking for work. I leave much of the cleaning and working the register to them.” 

Which freed her up to work on the products. That made sense. You looked around the shop again. You spotted a group of young ladies looking through a coat rack, trying on hats, and giggling amongst themselves. One of the ‘hapless college kids’ was cleaning the counter he was stationed at with a rag. Further away you spotted what appeared to be a married couple looking at an assortment of capes. All around were the animals, of many varieties and combinations. But no mermaids. 

  “Mrs. Morgan-“

  “Please, call me Lorelei, Darling. After such scintillating conversation I feel as though we’re friends already.”

  “Lorelei, uh, funny story. I found out about this shop through a colleague of mine at JAZKAT. She mentioned you had a mermaid here somewhere.” 

Nothing about her demeanor really changed. It was the look in her eyes, how it went from welcoming to suddenly closed off.

  “What did she tell you?” 

   “Not much. She said there was a scandal, but couldn’t remember exactly what it was,” you shrugged. You hoped being casual about it would lower her guard again. 

Lorelei’s expression was unreadable. She placed the tip of her cigarette holder between her pink painted lips, considering. She exhaled two trails of smoke from her nose. 

  “I suppose I could show you.”

She led you to a side door marked Staff Only.On the other side was a dimly lit hallway. She pointed to a doorway that had a curtain hanging in it. There was something atrociously suspicious about all of this, but you’d come too far to back out now. You moved the curtain aside to peer in. It was a small room. A bearskin rug covered most of the floor. You had to step over its head to enter. The shelves were lined with odds and ends- a supply closet? Across from you, in a glass case, you saw it. 

It looked just like what Lois had described, only more underwhelming. The “mermaid” was maybe two feet long in total. Instead of a monkey, Lorelei appeared to have a chosen a poor little fox to sew to a fish tail. Compared to the showier creations in the store, especially the grand and imposing Chimera, you kind of saw why Lorelei kept it in the back. You bent down next to it, ears primmed and listening intently.

If this was it, it was supposed to tick.

You heard nothing. 

Nothing until Lorelei started clicking her tongue, tutting like a deeply disappointed parent. You turned to see her shaking her head, unsmiling. 

  “Oh dear (Y/N), I wish you hadn’t done that.”

Before you could do anything, Lorelei reached up to a sconce holding a candle and pulled. A lever? 

The floor fell out from under you and you fell screaming into a black abyss. 

Chapter Text

Everything ached.

The fall hadn't been a straight drop down. There were so many rocks, and tumblings, and steep twisting inclines you’d been powerless to stop yourself from colliding with. Until finally, the tunnel spat you out somewhere onto a hard stone floor. You hadn’t moved since. You didn’t have the energy. 

You could hear footsteps. The telltale click-clack of woman’s heels. If your brain wasn’t about to shut down again for heaven knows how long, you would’ve been scared. Rightfully so. In that hazy moment, sinking from waking into unconsciousness, all you could think about was your friend, and how much you wished you could see them one last time. 

Freckle

He could hear how excited you were over the phone, and promised to meet up with you at the shop as soon as he could. He had to accompany his cousin and Ms. M. around town for a bit. He mentioned to them that you wanted to meet at the shop for ah- research for a book. He hated lying to them, and he was sure they could always tell when he did, but you’d sworn him to secrecy when it came to your treasure hunt scheme. 

Rocky and Mitzi exchanged knowing glances. His cousin drove them all the way to the edge of town and parked right in front of the strange yellow building. 

  “There you go, Cuz,” Rocky grinned widely at him. Mitzi laughed behind her hand.

  “Enjoy your date Hun. We won’t wait up for you.”

  “It’s not a-“ Freckle blushed hard under his fur and shut his mouth. 

He hopped out of the car with a meek thank you. The two sped off with a farewell honk. Freckle sighed. Then turned and almost fainted from fright the second he laid eyes on the three headed dog by the door! It wasn’t alive. Two of the heads appeared to have been sewn on. Freckle still refused to turn his back on it until after he was safely on the other side of the door.

‘Safely’ being up for debate when he discovered the bigger, nastier, scarier taxidermy beast inside and pinned his back to the door, just barely stopping himself from screaming. The gorilla goat thing didn’t move. Freckle realized it was just as unalive as the dog(s?) outside.

It was still a good few minutes before he found the willpower to unglue himself from the wood and start looking for you.

He hated this place. The furs he could deal with. The dead animals cut to pieces and sewn back together in the weirdest most unsettling ways? No. Heavens no. He hoped you found the mermaid’s heart already without him so the two of you could go home to your place and snuggle under your quilt for the whole rest of the day. Forget this place existed. 

You didn’t seem to be there though. It was possible you’d left already, but it wouldn’t be like you to arrange a meetup with him then bail. He called your name a few times. Maybe you were crouching down somewhere, or were nearby out of sight. 

An older woman wearing a lavish fur coat approached him, asking if he knew you. 

  “Yes! They’re my friend and I’m supposed to meet them here,” he said, grateful for some help at last. 

  “Oh, why didn’t you just say so darling,” she smiled sweetly. Her canines peeked out between her pink painted lips. “They’re waiting for you in the back. Follow me.” 

She led him into the backrooms of the shop, to a curtain, and told him to go on through. He tripped over something as he entered, nearly losing his balance. He looked down to see he’d tripped on the head of a bearskin rug, which he was standing on. His tail puffed. The thing was creepy-

The room wasn’t much bigger than a closet, and you certainly were not there. He looked back at the woman, confused. She was holding onto a sconce jutting from the wall. Her smile was the creepiest thing he’d ever seen- and he worked with Rocky! She did a little wave at him. Freckle felt his stomach drop in horror.

  “Bye bye.” 

She pulled the sconce. The floor fell out from under Freckle. The blackness swallowed him up before he could scream. 

The trap door reset itself. Lorelei turned away with a shrug, “That was easy.” 

Ivy

A taxidermy shop? Sounded creepy.

She was in. 

Ivy had to stay longer after class though to help clean up a mess she’d made during chemistry. She set off right after for the edge of town to meet you and get the second key. 

The three headed taxidermy dog was a surprise, sitting outside the shop, greeting customers. It was kind of cute, in a weird morbid sort of way. She gave each head a little pat before she went inside. She was rusty on Greek mythology, but she was pretty sure that was a chimera on display in the middle of the store! It was huge! Bigger than Viktor even, and almost as scary. 

Ivy couldn't help feeling enamored with all the shop had to offer. The furs were magnificent, they had patterns she’d never seen on animals before. And the taxidermy displays! Some of them she knew would send her dorm mates running away screaming, the thought made her giggle. The ponies made up to look like unicorns were definitely her favorites. 

She was in the midst of trying on a few fur hats when a distinguished charming older woman approached her, asking if she needed help finding anything. Ivy declined, much preferring to explore on her own. Until she remembered why she was there in the first place. Funny, she’d gone all over the store but hadn’t seen you yet. 

Ivy asked the woman if she’d seen anyone matching your description. The woman’s amber eyes lit up with recognition. 

  “Do you mean (Y/N)?”

  “Yeah! Are they here? How do you know their name?” 

  “All will be made clear shortly dear child,” she grinned mysteriously. “Come this way. (Y/N) is waiting for you.” 

She led Ivy to the backrooms of the store and pointed her to a curtain. Ivy didn’t even question it.

  “(Y/N)!” She skipped on inside, flinging the fabric out of the way. “I’m here-“

The little room was completely empty, apart from the bric-a-brac all over the shelves. Ivy’s sunny smile slid off her face, confusion and a horrible dread bubbled up within her. She took a step back. How could she be this stupid?!

She was suddenly falling, screaming as the world went dark around her. 

Lorelei smirked at the empty space where Ivy had been standing. That’s what she loved about college kids, they were always so easy to trick. 

Mitzi

She actually already had some tangental knowledge about this specific shop. Atlas had bought her a few things from it before in the past. She still hadn’t deciphered exactly what type of fur her lovely white winter coat with the black and orange spots was yet. After finishing up her to-do list at the cafe, she headed out for the edge of town to meet you.

The shade of yellow the shop was painted wouldn’t have been her first choice. Though she forgot about it quickly upon seeing the dog with three heads sitting patiently by the front door. Unusual. But, she supposed, it was that type of shop. 

It was that type of shop indeed. She hadn’t anticipated the amount or scale of the taxidermy pieces present. The chimera, the centerpiece to all this organized chaos, stood proudly in the electric lighting. It presided over all the coats, hats, and other odds and ends. Mitzi started circling around, looking for you. The shop turned out to be bigger than she’d thought. 

  “Pardon me Madam,” an older woman in a fine fur coat seemed to appear out of nowhere next to Mitzi. She barely managed to keep from flinching. “I couldn’t help noticing how simply divine your fur is. You must take such good care of it darling.” 

Mitzi acted appropriately flattered, smiling sweetly and thanking her for the compliment. Not that she didn’t love a good ego stroke, but she’d really rather get on with looking for you instead of converse with a perfect stranger. And she did mean strange. Though Mitzi couldn’t explain exactly why, she felt there was something off about this woman. Especially with how insistent she was being.

“Really darling, it’s so rare these days to find someone who takes maintenance of their fur seriously. I’ve got a special little something in the back reserved for only for those who take their personal grooming seriously, that I think you’ll be very interested in.” 

There was a promise in the woman’s voice. Mitzi hadn’t seen you at all in the main area, so maybe you were wherever this woman was wanting to show her? That in mind, Mitzi gracfully accepted. The woman started leading her to a door, somewhat hidden out of the way, not far from the register. 

  “Thank you,” Mitzi said as the woman held the door open for her, permitting Mitzi to go first. “I take it you work here?”

  “More than that! I’m the owner and proprietor of this quaint little corner of St. Louis. I’m Mrs. Lorelei Morgan, at your service madam,” She said.  

Mitzi’s ear twitched. She thought she heard the click of a lock. 

  “Mitzi May,” she said cordially, maintaining an aloof persona. One introduction deserved another after all. The woman stopped in her tracks.

  “Are you really?” The two women regarded each other in silence a moment. One in quiet awe, the other with some confusion. “As I live and breathe. Mrs. Mitzi May? Atlas’ wife?! Oh darling, I’ve been dying to meet you for years! After he passed, no one came to talk to me and I thought I’d been forgotten!” 

Lorelei stepped into Mitzi’s personal space, grinning excitedly in a way that reminded her far too much of Rocky and his mania. Mitzi held her ground, pretending it didn’t bother her. Poker face on. Stepping back would’ve betrayed something.

  “Forgotten?” Mitzi bid she continue.

  “Yes, we had an agreement, him and I.”

  “Of what nature?”

  Lorelei opened her mouth, then closed it, rethinking what she was going to say.

  “This is a private matter. We ought to discuss it downstairs. One moment.” 

Lorelei went around Mitzi, walking to the very end of the hall, passing other doors and a curtain. Mitzi’s ears picked up the jingle of keys on a key ring. She couldn’t see exactly what Lorelei was doing. The wood paneling of the wall split open, revealing a passageway to a downwards staircase disappearing into the darkness, illuminated by torches mounted on the walls. Mitzi realized Lorelei too was making use of the underground caverns. 

Lorelei turned back to Mitzi with a welcoming smile and waved her to follow. Wary, Mitzi acquiesced. The clicking of high heels echoed off the stone walls as the women walked. Lorelei remained in a pleasant mood, chatting away. 

“I can’t tell you how delightful this is Mrs. May! I know your little bar business isn’t doing so well anymore, however I don’t mind renegotiating a new contract with you one bit! It would mean ever so much to me have a sponsor again who can appreciate the full extent of my artistic expertise. Oh, and of course, I’ll keep up my end to ‘dispose’ of any unwanted persons you send my way.”

Mitzi’s fur stood up. She was very glad Lorelei had her bak to her. Mitzi felt around her thigh for the little gun she always kept hidden on her person, attached by a garter under her dress. She felt the familiar shape, it gave her some courage. 

  “I’m afraid my dear departed husband didn’t share all the details of his business dealings with me. Was taking care of problems all you did for him?” Mitzi was well practiced at sounding casual even when she was burning to know something.

  “It was the more active and fun thing I got to do. He also let me guard his…he called it a key. One of a set to some fortune he hid away. I keep it somewhere very special.”

Mitzi’s ears perked up, “A key? The mermaid’s heart?”

Lorelei turned around, somewhat surprised, then a glowing smile split her face like a Jack-O-Lantern. 

  “You do know! Oh good. Now I can tell you what a marvelous job I’ve been doing keeping it safe. In fact, what a happy coincidence! I stopped a would-be treasure hunter not long before you came in!”

Mitzi felt detached from the world for a few seconds, her body and brain going numb to everything except the horrifying possibility that you were dead. 

  “You…did you…” her usual bravado and confidence faltered. Her mouth didn’t want to form the words, for fear she might speak that awful thing into existence. Lorelei caught on to what she was saying. 

  “Oh, no, darling I’m wearing my good furs. I wouldn’t dream of it. The blood stains would be such a pain to get out,” she said with a flippant flick of her wrist, the long golden cigarette holder glinting in the firelight. “I won’t pull out my apron for that until later tonight.”

Lorelei paused a moment to inhale more smoke. She added, “That silly writer is going to make a nice handbag.”

Numbness gave way to fury. A kind of anger Mitzi hadn’t felt in years. Not since Atlas had died. She’d felt powerless then. Her husband was snatched from her and already dead long before she could’ve done anything to intervene. But you were still alive. She could help you. 

  “Where are they?” She demanded. Lorelei shrugged.

  “You needn’t concern yourself Mrs. May, they won’t get away from me. No one ever has.” 

  “Honey, I’m not a woman who enjoys repeating herself,” being higher on the steps, Mitzi had the height advantage, despite being a few inches the shorter woman. She loomed over Lorelei, glaring with all the icy ferocity she could muster. “Where. Is. (Y/N)?” 

Lorelei stared in stunned silence, amber eyes wide. Something ugly and cunning flashed in them as they narrowed. In a blur of movement, she backhanded Mitzi across the face, hard enough to knock her off the stairs. It wasn’t a long drop, thank goodness. The stone floor was anything but a feathery soft mattress though. Mitzi felt like a glass had shattered inside her skull. She was as dizzy as when she downed one too many martinis. Nobody had hit her since she left Georgia. Nobody had dared. Her fingers flew to her gun.

She got it free from its holster. As she lifted it to aim, a shoe came down on her hand, pinning it to the ground. She yelped. Mitzi bared her teeth as she glared up at Lorelei.

  “Mrs. May, I must regretfully inform you that this partnership is dissolved.”

She struck Mitzi with the blunt end of a dagger, and the leader of Lackadaisy blacked out. 

Mordecai

You weren’t supposed to ever communicate to him via telephone, unless it was an emergency, to completely avoid the risk of the Marigold finding out about your associations. You left a note with your coworkers instead to give to him when he’d finally show up. Specifically Lois, because she was the only one with enough backbone to hold a conversation with him. Lana might’ve been able to do it except she tends to wear a lot of perfume that makes Mordecai sick, and Clark’s too jumpy after the shoulder bump incident.

Lois still tried to pass the job onto someone else though, one of the radio hosts, or the musicians. None of them wanted any part of it. And so when Mordecai did finally show up, gliding silently through the doors like a wraith, Lois had no choice but to toughen up and talk to him. He wouldn't kill her just for that right? 

  “Excuse me, Mr. Gangs- uh Mr. Heller?” 

Five seconds in and she’d already screwed up. Mordecai stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his head to face her, green eyes gazing at her intently despite being half lidded. She could feel sweat beading on her brow. 

  “Yes?” She heard an unspoken, whatever you want, be quick about it. She gulped.

  “(Y/N)’s not in right now, they asked me to give you this, and to tell you to read it as soon as you got it,” she offered the folded up notepaper. 

He took it without hesitation and without ripping her arm off. Lois felt some tension leave her lungs, she could breathe better now. She didn’t wait for him to dismiss her. Having completed her mission, she shuffled away back to the safety of her office, alive and in one piece.

Mordecai adjusted his glasses to read your handwriting. You’d discovered a strong lead on the location of the second key, the mermaid’s heart, at a taxidermy shop located on the westernmost side of St. Louis. You wanted him to meet you there as soon as possible. The address pinged something in his mind. 

He had an excellent memory. This was an address he’d previously memorized. However, the information hadn’t been relevant in quite some time. He stood there in the middle of JAZCAT, still as a statue, waiting for his mind to complete its scan of all significant addresses he knew from that area. A memory surfaced. 

   “…send them to Lorelei,” Atlas said, and hung up the phone. Mordecai, standing off to the side, nervously tugged up the sleeves of the shirt Mr. May had been kind enough to loan him. Even though it was too big for him, he was determined to make himself look as professional as possible. Since he was still learning all that he could about Mr. May and his business he was joining, he asked the obvious simple question, who is Lorelei? 

Atlas’ yellow green eyes cut to him. Mordecai feared for a second he’d asked something forbidden. A ghost of a smile appeared on the older man’s lips. 

“Somebody I only send people who disappoint me to see.” 

Mordecai resolved to never be a disappointment to Mr. May. The address of Lorelei’s taxidermy shop, Chimera Curios and Coats, he’d found by purposefully digging around for information on his own time. He’d labeled it as ‘potentially dangerous’ in his mind. 

And now, here in the present time, you were effectively walking into the smiling jaws of a wolf and didn’t even realize it. Nobody at JAZCAT had ever seen Mordecai run before. Curious, baffled stares followed him out as he left. 

He needed to get to that shop, and he needed to get there now! 

He ran up one block, then deliberately jumped into the street, daring the next oncoming automobile to run him over. The car screeched to a halt, the front grate just falling short of kissing his knees. The driver honked angrily, and yelled something or other. Mordecai quickly went around to the drivers side and yanked open the door. 

  “I’m commandeering this vehicle,” he said calmly, pointing his gun at the flummoxed, now frightened, driver. “Any problem with that?” 

  “N-No,” was the timid reply, as the man slid out of the car. 

Mordecai jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off. He parked the car in an alley two blocks away from the shop, jogging the rest of the way on foot. The garish three headed dog by the door threw him off for a minute- so asymmetrical! A problem for later. He pulled open the door, striding in with a purpose.

  “(Y/N)!” He called into the store. 

A few customers and an employee behind a counter looked in his direction. No response from you. He didn’t see you anywhere. Silently, he cursed in Yiddish. This place was an absolutely abominable nightmare! The furs and their uneven patterns. The taxidermy animals haphazardly slapped together with the wrong parts. It would be doing the world a service to light the place on fire, and burn it all to the ground. He just might if he couldn’t find you in exactly the next ten minutes. 

  “Pardon me Sir,” said a woman dripping with furs and wielding a golden long cigarette holder with a tiny wisp of smoke trailing from it. “You seem wound up tighter than a clock darling. Is there anything I, as the owner of this establishment, can help you with?” 

The owner? Mordecai’s attention was entirely fixed to her. 

  “You’re Lorelei?” She brightened, pleased he knew her name. 

  “Why yes. My reputation precedes me,” she preened. He shut her down instantly. 

  “Where is (Y/N)?” he demanded. She froze to the spot, as if she’d turned to stone in that moment. 

  “I beg your pardon?” 

  “My associate, (Y/N), left me a message stating they were coming here. I know all about your other business. If you return (Y/N) to me safe and alive, we’ll leave and forget this whole affair ever happened. But if you’ve harmed them, or worse,” Mordecai leveled a glare at her that could cut glass. “I will show no mercy.” 

She could only stare at him for a few seconds, amber eyes wide. All of a sudden she broke into a laugh. Mordecai’s hackles only went up further. 

  “Ha, ha, ahh, you meant that (Y/N), yes. I did invite them into the back to show them my more, unique wares. Hmmm, right this way,” she turned with a smile and flourish of her skirt, unbothered by the looming shadow of death trailing behind her to the side door that indeed led to a backrooms area. She led him to a curtained off room.

“Right in there,” she gestured.

Mordecai nodded to it, “You first.” 

Her smile fell, displeased. She did as asked, pushing the curtain aside to enter. Mordecai could already see that it was a small room. When he entered, you were nowhere to be found. He glared at her sweetly smiling face. 

  “Your friend’s fine,” she said with a casual shrug. “I thought you’d might like to see this first. It’s what you two are looking for isn’t it?” 

She tapped on the glass of a display case. Inside was a truly pathetic, hideous creature. The front legs and head of a fox, and the tail of a fish. The mermaid. The second key. She was on to you and him. He refocused his glare at her, stepping closer. 

   “I’ve no interest in games. Where is (Y/N)?”

  “Oh that’s too bad,” she feigned hurt. “I love games. For instance-“ 

She jabbed the hot end of her cigarette into his face, barely missing his eye. The burning pain distracted him for only a second before he attempted to lash out at her. A second was all she needed. She leapt for a sconce on the wall, pulling it hard until it lowered. 

“Checkmate!” she declared victoriously. 

Mordecai had his gun in his hand and fired- too late.

The ground fell out from beneath him, skewing his aim completely. He screamed with rage as he fell into the darkness.

On solid ground, Lorelei dusted herself off, fixing her hair. She inspected the hole in the wall left by the bullet, nothing a bit of wallpaper couldn’t fix. Her cigarette holder had gone down with him, but she’d get it back. She just hoped it wouldn’t get too banged up durning the fall. She mused to herself.

“That was a close one. He wasn’t as dumb as he looked.” 

Nico

He promised over the phone to meet you at the shop. You sounded really excited, and that made him eager to be with you. Alas, he had a few things to take care of with the congregation first. Serafine assured him that she and Mordecai could handle the night shift if he wanted to stay out late with you too. He really did have the best little sister in the world. 

He went mostly on foot, hopping a few trolleys, to the edge of town. To the strange yellow building with the three headed dog sitting outside. He paused a moment to name each of the heads: Fido, Rover, and Max. 

Once inside, the taxidermy chimera gobbled up his attention. He whistled at it, circling around it, inspecting the mythical beast with interest. He could only imagine what it might be like to come across something like that, in the dead of night, with breath in its body, back in the swamp. The more reckless part of him wanted to challenge it to a fight. 

You must’ve been excited to see it too. This sort of thing was right up your alley. 

He looked around for you. When he didn’t see you right away, he started walking. He did a full check of the main floor, coming up empty. That was perplexing. He knew you wouldn’t call him to ask to meet somewhere, only to leave without him. Not without good reason anyway. Something wasn’t right. There was a persistent nagging in the back of his mind that something was off about this shop. And it wasn’t just because of the weird taxidermy. 

It was the furs. Some he recognized as the standard bear, fox, rabbit, what have you. The rest though? It gave him a sinking eerie feeling. He picked up the sleeve of a fur coat, running his fingers over it, trying to guess what it could be. It didn’t feel like any animal fur he’d ever encountered. If anything it reminded him more of- 

…No…that couldn’t be…could it? 

That gut feeling of alarm increased ten fold. He had to find you and get out of there. 

  “Why hello there handsome,” a woman’s silky voice purred. He saw an older woman, black and grey fur, wearing a lavish puffy fur coat looking him up and down like a meal. A long golden cigarette holder held delicately in her gloved hand. “You’ve got the finest fur I’ve seen this side of the Mississippi. It must glow like moonlight when you’re all cleaned up.”

Ten minutes ago, Nico would’ve been flattered. Hell, she wasn’t bad looking, he might’ve flirted back! His recent discovery turned her honeyed words into sticky poison, and he refused to swallow it. He played dumb instead.

  “Thank you kindly Cherie. I wonder if you could help me wit a lil somethin’ if you don mind?” 

  “Not at all,” she glided up to him confidently. “I’m the owner of this establishment, it’s my duty to help all customers who come through my door. That you’re easy on the eyes is just a bonus.” 

She winked at him. Nico resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Until he knew where you were, it was best to place nice with this woman. That or get her alone somewhere so he could have a more ‘honest’ conversation with her.

  “Ah, excellent, maybe you’ve seen my friend den. Dey asked me to meet ‘dem here,” he said. He gave her a brief description of you.

There was something calculative in her amber eyes. Like a snake sizing up a rat. She hummed thoughtfully, dragging out the moment with a long languid inhale of smoke, holding it, then releasing it with equal laziness. It only made Nico more antsy, as he pushed his impulsiveness down. 

  “Yes, I believe I have met your friend, (Y/N), correct?” 

Nico needn’t have answered. The way his face and posture all perked up at once was confirmation enough. She smiled pleasantly, as though they were at a tea party, making small talk. 

“Of course, (Y/N) said they had a friend coming by. I wish they’d mentioned how lovely he was, ha!” She laughed. He tried his best to go along with it. “They’re in the back. Right this way.”

She led him through a door that opened into a hallway lined with other doors, one threshold was curtained off. As soon as the door shut behind him, Nico was through being patient. He snaked his muscular arms around her frail thin neck in a choke hold from behind. 

She didn’t scream. She didn’t even try to break free. She seemed more enamored with his arms, hands lightly stroking them like a child might do with a shiny new toy. Before ruining it.

She purred and said in a low voice, “How forward. I must apologize for you leading you on Sir, I am a married woman.” 

  “Listen lady,” he growled, “I don’ wanna waste my time killin’ an old woman.”

  “Hmph! I’m not that old.” 

  “All I wanna know is where is (Y/N), and what have you done with them?” 

  “Such a beautiful snow white color,” her fingers traced his muscles. He squeezed her neck harder, growing angry. 

  “Talk!” he barked. 

She fell silent for a moment, the hand on his elbows stilled. He felt her tail lash back and forth. It was all he got before she hissed at him like a viper.

  “I did to your little friend what I’m going to do to you!” 

A blade sliced across his arm, causing him to loosen his grip with a pained shout. She slipped away from him and ran down the hall, darting into the curtained room. With an angry snarl, Nico ignored the long bleeding cut on his arm and gave chase. He ripped the curtain aside, charging in- 

His foot met with empty air. He was falling into a black pit of nothingness before he could stop himself. 

Lorelei clung to the shelves as she waited for the trap door to reset, and give her solid ground to stand on again. On the way in, she’d pulled the secret lever and jumped to the side, allowing the muscle bound idiot to run headlong into the trap. Floor boards and bear skin rug back in place, she inspected her scalpel, a few drops of red clinging to the pristine sliver of the blade. Tenderly, she placed the flat of the blade against her tongue, and pulled it between her lips. The coppery taste made her shudder with delight. 

  “Scrumptious,” she sighed.

She fixed her clothes and hair, hid the scalpel, and went back out into the shop to attend the oblivious people perusing her wares.  

Rocky

He would have gladly dropped everything to go meet you, but he had a few things to do for Miss M. that needed his attention first. Once that was all wrapped up and he’d secured the location of the next drop from the funeral home, he drove out to the little shop of curiosities on the edge of town. 

He spoke a bit to the three headed dog outside the front door, telling Cerberus he was a good boy for so diligently guarding the door to the underworld for his master. He’d give his regards to Hades. 

Inside, his attention was immediately grabbed by the magnificent imposing beast in the middle of the store. The great chimera of legend! How stupendous! How marvelous! Goodness look at the teeth and the horns on that thing! It could really tear someone to pieces were it alive! He knew you would love it! With a laugh, he started darting around the store, like an energetic rat looking for cheese.  

He looked here. He looked there. He looked high, and he looked low. But he couldn’t find you anywhere. Where did you go? 

…You wouldn’t call him up just to ditch him would you? No, no, of course not. Not his (Y/N). You wouldn’t dream of doing that to him. Maybe you’d gotten hungry and went to a nearby shop for a bite? Or maybe you were somewhere else outside looking for him?

Or maybe you’d gotten fed up with him like everyone does eventually. 

The thought insistently hung over his head like a dark cloud, no matter how much he tried to shoo it away. He really really just wanted to see you now. He wished you would appear, tell him you’re sorry, you had to step out for a minute, or something, and boy were you glad to see him! What did he mean he thought you were tired of him? You’d never say that! 

Rocky had done at least a dozen laps around the store and couldn’t find you anywhere…at least, not in the customer areas. He spotted a door marked Staff Only. He grinned slyly, tail twitching. You would engage in a little rule breaking for your search. And he’d happily follow your lead. All he had to do was act causal. 

By “casual”this meant whistling loudly as he sauntered up to the door, picking up his feet like in a marching band, somehow oblivious to all the people looking at him with their eyebrows quirked. He turned the knob as if it were his own front door, and pulled it open.

A gloved hand suddenly slammed it shut. He was met with a cold glare from one of the most unfriendliest looking old ladies he’s ever seen. And he used to live with his Aunt Nina. 

  “I’m sorry, Sir, that area is off limits to customers without a direct invitation,” she said.

Rocky’s ears perked up. He quickly schooled his features into something resembling charming.

  “Ah, I’m well aware of that madam! It just so happens that I was invited by the good owner of this fine establishment himself to do a little business arranging in the back here. I gotta take stock of the inventory first so my own employers can know what we’re working with here. There’s a lot of money about to change hands, and I would hate to have to tell the manager I was late because you didn’t recognize a business associate.” 

Nailed it, he told himself. Quite pleased at how confident he sounded, gripping the lapels of his blue jacket.

The woman blinked slowly. Her whole aura screamed: Unimpressed.

Rocky kept grinning. His mouth was starting to hurt from it, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. He could feel himself starting to sweat.

He thought he saw something akin to amusement on her face, before her nose suddenly wrinkled in disgust. 

  “Is that syrup on your neck?” 

Rocky felt along his throat. The fur there was indeed still sticky and matted from his lunch…and probably breakfast, from yesterday, too. 

  “Why yes it is,” he said. With no shame at all, he licked the sticky bits of it off his fingers. He saw her scowling at him. He pointed at his neck. “I’m sorry, did you want some too?” 

That was the last straw. 

  “Useless,” she hissed. She seized him by the tie and started dragging him to the door. For an old broad, she had a good grip! 

  “Hey! Hey! Take it easy or I’ll report you to-“ 

She whipped around, getting in his face, teeth bared and snarling, “I AM the manager you pipsqueak! I own this shop and everything in it!”

  “Oh,” Rocky gulped meekly,  ears pinning back, shrinking into the collar of his shirt. 

  “As of now, you are trespassing!” 

She dragged him along, all but strangling him, to the door. She wrenched it open, then pushed him out, with a swift kick in the rear for good measure. Rocky landed face first on the sidewalk, scraping his nose. She yelled again.

“If I catch you here again, I won’t be so courteous!”

She slammed the door shut with finality. Rocky peeled his face off the ground, spitting out dirt.

  “That was courteous?” 

After picking himself up and dusting himself off, Rocky formed a Plan B: Find a back door. Keeping low so the woman wouldn’t see him through any of the windows, Rocky slinked around the building into an alleyway. There was indeed a backdoor! He tried the knob- locked. 

Drat!

He couldn’t give up yet though. You had to be inside somewhere! He just knew it! He took a few steps back, observing the building for anything that might grant him passage. To his great happiness, he spotted an upstairs window cracked open. All he had to do was climb up!

Easier said than done, but with much determination and dumb luck, he managed to use a drain pipe to reach the window and slide it open enough to permit entry. He found himself in a bedroom. A few photographs neatly arranged on the dresser told him it belonged to that banshee in the store. He had to assume the man in the photos with her was her husband. Hoo boy did that guy lack taste in women. 

The door was open. When Rocky tried to walk out he spotted someone sitting at a table, back turned to him. Rocky jumped, not expecting to find anyone, accidentally bumping into a bookcase hard enough to cause it to wobble, and fall. The crashing of books and nicknacks being dumped unceremoniously to the floor made him tense up. Rocky was sure that man was going to come barging in any second…

Nothing happened. When Rocky peered out, the man in the suit was exactly where he’d been before. He hadn’t moved. The table had plates, silverware, cups, and a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in a vase. Set for two. Was he deaf? 

The more he stared at the man, the more something felt off about him. He was too still. Eventually, Rocky scraped up the courage to approach him. 

  “Uh, pardon the intrusion my good sir,” he started. “I’m looking for a friend of mine who I believe is on your premises.” No response. No movement. “Sir?” 

Rocky poked him in the shoulder. It was like poking a very big doll. Rocky went around and finally got a look at his face. 

For a second, he thought he was looking at a very detailed mannequin. Except, mannequins don’t smile like that. Or have such realistic fur. Or look like that man in the photographs. 

Rocky barked out a laugh, thumping the dead man on the back. 

  “Oh, I get it now! I’m sorry friend. It looks like your wife loved you too much to bury you!” 

  “I’m pleased you understand darling.” 

All of Rocky’s fur stood on end, he felt like he’d been suddenly doused in ice water. He slowly turned his head. The old woman from before was watching him from what he guessed was the door into the apartment. Her face was blank, except for her eyes. They were unnaturally wide, the pupil thinned down to tiny slit. He actually wished she’d start yelling at him again. It was preferable to whatever this was. This was much scarier.

She started walking towards him. Every step was evenly spaced, her heels clicked on the wooden floorboards like a metronome. Rocky felt a heavy sense of impending doom closing in on him and started backing away. He tried to diffuse the situation with witty conversation, a few jokes. When that didn’t work, he played the friend card. He was just looking for his friend, (Y/N). They said they would be here! 

  “You’re with (Y/N)? The writer?” she said in monotone, a tilt to her head. Rocky nodded energetically, hoping somehow that an association with you would get her to back down. It didn’t. “Hm, I’d thought they would’ve kept better company than the likes of you. Not that it’s going to matter for much longer.” 

  “Whu- What does that mean?” Rocky asked. A new level of dread sunk into him as he realized you might be in trouble. “Where is (Y/N)?” 

She laughed. It was the most horrific thing he’d ever heard.

  “Oh you are thick. And your pelt is so filthy, I could never get it clean! Even so,” she reached into her sleeves. She pulled out a scalpel and a dagger, the silver blades glistened in the sunlight. “I wanted to do this the second you opened your mouth.” 

It was all the warning Rocky got before she launched at him like a snake striking at prey. Rocky yelped as he leapt away, the blades slicing through empty air. Clumsily, he dodged and weaved his way through the apartment, upsetting furniture, she nicked him a few times, creating perfect slices in his jacket. Eventually, she buried both blades into a wall, and they stuck. While she was pulling them free, Rocky took the opportunity to sprint out of the apartment, down the stairs. He reached a hallway of doors.

The first one was locked. He banged on it, crying help, a crazy old woman is trying to fillet me alive! He did the same to the second door. In his mind, he knew he was running out of time before she came down the stairs after him. For an old woman, she was spry, and knew how to use those blades. Rocky had all the muscle mass of a wet noodle and no weapons on him. He knew he should’ve brought the dynamite with him! Dynamite solves everything! 

One room had no door. It was blocked off by a curtain. He needed to hide somewhere, so, in he went. He tripped over something and got a face full of thick fur on the floor. Turning over, he saw it was the head of a bearskin rug he’d stumbled on. It took up most of the floor in the room. It wasn’t a lot of space. The shelves were cluttered with parts and sewing supplies, and bottles reading “NEW” on them and…a mermaid? 

In a glass display case, there sat a fox combined with a fish. Rocky blinked at it, gaping. Was that the mermaid you’d been looking for? With a ticking heart? He scrambled across the floor, and lifted himself up enough to press his ear to the glass…nothing. Still, he had faith you. You must’ve been on the right trail. 

Thump…thump…thump…

The metronome pace of her footfalls alerted him she was coming. Rocky quickly scanned the room for anything he could use as a weapon. He settled on a heavy looking bottle of something he couldn’t identify. He pressed his back to the wall best he could with the shelving, ready to strike when she came in. 

Thump….thump…thump…

Her footsteps stopped right on the other side of the curtain. He felt his whole body trembling. He’d never been good at being still or patient. If she didn’t walk in in the next couple of seconds, he’d charge out at her in a panic, yelling like a mad man. Then he saw the knife push the curtain aside. His breath hitched. He froze….just a little further. His hands tightened around the bottleneck, raised above his head.

Her gloved hand came around the wall instead, her fingers danced spider-like up the paneling to curl fluidly around the slim neck of a sconce holding a candle. She pulled it down, like a lever. 

Rocky didn’t scream as he fell into the dark. He was too surprised. One second the floor was there and then it wasn’t. All he could muster was a shocked “Oh!” And he was gone. 

Lorelei stood in the threshold, eyes returning to normal now that the intruder had been taken care of…mostly anyway. What a mess that buffoon had made of her apartment. And how dare he speak to her Sheldon like that. Oh ho! His fur was unsuitable for her craft, but she was going to ensure that his death was slow. And painful.  

Serafine

Chimera Curios and Coats hm? It sounded interesting. Taxidermy hadn’t ever been anything she’d had much interest in. The business was largely supported by idiots who thought they deserved to be worshipped for their ability to shoot a gun. “Look at this poor defenseless creature I killed! No one else could’ve possibly bagged this beast! I’m going to stuff it and mount on my wall and pretend I accomplished something!” 

At least the bones of creatures she and her followers kept were put to good use. 

The excitement in your voice over the phone made her smile. She agreed to meet you there once she was available. Nico volunteered to drag Mordecai out with him to fulfill their night duties if Serafine wanted to stay out later with you. Which she appreciated very much. 

She took one look at that lonely yellow building on the edge of town and knew something was off. That wasn’t a deterrent. Most of the congregation counted as people who were “off” and they were perfectly lovely people…with some penchant for blood spilling, but that came with the territory of their following. The three headed dog sitting outside showed her exactly what to expect inside. 

The chimera was a still a surprise. 

Serafine had to give credit where it was due. It was impressive as an art piece. Gorillas of that size weren’t easy to come by either. She circled around the mythic beast, eyes tracing the serpent that made up the tail. It was so long, it had to be more than one snake, yet Serafine couldn’t tell where one snake ended and another started. That showed skill as a taxidermist to hide the stitching so well. 

If one beast of legend was here, it stood to reason another one, your mermaid, might be here too. No wonder you’d been so keen on investigating this place. Serafine circled around, searching for you, while keeping an eye out for any half-fish displays. Neither turned up. She was growing suspicious. You wouldn’t arrange a meet up with her and then flake out. Not if you wanted to wake up in the morning. Her tail twitched. Something wasn’t right. Serafine didn’t scare easy, but something here was putting her on high alert. 

  “Excuse me darling,” Serafine noticed a lovely older woman in a very fine fur coat addressing her. She had dark curly hair with some shocking white streaks in it. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but I simply had to come over and tell you how gorgeous your fur is. Most young people who come into my shop don’t seem to have a clue about personal grooming.”  

Though the compliment felt genuine, there was something about this woman that was setting off alarms in Serafine’s head. Still, she had no reason to believe anything nefarious was going on…yet.