Chapter Text
The noise, the lights, the crowds, the live band music… Mort was still not at all used to this. In fact, he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been invited to parties prior to Marigold, much less ones as big and extravagant as they normally were here. The Marigold Room was… There was no other way to describe it other than it being absolutely beautiful; ornate wall panels with flower motifs, elaborate, elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a stage for a band and a dance floor. This place looked more like a ballroom than an illegal drinking establishment.
It had been his first time in a speakeasy of any kind weeks ago, and it had shattered all the expectations Mort had had. He’d pictured all speakeasies to be small broom closets with bottles of illegal liquor, not something this luxurious. But then again, he supposed the hotel that served as a facade was a good indication of what kind of speakeasy this was.
Though Mort would love nothing more than being back in his cramped radio tower, where it was nice and peaceful, he always had the good sense to at least dress nicely for these occasions. That said, he didn’t own a lot of formal clothes and instead he’d taken to wearing his work clothes; a white dress shirt, red neck tie, a gray vest and dark blue pants with a matching jacket. Unfortunately, the jacket no longer fit him perfectly, but as long as he didn’t try to button it, no one would notice. Mort had even done his best to shine up his shoes, although they were clearly ones he wore quite often, given how scuffed they looked.
Fitting in was a tall order, especially with how Mort was dressed. On top of that, he’d only recently been given one of those large flower pins worn by nearly everyone else. Before then, he’d definitely seemed like more of an outsider.
And making matters even worse, he knew he was being watched like a hawk; since his first time here, he’d had… a certain someone tailing him like a shadow. The tuxedo cat was never far behind him and sometimes Mort would turn his head to see those green eyes fixed on him like magnets.
Mort’s shadow was considerably more well-dressed than him and looked right at home in this company, but he appeared distinctly disinterested in anything going on around him. Mort supposed that was all down to the fact that he’d been told by his boss to keep an eye on him. And what a boss he was…
Though he hadn’t spent a lot of time in Mr. Sweet’s company, Mort already knew just about everything he needed to know about him. The rich older cat wasn’t exactly intimidating in a way that Mort would have expected, but rather the company he kept was the real intimidation factor.
Making his way up to the bar, he had no doubt that his shadow would follow. Turning back to watch him, Mort hesitantly raised a hand to beckon him over. He even offered a cautious little smile, which quickly faded as Mr. Heller refused to move. If there was one thing Mort had learned quickly about Mr. Heller, it was that he wasn’t much of a people-person. Him choosing to keep his distance was hardly surprising.
Turning back towards the bar, Mort looked over the small drinks menu situated on the counter. The counter itself was a smooth, clean wooden surface that almost appeared to sparkle from how well-maintained it was. Behind the bartender were shelves upon shelves stocked with bottles of all shapes, sizes and colors, most of which Mort didn’t even know the name of. Given the fact that he’d only been eighteen when prohibition came into effect, he didn’t have a lot of experience with drinks.
In truth, when Mort looked at the descriptions for the cocktails, he didn’t know what half the stuff meant. What was absinthe? It almost sounded like the name of medicine of some kind. Bourbon sounded more like an edible treat. Or was he thinking of bonbons? The only things Mort had some idea about were gin, vodka, whiskey, the more commonly named spirits.
He looked to the white-furred bartender offering a cautious smile again. “I’ll have one of those… Bee’s Knees-things.”
It had been written on the drinks menu that it had honey syrup in it, and Mort liked honey well enough, so it couldn’t be a bad choice to go for. At least he assumed so. He watched the white cat behind the counter measuring out gin, fresh-squeezed lemon juice and a clear liquid that he guessed to be honey syrup with his hourglass-shaped jigger. All three components were poured into a metallic cocktail shaker alongside ice cubes, a curious little metal contraption with an oddly shaped, rounded lid.
As the rattling sound of the drink being shaken started, Mort felt a large hand landing on his shoulder. “Ah, young Mr. Morrison, how’s the party? Or would you rather I call you Mr. Blakely?”
Turning to look up at Mr. Sweet made Mort immediately straighten up his back as if someone had a gun pressed against him. He’d recognized the voice immediately, but seeing that smiling, golden-furred face looking at him again certainly had the younger cat on edge.
Old enough to be Mort’s father, Asa Sweet was a stout man with a surprisingly friendly face and a gruff, yet warm voice. He was dressed in a grayish blue suit complete with a red tie with iridescent lines going across it in diamond shapes. These lines would shine gold when the light hit the pattern just right.
Mort still remembered stepping into his office for the first time, several floors above where they currently were. It had been quite a surprise stepping into the enclosed space that smelled of cigar smoke, only to find a friendly-seeming man like Mr. Sweet and not someone as unnerving as Mr. Heller who had been by his side at the time.
“Uhm, whichever you’d like, sir,” Mort said nervously. He hadn’t bothered (dared, really) to correct Mr. Sweet when he’d been switching back and forth since their first meeting.
“How’re you liking the party, son?” he asked in that loud boisterous tone, almost as if he was daring Mort to find fault in the party. Seeing Mr. Heller flanking Mr. Sweet was such a strange sight. The tuxedo cat was stoic, face as flat and deadpan as one could be, meanwhile the older cat was grinning and looking like he was having the time of his life.
“Oh, it’s just as exciting as the last few – always impressive, Mr. Sweet,” Mort said, having to choose his words carefully. As far as Mort knew, Mr. Sweet was the boss man around here, but he also wasn’t privy to the hierarchy of Marigold. At the very least Mr. Sweet was his boss.
“Ah, a Bee’s Knees, you have good taste. Come sit with us, why don’t you?”
“Oh, that’s fine, Mr. Sweet, I was just-” But Mort had barely paid for his drink before the older cat ushered him along, the hand on his shoulder holding on firmly. Mort knew it was less of an actual invitation rather than just him being told what to do. It wasn’t like he dared contradict Mr. Sweet.
He held onto his drink as Mr. Sweet guided him to a table further from the stage where a band was playing. The table in question was one of the larger one s , already occupied by a few men around Mr. Sweet’s age, none of them seemingly with companions for the night. All of them formally dressed, t hey certainly looked like they were there for business rather than pleasure.
“Ah, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Blaine Morrison himself,” Mr. Sweet spoke loudly before Mort could stop him. Blaine Morrison was his work alias, not something he would ever introduce himself as. It felt wrong, especially when the others at the table started to excitedly murmur amongst themselves.
“Is that so?” an older gray cat asked, regarding Mort with interest he wasn’t quite used to. “You’re the Blaine Morrison? How novel – I never thought I’d see the day.”
Mort hesitantly shook the older man’s hand, before being seated beside Mr. Sweet, who let out a chortle. Mort took note of the fact that Mr. Heller remained standing behind them like a guard. “Oh this boy thought no one was going to find out, ain’t that right?”
Mort almost dropped his drink when Mr. Sweet nudged his shoulder with his elbow. He blushed under his fur, but gave a timid smile. Everyone at the table was staring at him. “I- yeah… no one’s really supposed to know that I’m-”
“The voice people hear first thing in the morning? Who would’ve guessed that the boy doing the radio show is the same one living in the building where the studio is?” Mr. Sweet let out a loud barking laugh that once more made Mort blush under his fur. When he put it like that, he supposed it wasn’t hard to see how he’d been found out. Officially, Mort was simply someone who lived beneath the studio. And that had been good enough to keep him out of the limelight, along with his other precautions.
“Are you sure this is him? He sounds… different,” a cream-colored cat said, fixing Mort with a suspicious look. It was true, Mort had always gone out of his way to both sound and talk like he was someone else whenever he was doing his radio show – it was one of his aforementioned precautions. There was a small part of Mort that wanted nothing more than to say that Mr. Sweet was just pulling their leg, but the way the golden-furred, older cat looked at him so expectantly told Mort he had no choice.
He took a sip of his drink and cleared his voice. “Oh, no, it’s most certainly me – me, Blaine Morrison of Blaine ‘n Simple.”
His ‘radio voice’ was a bit higher pitched than his normal speech and as he forced himself to smile, the smile itself certainly also translated into his voice. The guests around the table regarded him with a lot more interest now, clearly recognizing his voice. Mort, on the other hand, wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and hide forever. There was a reason he’d never wanted to have his face associated with his job.
“Oh, oh! Tell ‘em about your name, how you came up with it,” Mr. Sweet said eagerly, grinning as if it were some particularly witty joke.
Mort could tell Mr. Sweet was having a gay old time with this and he most certainly didn’t dare let down his boss. Mort hesitated for only a moment, looking quite embarrassed, before he spoke in his normal voice. “Uh, well, someone told me my normal name wasn’t appealing enough, so I just uh… went and reversed my name. Mort Blakely to Blaine Morrison.”
Mr. Sweet chortled yet again, which didn’t exactly make Mort feel any better. Mercifully, the biggest reaction the other men at the table gave were a few amused smiles. It didn’t matter how many times Mort recounted the tale, Mr. Sweet seemed equally amused every single time.
“Yeah, I’m not really used to talking about it – I was hoping I’d never have to,” Mort said, looking and sounding quite embarrassed. His cheeks were burning so warmly under his facial fur, he thought he might spontaneously catch on fire. He raised his glass to his lips again and sipped from it, appreciating how sweet and cold it was. The tasty gin-drink almost made being here worth it, despite how embarrassed Mort was feeling.
“Oh, please, you were bound to get found out when you live in your workplace,” the gray older cat from earlier pointed out. Making things slightly worse for Mort was a murmur of assent around the table.
“I guess, but officially I’m just – my regular self – I’m just the one who owns the place,” Mort said, trying to defend himself. His ears were flattened against his head, looking quite embarrassed. It didn’t help his confidence much that everyone at the table was far more formally dressed than he was.
“Now, now, gentlemen, let’s not give the kid a hard time – we still need him to come back here,” Mr. Sweet insisted, as though he wasn’t constantly giving him a hard time. Patting Mort’s back rather hard, Mr. Sweet nearly knocked him into the table, but thankfully he caught himself. The Siamese cat offered a small smile, before wordlessly toasting to the men around the table. Mort eagerly took another sip from the sweet drink, desperate for an excuse to not talk about himself more than he had to. “And we don’t want you to go spreading it too much – you know just how… important anonymity is for us and our assets.”
When questioned about what made Mort an asset by the cream-colored cat, Mort felt a wave of gratitude crash over him when Mr. Sweet took the lead. He loudly explained, almost bragged about how Mort’s job now included nighttime broadcasts that were used to communicate with Marigold’s members and employees, relaying encoded messages. In Mort’s humble opinion, it didn’t seem like such a smart thing to go bragging about, but he knew to keep his mouth shut for now. He’d also rather have Mr. Sweet spill the beans than being the one doing it. At least that way, Mort couldn’t be blamed.
To say anonymity was something Mort himself valued was an understatement. He liked being a wallflower, but with how proudly Mr. Sweet showed off his new pet project every chance he got, Mort knew that was likely to be reserved for daytime hours only. At the very least, he only seemed to tell business associates and not just random guests.
As he started to tune out what Mr. Sweet was saying about him, Mort’s gaze left the cats around the table, staring off to the side. He took in the walls, adorned with beautiful, sculpted flowers. The presence of flowers in the Marigold room wasn’t a surprising one – Mort and several others wore pins of the deep orange Marigold flower on their chests. Sure, it did violently clash with Mort’s outfit overall, but at least it also made him feel some semblance of being welcomed.
However, Mort had to do a double take when a glimpse of white caught his eye. When his eyes settled on the tall, looming figure off to the side of the room, Mort stared. It took him a while to realize what he was even looking at. Black clothes from top to toe had the slender figure almost blending into the shadows, but that ghostly white fur stood out like a sore thumb. The only dash of color on them was their Marigold pin.
“Mr. Sweet, who- or what is that?” Mort asked before he could even start thinking about how rude it sounded. The conversation by the table died down instantly, everyone turning their heads to look at where Mort was looking.
“Oh, someone tickle your fancy, kid? Need me to introduce you? Who- ah! Sin, you old bat get over here!” Mr. Sweet roared at the stranger, making a few people at other tables look. When the hunchbacked stranger turned to look, Mort felt a sense of foreboding and unease, just looking at that tall figure.
As they approached, Mort took in their strange appearance. Their face was a ghostly off-white color with black cheek fur and… Mort tried not to squint. How small were their ears? Behind the stranger, a black and dark gray, fluffy tail swished to and fro, and Mort noticed they weren’t wearing shoes. A monocle reflected light off its shiny surface as the strange stranger approached and Mort couldn’t help but feel as though he’d seen someone or something remarkably similar in a scary dream.
“Mr. Sweet…” the stranger said in a deep, calm voice, though there was no warmth in his words for Mr. Sweet. When the stranger’s eyes met Mort’s, the young cat felt unnerved again. They both had blue eyes, but the stranger’s eyes were icier, brighter blue. They were hard to look into, having such an intense, penetrating stare, as if he were looking right into the deepest recesses of Mort’s soul. Eventually, the younger cat had to avert his gaze.
“Come sit down, Sin – Mr. Morrison here wanted to meet you – he wants to know what you are!” Mr. Sweet shot Mort a playful grin. Clearly he was enjoying how uneasy this stranger’s presence made Mort feel. Mort especially wished he’d phrased the question better after the harsh look he got from the tall, hunched stranger.
Sitting down on Mort’s left side with a grunt, the stranger turned his icy blue eyes on the younger cat, while he put his hands together on the table. Just like his facial fur, those hands were coated in very light grayish, almost white fur. Mort swallowed nervously.
“Well, boy… I’m only the oldest member of this circus who’s still alive,” the tall stranger said in that calm voice of his. Up close, Mort looked the older cat over. The Oriental Longhair didn’t appear to be that old, at least Mort thought so. He had to be in good health, even if his strange appearance still made Mort nervous. Sitting this close, it became clear that he had no ears, just open sockets on top of his head. “Yes, I know they’re missing, thank you.”
The snarl made Mort jump as he realized he’d been staring. He quickly averted his gaze to focus on his drink, taking a big sip of it. He noticed that most of the other men at the table were looking basically anywhere but directly at Sin.
“Now, now, Mr. Chezk, don’t fault our young friend here. Quite frankly, you’re terrifying to look at.” It surprised Mort that Mr. Sweet could make such harsh words sound so jovial.
If he said he didn’t find Sin’s appearance startling, Mort would’ve indeed been lying, but he also couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Though Mort didn’t mind going unnoticed, it was something else entirely having people make a conscious effort not to look at you…
“Uhm… Mort Blakely,” Mort said rather awkwardly, turning towards Sin, holding out his gray-furred hand, in what wasn’t the most well-timed or smoothest of greetings. A small part of Mort hoped he might be able to steer away from Sin having to talk about himself the way Mr. Sweet had made Mort do the same. Being put on the spot the way he had didn’t feel nice.
“Blakely? I must have misheard Mr. Sweet when he called you Mr. Morrison… I’m Sin Chezk.” When the stranger’s white, long digits reached for Mort’s, the young cat saw that he was missing his third finger. Although hesitant, Mort still shook his whitish gray hand, which felt surprisingly cold to the touch.
“Oh, it’s… just a pseudonym,” Mort said, sounding embarrassed. His dark gray tail gave a small flick behind him as he glanced on over at Mr. Sweet, who had already engaged in conversation with some of the other men at the table, who seemed eager to pretend like Sin wasn’t there. “So, what is it you do around here?”
Sin’s eyes moved back to Mort, seemingly perfectly content with the fact that no one paid attention to them. “Here? I don’t- I’m just a guest.”
“Oh. Alright…” Mort replied, somewhat disappointed. He supposed he’d expected Sin to also be working for Mr. Sweet. The younger cat searched around for something – anything – to talk about, but his curious little mind could hardly think of anything that didn’t in some way lead back to asking about the older cat’s appearance. And Mort was afraid any such question might offend the older cat.
“Well, I’ll just go get a drink…” Sin simply said, rising to his feet. Mort cast a nervous look towards Mr. Sweet, only to notice that he’d already left. Perhaps bringing Sin to their table hadn’t gone quite to plan. Well, seeing as his boss wasn’t around, Mort didn’t feel too bad about getting up.
“I’ll join you, Mr. Chezk,” the young cat said as he abandoned his half-empty drink. It was only when Mort had risen that he noticed just how much taller Sin was than him – about two feet or so. If he wasn’t so hunched, he’d be even taller!
Though Sin looked surprised, he didn’t object. Walking on Sin’s left side, Mort tried his best not to stare too much at him. The older cat’s striking appearance was just so hard to get used to.
“You can stare, it’s fine.”
“Hmmm? What?” Mort had been caught by surprise when Sin spoke at him. He looked up into those icy blue eyes with his own darker ones.
“I don’t mind you staring – I can tell you’re curious. Everyone usually stares when they first meet me.” The Oriental Longhair’s tone was neutral, dry, indifferent, but he did give Mort a sad sort of smile. For the first time, Mort also noticed that he had a cleft palate, a dark line running from the left side of his nose to of his upper lip. Having been seated on Sin’s right side earlier, Mort hadn’t been able to properly notice it.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to stare… I don’t like it when people stare at me either, to be honest.” The snort Mort got in response told Mort that it was rather cold comfort. Of course, he knew their situations weren’t quite comparable. At a loss for words, Mort fell silent as Sin guided him over to the bar.
It was only then that Mort realized he forgot his half-empty drink back on the table he’d been seated at. However, much to his surprise, Sin asked him, “What would you like?”
“Oh… uh…” Mort’s blue eyes landed on the drinks card again, before darting back to the white-furred bartender again. “Just… some whiskey – on the rocks.”
As Sin ordered a glass of wine, Mort couldn’t help but notice how nervous the bartender looked talking to the older cat. Was that what he himself had looked like just minutes ago? Mort’s face fell slightly at the thought, guilt causing him to eagerly pay for both their drinks. Although Sin appeared surprised, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Where shall we sit, Mr. Chezk?” Mort asked politely, leaving the choice up to Sin. The older cat shot an almost suspicious look at him. Mort knew that perhaps he was trying a bit too hard to make up for their less than ideal introduction at the hands of Mr. Sweet, but he felt as though he should. He felt bad for the way people acted around the old cat, and more than anything, Mort felt bad for acting the very same way.
“How about we take a seat over there?” Sin gestured to one of the tables off to the side, further from the stage and closer to the entrance. “And please, just Sin will do.”
“Oh, is that a nickname, sir?” Mort asked politely as they walked together. The table in question was small and unoccupied. In fact, it was so out of the way that it was right by the large, potted plants with their wide, fan-like leaves. But it was a free table with room for the two of them.
“No, it’s my given name, Mr. Morrison,” Sin responded as he sat down, while Mort silently wondered why someone would name their child Sin. This time, Mort got to sit opposite of the older male. He looked considerably less scary here, though the fact that Mort was more used to looking at him by now also helped. In the bright lights here, Mort certainly found the hunched figure far less intimidating.
“Just Mort, please,” the Siamese cat corrected the older male in a polite tone, offering a small, cautious smile, though it wasn’t returned.
“Ah… the pseudonym situation. Please do explain that to me, boy.”
Mort took a sip of his whiskey, which had quite a strong flavor, though it was nothing he couldn’t stomach. He cleared his throat. “Well, Blaine Morrison, that’s just the name I go by when I work. You see, I’m a radio host… I have a radio show and all.”
Mort waited for a reaction from the Oriental Longhair, but the ghostly older cat said nothing, though at the mention of radio, he looked as though Mort had said something utterly vile. After taking a sip of wine, Sin let a slender, white finger travel along the rim of the glass as he noticed the worried, yet inquisitive look on Mort’s face. “I don’t care for those… things. No offense.”
“None taken, sir- I mean Sin.” Mort was smiling now – genuinely smiling – which likewise garnered a quizzical look from the older cat. “I’m just not used to being introduced this way. I try to stay anonymous – that’s why I have the pseudonym. Blaine Morrison is just a voice without a face. Or he used to be, I suppose…”
“But why wouldn’t you want to be recognized for your work?”
“Well, as I said, I don’t like when people stare at me either.” Mort offered Sin a rather cheeky smile and for the first time, the white and black cat returned it with a smile of his own. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless and that was enough for Mort.
“I suppose you weren’t lying about that… Well, my job’s not as exciting, probably. I’m just a grave-keeper who sometimes smuggles things for Marigold. Sometimes.” Looking at Sin, Mort didn’t have a hard time imagining him stalking around a graveyard with a lantern of some kind. Though Mort found Sin less and less intimidating with every passing minute, he had to admit, meeting him in the dead of night might just turn out to be quite frightening. He wasn’t going to mention that fact, though.
“Oh, a grave-keeper? I’ve never met one of those,” Mort said, sounding quite curious. He got a strange look from Sin across the table; a surprised, almost amused look. The Oriental Longhair didn’t say anything, so Mort continued, “Well, it’s just not an occupation that’s very…”
“Interesting?”
“I was going to say common,” Mort said with a small smile, before taking a sip of his drink, the large ice cube with its rounded corners bobbing lightly in the deep red liquid. Sin didn’t look entirely convinced.
“It’s a lonely job, but it’s been part of my family’s business for generations now,” the old cat explained, before taking a sip of his red wine. “It’s all I know how to do and I’ve been doing it for almost sixty years, boy.”
“What’s it like?”
The question and the genuine curiosity in Mort’s voice seemed to catch Sin by surprise. The monochromatic cat’s icy blue eyes fixated themselves upon the Siamese Cat before him. Though his face didn’t show a lot of emotion, he didn’t seem to mind talking about himself as much as Mort did. “Well, it’s-… it can be hard. A lot of walking, cleaning grave sites and mausoleums. It’s lonely work, but that’s how I like it.”
“Lonely work? Me too. I mean, mine is too. It’s literally just me sat by myself, talking to no one. It’s… a bit weird, I know,” Mort added with a small smile. He really had to wonder how strange it sounded, especially since Mort could infer from Sin’s earlier comment that he didn’t listen to radio altogether. “I’ve been at it for a few years now, it’s fun. The only downside is how early I get up for it.”
The two cats sat in silence for a bit, each enjoying their drink. Mort cast a few glances around the room, which was still quite packed. He’d attended three other Marigold parties by now and each one was about the same in terms of how many people were in attendance. Mort didn’t do well with big crowds. Though he didn’t mind people, he much preferred sitting over here on the sideline.
“So, you simply just… talk to yourself all day?” Sin’s tone wasn’t outright dismissive, the old cat sounded puzzled more than anything. Mort supposed he’d never quite thought about how strange it would sound to someone who didn’t listen to the radio, but in truth, he did suppose that was his job – literally talking to himself.
“Well, yes…” the young cat responded, still coming to terms with that fact. “But now I also do work for Mr. Sweet. But still over the radio.”
Furrowing his brow, the older cat looked at Mort, seemingly curious despite his disdain for radios. “And how exactly does that work?”
“Well, the Marigold folks need to pick up supplies and such…” Mort raised his drink and took a sip of the delightfully cold, but strong whiskey, as if to illustrate his point. “And I just sort of tell them where to go and when – with secret messages most folks won’t understand. You know, code words and such.”
The old grave-keeper simply nodded, but didn’t inquire any further. Mort could tell he might need to be the one to initiate smalltalk with Sin, but he didn’t mind – he was used to doing monologues, after all. Blue eyes wandered to the orange Marigold pin on Sin’s chest.
“So, you’ve been with Marigold for a while?” Mort asked, remembering what Sin had said earlier. He was even using his radio voice, hoping it might be a bit more personable and friendly, hitting the slightly higher pitch and the more excitable tone. Sin certainly appeared to take notice, stopping with his glass halfway to his lips, staring at Mort.
“Since before you were born,” the ghostly old cat replied simply, before he finally raised his glass all the way to take another sip of wine. Mort sat by and waited for elaboration, but when none came, he too decided to indulge in his drink some more.
His tolerance to alcohol wasn’t very high. Already he was feeling a bit of a buzz, though it also felt like a very slight headache. He supposed that was just from being out of practice.
“Marigold isn’t what it was back then.” Mort looked up immediately, meeting Sin’s cold, blue eyes as the old cat spoke again. Sin put his wine glass down, two fingers resting on the smooth, round base at the end of the stem. “If it were, I wouldn’t-…”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.” Mort’s face fell, disappointed that Sin wasn’t going to elaborate. When Sin noticed the look on his face he gave a light snort. “Trust me, boy, you don’t want to know. It may be all ballrooms and parties these days, but back in my day…”
The way Sin ominously trailed off and the grim look on his face told Mort all he needed to know, at least he thought so. The young cat swallowed nervously, before taking another sip of whiskey. The two of them sat in silence for a while, simply drinking. Their eyes occasionally met, but other than that, they didn’t interact much. It was nice, though – at least Mort thought so.
While Sin had had a startling appearance at first glance, Mort somehow felt more at ease around him than some of the people Mr. Sweet kept for company. Many of them were either physically intimidating like that tall, hunched black cat who had brought Mort to Marigold in the first place, or they had an air of danger about them like Mr. Heller. Mort turned his head to look behind him, then all around.
“Looking for someone?” Sin asked in a rather bored drawl, though he was fixing Mort with a curious glance.
“Oh, just… one of Mr. Sweet’s employees has been tailing me ever since I started coming here,” Mort halfway muttered. Thankfully, the black and white tuxedo cat was nowhere to be seen. It felt nice to not have those green eyes fixated on him like ominous headlights. Mort glanced down at their almost empty drinks. “Would you like to get some fresh air, maybe?”
The first week of October had been relatively mild. Though the mornings and evenings brought cold, chilly winds, the daytime was still pleasant enough to not need a lot of warm clothes. Tonight, the wind was still and the sky was clear. Stepping outside the Maribel Hotel, Mort could see stars along with the half-moon as he glanced upwards at the dark midnight sky.
Mort heard Sin draw in a deep breath and looked over. “Much better out here… I prefer being outside.”
Out here in the dark of night, with only a few streetlights illuminating the surrounding area for them, Sin’s face looked more like a floating, disembodied, ghostly head than ever. The sight didn’t unnerve Mort as much as it had the first time, but it was still something to get used to.
“Yeah, it’s nice. I like being outside at night… fewer people around,” Mort added with a guilty smile. For the second time, Sin did give him a small smile of his own.
“Aye, I can get behind that, boy. I enjoy just walking around the grounds by myself in the dark.” Sin took another deep breath of the night air. “Say, I wanted to know how you got to end up doing your… radio job.”
“Really?” Mort looked up at Sin, genuinely surprised. He hadn’t expected the old Longhair to be at all interested, but the younger cat smiled at him. “Well, it’s not really that exciting of a story…”
“Do tell it,” Sin said in a patient tone as he glanced up the street that led to the hotel, the roads empty.
“Well, I worked for a newspaper at the time; worked the presses and all that. But we got a tip that there would be a vacancy for a host on a station, so… here I am, I suppose,” Mort said with a small smile. He had admittedly left out a lot of details, but he figured he’d best keep it short and sweet for now. He cleared his throat, though he did look around for a moment, as if worried that someone might be listening in. “The studio is part of an office space that I live in now – I made it into an apartment rather than an office. The studio is upstairs. That’s where I do Blaine ‘n Simple, and-”
“Hold on… Your show is named Blaine ‘n Simple?” The look on Sin’s face was one Mort couldn’t quite read. He looked somewhat amused, but he also looked as though he couldn’t believe that Mort had really named his radio show that.
“I- Well, yes. I thought it was fun – I like wordplay…”
To Mort’s surprise, Sin shot him a smile again. “Well, as long as you’re happy with it, I suppose…”
Standing there in the dark together, Mort couldn’t help but notice how the black fur on the sides of Sin’s face made his white-furred head resemble the half-moon in the sky from certain angles. It was a somewhat amusing sight that made him smile.
However, as a stray breeze blew by, making the two cats’ fur and their Marigold pins billow slightly, Mort remembered something. He looked down at Sin’s feet. “Wait, you’re not wearing shoes! It’s too cold to go barefoot, sir. I mean Sin. Maybe we should head back inside...”
The old cat looked rather amused by Mort’s sudden exclamation, he even chuckled for the first time. The sound of the deep rumbling made Mort’s fur stand on end, but not in a bad way. “I appreciate the concern, but this is how I prefer things, boy.”
There was a finality to Sin’s tone that told Mort that it wasn’t up for debate. The younger cat just had to bite his tongue, even if the sight was worrying. “So, how long are you planning on staying tonight, Sin? I’ll probably be turning in early – got an early broadcast and all tomorrow.”
“Would you like me to walk you home?” Once more, Sin took Mort by surprise, the young cat looking up into those icy blue eyes that suddenly appeared a lot less cold than before.
“Oh, no that’s fine, you don’t have to do that-”
“Well, I’m offering, even if I don’t have to,” Sin interrupted, his tone mildly annoyed, giving Mort a look to match.
“Uhm…” Mort hesitated, uncertain of what he should say. “Well, no. I mean, yes, I would like that, but I don’t want to trouble you-”
“It’s a simple yes or no question…” Sin frowned down at him and shook his head. “If you don’t want me to, just tell me. I get enough of people being too polite to say I unnerve them-”
“No, wait, you don’t unnerve me. No, really, I mean it.” The old cat had fixed Mort with a skeptical look, not at all seeming convinced. Mort didn’t know how to politely say that he didn’t want a cat his age to go on an unnecessary nighttime stroll just to get him home. But then again, he did say he walked a lot for his job, right? “Please do accompany me, Sin.”
The Oriental Longhair’s expression softened and he gave a nod. He put his left hand on Mort’s shoulder. The older cat’s touch no longer felt cold to Mort. “Very well. Lead the way, young Blakely.”