Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With suitcases in hand and the violin case wedged between his arms Rocky stumbles out of the door as an old cat pushes him out. “Get out you Raskelf!” She hisses. “It's been far too long you've been bothering me!”
“Miss please! I don't have a place to stay for the night. I promise it won't happen again” Rocky pleads, though the old cat shakes her head dismissing him. “Should've thought about that before playing the violin at 2 am and shouting some poems! Get out!” She slams the door shut, disappearing into the apartment house. Rocky winces as the door slams shut before dusting his white shirt and blue pants off. ‘Shugs, what now?’ Rocky looks around, thinking what he should do next. “Nina, she'll let me stay a few nights!” Rocky says out loud, getting weird looks as pedestrians walk by. He grabs his suitcases and looks for his car. He walks down the street to a crossing. Didn't he park it around here? - No wait, on the other side, wasn't it?
The tabby walks round unsure where and when again he parked the car. Walking from one street to another, he looks around frantically, trying to find the expensive Earl Sedan he definitely didn't borrow from Mrs. M. Finally, about two blocks away from his ex-apartment he finds the car, the burgundy body is splattered with mud, one of the tires inner wooden beams broken, a light smashed and a huge dent on the right front of the hood. Unfazed by the damages done, probably by himself, Rocky opens the back door, places his suitcases on the rear seat along with his violin case, slamming the door shut before getting into the driver's seat, turning the ignition and letting the engine rattle. That doesn't sound good, Rocky thinks for a moment, shrugging and releasing the parking brake, slowly taking off towards the house of his aunt Nina.
It’s a fresh friday, the spring air crisp and chilly, filled with fumes from cars, industries and newly arriving and departing ships. The streets are packed with people, all commuting to their jobs or maybe being back from a night shift, trying to get out of the city. The tabby crosses the river over the McKinley Bridge and slowly enters the green and less populated side of the Mississippi River, filled with single homes and parks. After just a few minutes he stops in front of a small quaint white, two story house accompanied by a small shack. He turns the engine off, gets out and walks to the small porch, ringing the bell. He holds a small smile on his face, hoping Nina won’t be too mad since last time visiting.

After a few minutes of silence Rocky rings the bell again. Silence; again. He holds his finger on the bell, the loud ringing even audible through the door.
“For god's sake, stop ringing!” an angry irish woman shouts as she slowly makes her way down the stairs before unlocking the door and harshly opening it. “Aunt Nina! Good Morning…” Rocky says with a smile on his face, though not receiving an equally happy face back. “Why are you here?” Nina asks, still in her nightgown as if she just woke up. “It's seven in the morning.”
He chuckles. “I just want to visit my favorite auntie and Cousin.'' He giggles and opens his arms as if he’s asking for a hug. “I’m your only aunt,” Nina states blankly and crosses her arms, “What do you want this time?”
“Oh don't be like this. I just want to spend the day like back in the day; just you, freckle and me,” Rocky smiles, his teeth almost beaming in white, hoping she'll let him in, “Anyhow, don't you get up around this time anyway?” the tabby asks.
“Normally,” Nina says, “I don't have to deal with you anymore.”
Both cats look at each other silently until the Irish woman sighs and steps to the side, letting Rocky into the house. “Just get inside before you wake up any neighbors with you being… you.” she sighs almost as if she can’t believe letting him in at this hour. Gleefully Rocky lights up “Thank you Nina! I just have to get something out of my car.” Rocky shouts as he runs to the car, opening the back door, taking out his suitcases and his violin case and slamming the door loudly, a tinny sound from the door echoing through the empty street. “Roark, What in the devil are you doing?” Nina shouts. “Sorry,” Rocky says. “Forgot it's so loud.” He walks up the small stone path and hops up the few stairs up to the porch before making his way into the house. “Why do you have your suitcases with you?” Nina pries suspicious of him.
“You said I could come inside… I just need to stay a few…” “No.” Nina interrupts him. “You are not staying for a fortnight. Not even tonight.” She holds the door open, motioning Rocky to get back out.
“But Nina I lost my apartment,” Rocky pleads, his ears pinned back and his tail close to his legs. “I have nowhere else.” “Roark, the last time you stayed over you climbed on the table in the middle of the night and tipped it over, almost causing a hole in the wall. I believe I don't need another of those experiences,” Nina says as the tip over her tail flicks left and right. “So… I’m sure some of you friends will take you under their wing, but I dont have the space for you.” She slowly pushes him out. “B-But… Nina can't I just share the room with Freckle like when I stayed over as a kitten? I'm sure he won’t mind.” Rocky suggests desperate not to be kicked out by Nina too. But the Irish lady doesn't budge and pushes Rocky out. “No, good day Roark.” She says and gently closes the door as Rocky stands in front of it, being left alone to his own devices once again. He can't ask Zib to let him crash since they aren't on best terms after last week, just as all members of the Brass Boys. He takes his suitcases, his violin case and walks back to the car and throws his luggage back inside before walking to the driver side and entering himself, still thinking where he could go. There's still Mr. and Mrs. M, but they would be the last option, after all they are his employer. Kind of.
Then there is… No one.

Dread sets in, a feeling he didn't have for quite sometime now, heat starting to rise in every body part, the feeling of a hole inside of him that grows every moment. His thoughts get fussy, his body forgetting how to breathe for a few seconds. His arms and legs feel weak as he manually breaths and closes his eyes. With slow breathes he slowly gets his heartbeat down and gets his thoughts unclouded before the hole inside him slowly closes.
He can't go to Mr. and Mrs. M. Not until he at least tried to get an apartment. He kneels on the expensive seat over the backrest and grabs one of his suitcases and opens the two claps before lifting the lid. Inside the suitcase are various small books, a few trinkets along with a bunch of dollar bills. Rocky takes the few he has and adds them together: 120 dollars. That should get him through at least two weeks if he'd find a cheap motel around. With an idea in his mind, a bit of money and too much regained confidence he turns the ignition, the engine rattling as before, slowly takes off towards the outer city.

***

The burgundy Earl Sedan slowly drives around the corner into the parking lot of the motel, filled with lots of cars, just a single space free. He squeezes the car in between the other cars before leaving his sedan. The motel prices itself as cheap and new, though the building looks rather left alone to the elements.
The tabby cat kills the engine and steps out, right into the sun that looks slightly over the houses across the motel. He stretches his arms and groans before slamming the door and making his way to the small reception. The tabby opens the door with his typical huge and bright smile, his bright blue eyes looking as friendly as ever. An older British shorthair cat sits at the desk, looking through documents. An old radio plays low jazz, a little plant that dried up on a shelf and a few cheap chairs stand in the room along with the desk.
“Good Morning.” Rocky says bubbly, catching the old cat's attention. Annoyed, the cat looks up, small glasses on his little nose, his gray fur turning white around his maw. “Hello.”
Rocky walks to the desk, leans on it with one arm and looks at the older man. “Do you have a free room?” he asks bluntly, the old man shrugs, turns around and points at a wall with a bunch of hooks on which normally keys would be. “We're full. Sorry lad.” the man says, looks back down on his document and ignores Rocky. The tabby sighs “Ah what a shame. Have a nice day sir.” He steps out, gets back into the sedan and drives off.
He still has a few hours to find a place to stay before having another gig at the Lackadaisy with the Brass Boy, having to see Zib again. He swallows and shakes his head, trying to ignore the inevitable confrontation with the orange lazy cat.

Driving around St. Louis is harder than Rocky thought.
Lots of streets are packed with cars that try to get from start to finish alongside the tram that runs through lots of streets, hindering more cars from filling the streets. After over an hour and only two miles he finds the next motel on the outskirts of the city next to the Mississippi River. The brown river flows slowly, at the same pace Rocky's car slowly stops in the parking space of the motel. He quickly enters the reception, a queue of people already waiting to get a room. Rocky looks past the last person, 5 more in front, sighs and enters the queue, standing still, or at least trying to. Soon he starts rocking on his heels up and down, humming a poem he recently read and wagging his tail to the melody.
It feels like hours as he stands behind the people. Finally, all the other people are already outside, he is first in line and stands at the reception and looks at a young girl, around 16 years old. “We are fully booked,” she informs Rocky before he could even open his mouth. “The guy in front of ya took the last room, sorry.” Rocky's smile fates for a moment before he chuckles. “Well then. I'll take my leave. Have a nice day miss,” He says as cheery as ever while he turns around. Above the door is a clock that displays that it is just past 9 am. He still has plenty of time… he hopes. Just as he was about to leave he turns on his heels and walks back to the reception desk. “Don't mind me asking, but do you by any chance have a map of St.louis?”
The girl looks surprised and searches around the desk. “Uuuh… I have to ask my father. I'll be back in a moment.” She stands up and walks off through the back door suddenly shouting some name Rocky didn't understand. Just a minute later a big older man walks through the door followed by the girl. “Where did you put ‘em?” she asks the older man “couldn't find ‘em where I put ‘em last time.”
“Let me look,” the man says and sighs, annoyed with his daughter. “can't even do that.”
The man opens a cabinet and finds a stack of small folded maps, taking one and holding it in front of his daughter's face. “It's right there!” he shouts “Did ya even look or just felt too lazy?”
“I thought…”
“I don't think you thought at all” her father cuts her off. “Get out. I’ll handle the reception myself.” he waves a hand as if he’s dismissing a maid.
“Cut her some slack, she’s still a teenager,” Rocky suddenly interrupts, getting the man's and girl’s attention. “What do you want you little…” he looks Rocky up and down. “...fag.”
“It's actually called Homosexual, but I can assure you sir, I am not a Homosexual.” Rocky says and holds his suspenders, trying to look the manliest he can with his scranny build in comparison to the man that is two times Rocky broughtness. Still, the tabby doesn't budge, trying to defend the girl from her fathers berating.
“That’s what every single one of you fags say until you drank enough alcohol to forget where you are and who you infect this time.” The man walks around the reception desk and stands in front of Rocky and looks rather angry. “Take the map and leave.”
The tabby swallows and takes the map from the man's grasp and pushes it into his pocket before walking backwards towards the door and grabbing the handle and opening the door.
“And I can handle my father myself.” The girl suddenly says, looking more offended by Rocky's comment than being thankful.
“Ah well then,” he says before bowing “Thank you for the Map.”
The tabby makes his way to the car and gets and unfolds the map into a huge overview over St.louis and all its attractions. Soon enough Rocky finds about five other places he wants to look at before he has to drive to the lackadaisy. “Off I go!” he shouts as he puts the car into reverse and gets out of the parking lot, the car rattling louder than before. He ignores the loud engine. It's the sound of a hard working engine, not a broken one, Rocky thinks as he drives with new found hope towards the next stop.

This time the place was too expensive, 20 dollars a night. Who would pay so much?
The next one was full again, St. Louis is becoming a popular travel destination, Rocky guessed.
The third one was almost alright; If it didn't already close business a few months ago. The map must be a little older.

It’s getting late and the sun slowly makes its way towards the horizon as Rocky parks the car half a block away from the Little Daisy Café and quickly gets his signature blue suit and Fedora with a yellow hat band out of one of the suitcases, ties his orange tie engraved with a ‘R’ around his neck and grabs his violin case before making it to the Café.
He walks around the small building, through the alleyway and towards the reinforced garage door, making sure no one sees him. He knocks on the doors three times, the slit opening and only one green orb looking down at Rocky. “Oh what a lovely daisy out on the field” Rocky says dramatically, grinning up at the eye. the slit closes again, before the door opens slowly. A big brought orange furred cat stands on the left side of the door and makes way for Rocky, his single intact eye looking down at him.
“Hey Viktor!” Rocky says as he walks in and past the cat. Viktor grunts annoyed with Rocky. “It's Vasko.” the cat says with a slovakian accent. He closes the door and locks it again before walking towards the cellar door in the far left corner of the garage and unlocks it letting Rocky through down the stairs, following him downwards. “Were you just waiting for me?” Rocky asks as they walk side by side down the stairs. “ya. you are late.” Viktor says as they slowly get closer to the banquet hall, music pouring from the opened door, waiters and waitresses getting new alcohol from the storage. Both cat's enter the big hall, the lights shining brightly above them.
The sealing is about 20 feet high, supported by only 6 pillars; two in the middle of the huge banquet on either side and four near the stage. big fairy lights stretch from pillar to pillar, engulfing the banquet along the huge and prominent chandelier right above the dancefloor in light. On the left and on the right of the stage are little extra sections for Mr. and Mrs. M's most important acquaintances. And themselves, of course.
Right in front of the stage is the dancing floor, lots of people dancing wearious dances as a Jazz band plays. Lots of different people fill the banquet, tall and small, male and female, rich and poor; all in one huge place just because alcohol is so rare around here. Viktor suddenly disappears in the midst of people as Rocky makes his way towards the stage with his violin case in hand. He pushes; he squeezes and he taps on shoulders to get through the crowd, past the dance floor and along the stage to make it backstage. He sighs and tries to get ready for the gig, ready to see the band and their destain filled eyes. The room behind the backstage door is packed with cats walking around, some carrying alcohol towards the banquet, some getting more glasses for the patrons. Among the walking is Zib, though he paces back and forth, frowning.
Rocky slowly approaches him unsure how to announce he is there. “Hey Zib” the tabby says as he walks towards the orange Cat. Zib wears a white dress shirt, a red vest with golden buttons, red long pants that end with his black and white Two Tone shoes, along with a red Fedora and yellow hat band, just like Rockys.
“There you are” Zib shouts as he looks up at him “Where the hell were you?!”
“I had some complications.”
“We’re up in five, get your ass ready kid.” Sy, one of the other band members says as he flicks his cigarette to the floor and steps on it. He grabs his trumpet and walks towards the side entrance onto the stage. Rocky kneels down and opens his violin case, his dark expensive violin laying inside. He quickly grabs it and the bow, closes the case and starts to test its tuning. After a few adjustments he tests every note a second time, just to be sure.
“Brass Boys, you’re up in 2!” a woman with a clipboard shouts before running off seemingly stressed.

Rocky sighs and closes his eyes.

Stage fright
It's a sight
It makes me feel so tight
But when I'm on the stage tonight
I can see the light
It is so bright
Now that I have confronted stage fright
I'm alright
And know that I can fight and fright

And when it comes to night
I know the sight will be nothing more than a invite

Chapter Text

They quickly start to play; slow Jazz is on today's agenda after the last band filled the banquet with energy.
Soon the big entrance doors open, Atlas and Mitzi walking in, slowly walking through the crowd and greeting many of their regulars or well known friends. They sit down at one of the tables right next to the stage, a chubby beige cat sitting along with them at the table, wearing a light blue shirt, a dark blue vest and a navy blue tie, accompanied by a marigold flower slipped between his shirt and vest on his left hand side. Atlas and the cat seem to have a conversation while Mitzi watches them talk. Rocky watches interested as he slowly bows his violin. His gaze starts to wander over the crowd, no one particular in sight. He watches men arguing politely, girls gossiping, bartender mixing and serving tons of people illegal alcohol, bouncers making sure there is no trouble.
This night seems to go as smoothly as always if there wasn’t his apparent apartment problem.

After their 90 minute slot the five band members leave the stage satisfied with their performance for the night. Rocky makes his way to his violin case, putting his violin and bow inside and closes the lit.
“So when's the next rehearsal?” Rocky asks with a smile on his face and violin case in hand. The four men sit down at a small table, lighting cigarettes and look up at him.
“Oh I don't know… last time didn't seem so important to you.” Zib says and shuffles a poker deck.
Rocky Chuckles. “Don't be like that Zib. I know I skipped the last rehearsal, but I have my good reasons why. First off…”
Zib sighs loudly and rubs his nose bridge. “Kid, no one cares ‘bout your excuses. Get your shit together and be here tomorrow at eleven in the morning or I’ll kick your ass out of this band.” He says, frowning as he picks up his hand of cards; complete trash.
Rocky's smile falters for a second before he chuckles again. “I will be there, don't worry your head. See you guys tomorrow!” The tabby walks out back into the filled banquet, walking past Atlas and Mitzi’s table and through the crowd towards the exit.

“You didn't have to be so harsh with him.” Ben says as he throws a few poker chips onto the table. “If we keep being nice to him,” Zib follows Ben and throws poker chips into the round, “Just because he’s the new he won’t learn to get his life in one line.”

Finally in the car Rocky closes the thin door and sits there, staring out of the wind shield.
Now what? Well, he could look for a hotel now that he’s in the heart of St. Louis or sleep in the car. He considers his options and shakes his head at the thought of sleeping here. The car is too cold and tiny, even for him.
He turned the ignition and…

Nothing.

He turns the ignition again.
Again, nothing.
He sighs and lets his head fall onto the steering wheel, the sudden loud honk jolting him back up.
Begrudgingly Rocky gets out and opens the side of the hood, looking at the small engine inside, not really seeing any problems.
Rocky shrugs and closes the hood; He’ll ask Viktor to look at it for him tomorrow.
Without any way to get around the city Rocky stands in front of the car, without a place to stay or any food.
“Food?” The tabby mumbles as he suddenly feels his hungry stomach almost eating itself out of desperation. He looks around the streets for a place to eat at, only seeing shops that already closed. His best option would be going back to the Lackadaisy, Rocky considered as he walks in a circle, his tail slowly swishing from side to side. With a reluctant sigh Rocky grabs the money he has and walks towards the speakeasy.
The streets are mostly empty; some people are still making their way home, some walking hastily in hopes not to get mugged. Most of the cars are parked, standing still and silent as if they are dead. The tabby walks down the street, still wearing his blue suit and fedora, looking up into the cloudy and fumes-filled sky, not a single star in sight.
Luckily he soon arrives, finding the Little Daisy Café still open; a singular young woman inside behind the counter with a cigarette in her mouth.
Upon walking in he takes his fedora off. “Oh what a lovely daisy out on the field.” Her gaze shoots up before she stands up, walking towards the shelf in the back. Using a knife she opens the secret passage, the whole shelf opening and leading into a steep staircase, letting Rocky pass before closing it back up. With a sly smile Rocky walks down the stairs up to the big doors, two men standing in front to guard.
The tabby bowed slightly. “Gentlemen.”
The men frown but open one of the doors, letting Rocky enter the full banquet before closing it again. The hall is definitely fuller, more people around and squeezing into the place. Slowly but surely, his hunger only grows as he makes his way to the bar, hoping to buy something of substance. He finds an empty bar stool and gets onto it, waiting for a bartender to talk to him.
Suddenly he feels a soft hand on his left shoulder as a light voice speaks up. “Rocky, nice seein’ you still around,'' Mitzi says as she sits down next to him on a stool, her cigarette holder flying about, “How’s your night been?”
Rocky looks down at the wooden counter before looking into her green eyes. “Oh It’s been… delightful!”
“How nice.” she says before their conversation suddenly dies, both unsure what to say next.
“Why are you alone, Mrs. M?” He asks bluntly before the silence gets any more awkward, the lack of her husband suddenly apparent.
“Atlas still has business to do, so I decided to have a little fun in the meantime. Wanna join me for a drink, honey?” She proposes to the gray-ish tabby, her own fur light brown, her dark blonde hair made into beautiful marcel waves, light purple eyeshadow along with her subtle eyelashes, bold lush red lipstick and the lightest pink blush, smiling softly.
“I…I’d love to but mustn’t I be over 21 years old to drink alcohol?” Rocky asks worriedly, making
Mitzi chuckle a little as she holds a hand out for a bartender. “Oh Honey, no one cares if you’re a year or two too young for alcohol,” she says and turns to the waiting bartender, her gaze still on Rocky. “What do you want?”
“Mmh… I don't really know what's good Mrs.” Rocky chuckles and rubs his neck a little embarrassed.
“Well then… we’ll take two Lafite Rothschilds.” Mitzi pronounces the Lafite as Lafeete. Suddenly Rocky's stomach growls loudly, catching Mitzi's attention.
“And two servings of wings.” she adds before the bartender runs off into the backroom of the bar.
“Thank you Mrs. M… but I think two servings are a little too much.”
“Only one is for you. Even a lady can get hungry, you know.” She smiles and crosses her legs, supporting her head on one arm, her cigarette holder waving around
“How was your night?” Rocky asks after a few moments of silence, unsure how to start a conversation.
"It's going nice. Especially hearin’ you play makes a nice addition to the Brass Boys.” She says and smiles, taking a drag of her cigarette holder.
“I've been practicing a lot. I always had a problem with playing the low f's but tonight I suddenly got them. And my fingers aren't sore, which is odd, since they normally do after an hour of playing, but for some reason I don't have that tonight.” he looks down to his fingers, his black paw pads rougher than usual. He looks over the counter and sees a paper napkin and starts folding it.
“That reminds me of a poem I read a few days ago. It was about death I believe. I read it in a magazine, it's called the Crisis. Not well known, but I believe it will soon be a hit!” Rocky folds the paper napkin open, admiring the pattern he folded into it as he continues rambling. They wait for their drinks and food, him talking about poems, songs and instruments and whatever comes to mind. Without really thinking he rambles and rambles, letting the words flow out.
As the tabby talks the bartender places the two red wine glasses down along with the two servings of Wings and was about to walk away, when Mitzi got her wallet out. “How much?” she asks as she searches in the wallet.
“Uhm… Mrs. May… this is your Hus-”, “Yes yes, but tonight I’m here as a patron, not an owner. Now, how much?”
She quickly pays the man and grabs her wine glass, looking back at Rocky who already bites in a wing.
“Thank you, These are so good!” Rocky shouts while he grabs the second one, viciously biting into it.
Surprised by his eagerness for the food Mrs. M swirls her glass before taking a light sip. “Didn't you eat anything today, honey?” She chuckles and watches.
“No, I had a busy day.” he explains before swallowing the huge bite. The light brown cat grabs one of her own wings and bites into it, the warm tender flesh easily coming off the bone as her canines dig in.
For a while both eat, Rocky like carnivorous beast and Mitzi with a lot more finesse than him, slowly enjoying the taste along the wine that Rocky didn't even seem to realize until he ate all six of his wings, only leaving clean bones on his plate. Using the folded napkin, he cleans his fingers and the corners of his mouth, acting a lot more sophisticated than before. He grabs the untouched wine and swirls it around like Mitzi did a few moments before and watches the red liquid flow in a circle. He brings the glass to his nose and smells it, his nose bridge crunching up as he quickly pulls the glass away, his whole face contorting.
The wine smells sweet, fruity but at the same acrid.
“Are you sure this is good wine?” he asks, suspicious of the red liquid. With a chuckle Mitzi places her used napkin next to her 6 fleshless bones and chuckles. “I’m quite sure Rocky; that is just how alcohol smells. I assure you the taste is better than the smell,” she brings her glass to her lips. “Just try it.”
The tabby stares at the wine glass before sighing and slowly bringing it to his own lips, the liquid making its way towards his mouth. As soon as his taste buds processed the taste Rocky almost shot the wine back out, his hand holding the liquid in his mouth before it escaped. He swallows the wine and places the glass back down before groaning, the taste still in his mouth.
Mitzi watches him, surprised by his extreme reaction and looks worried. “Are you alright, honey,” she asks.
“It's nothing Mrs. The taste just… surprised me.” Rocky says and smiles, holding his hand out for a bartender, quickly ordering a water. “Not a wine kind of guy?” she speculates and lets her smile fall.
“No no Mrs. M, I just never drank any alcohol before,” Rocky discloses quickly and smiles. “I just have to acquire a liking for the taste.”
“Don't force yourself.” She advises the tabby with a soft smile.

“There you are Mitzi,” a gruff voice says, Atlas emerging from the crowd, followed by a tuxedo cat in a suit, his gaze scanning around. Rocky looks away from the wine glass and sees the tall gray cat kiss Mitzi's forehead. “I thought you went upstairs.”
“I just enjoyed a little time with Rocky.” Mitzi explains and smiles up into her husband's yellow glowing eyes, receiving an equally loving smile back. “Well then. Ruby said he has to get back to the hotel before eleven so I’m driving him around,” the man explains and ignores the tabby completely. “I just wanted to ask if you’d like to say goodbye to Ivy.”
Mitzi looks over to Rocky, awaits his reaction. The tabby smiles a reassuring smile.
“Yeah.” Mitzi says and stands up, taking her husband's hand before turning back to Rocky. “Thank you for your company. Have a good night Rocky.”
With a sigh Rocky soon gets up and takes his own leaving; the car it is.

***

With a heavy heart Rocky reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls the last one dollar twenty from his pocket and hands them to the waitress on the other side of the counter, paying for his last stack of pancakes. The woman quickly hands him a single penny and goes into the kitchen, giving his order through. He grabs a napkin out of the napkin dispenser, trying to remember how to fold the origami flower he read about just a few weeks ago, ignoring the dread he feels deep down, the same as a few days ago. After almost a week he didn’t find an apartment, not even a single apartment owner took his applications after looking at his application. He also completely forgot to think about food, making his money last even shorter.

After a few minutes the same woman comes back out with a plate of pancakes, a jug of syrup and a coffee in hand, placing them right in front of Rocky and leaves, serving other customers in the little café. Rocky grabs the jug and drowns the pancakes in syrup, the thick liquid slowly covering the top before dripping down onto the pancakes below. Delighted by the sight the tabby grabs the fork and digs in, quickly brings a chunk to his mouth and eats it, the sugar making his fur stand on end.
He sways his legs and tail, enjoying the food and time left until he has to get to the rehearsal downstairs, meeting with the band members.

As he makes his way around the corner of the little café right into its neighboring alleyway Rocky can already see cars outside the garage, people leaning against them and smoking. He quickly makes his way into the garage and towards the cellar door, no one really paying him attention, though as he opens the door on the floor, Viktor comes up the stairs, surprised to see the skinny tabby.
"Rehearsal?” the big cat asks and folds his arms in front of his chest, blocking the way. Rocky nods frantically and walks down the stares and tries to squeeze himself past the brute.
“Yep, the boys are already waiting on me,” he informs and grunts, “I’d love to chat but I-” Viktor makes him space and lets Rocky almost fall down the stairs, though he gets his balance. “Go.”
Without another word the tabby quickly dashes down the stairs and into the huge empty banquet, towards the stage and into the backstage area, Zib, Sy, J.J., Ben and Mozzie sitting at a table, playing poker and smoking. “Look who’s here.” Sy says, wearing his green suit and points towards Rocky with an open hand. Rocky waves as he gets closer.
“Alright, time for rehearsals,” Zib says and gets up, throwing his hand open onto the table and sticking his cigarette into his mouth.
“We’ll play a few new songs,” he explains and walks over to a leader bag, grabbing a few note papers, “We’ll memorize it today, practice again on Thursday and premier on Friday, got it?” He rushes as he hands everyone their note sheets, silence befalling the brought space, everyone reading their notes for a moment.
Zib grabs his Saxophone. “Good, Get ready.”

Music pours out of the backstage as Mitzi makes her way into the banquet, happy to hear them practice and makes her way towards the stage, her flapper’s clicking echoing through the empty hall. She opens the door and finds the six men playing intensively, no one realizing her presence as she closes the door. Suddenly Zib opens his yellow eyes and finds Mitzi in the corner of his eye, simultaneously stopping to blow into his saxophone and turning towards her. The whole band falls out of harmony and looks over at Zib.
Sy hisses as he lowers his trumpet. “This is the third time you tripped in this stupid song.”
Zib ignores the annoyed feline, looking surprised at Mitzi. “What are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to check how y'all doing,” she chuckles. “and maybe join for a little?”
“Don't know if we have a guitar around…” Zib looks around sporadically and shrugs his shoulders, though Mitzi walks off and soon comes out of one of the tunnels with an acoustic guitar, its white wood covered in a thin layer of limestone dust. “I always keep my baby around her, just in case.” she explains as she checks the pitch of the strings: not a single one in tune.
“You play the guitar Mrs. M?” Rocky asks surprised, the tip of his tail flicking slowly. The light brown cat finishes tuning her guitar and looks up at the tabby as she smiles. “Of course. I was in a band after all,” she explains, “What do you wanna play? One of our classics?”
Everyone looks quite surprised by her proposal, but soon nods.
“Sure thing.” Ben replies, holding his cello ready, his black thick tail swaying behind him. The other men don’t interfere before Mitzi starts strumming on her guitar, the others slowly joining her. Rocky stands by as he's the only one without knowledge of what they’re playing, watching Mrs. M pluck on her guitar with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips.
After a few minutes of playing they stop, the tabby applauding energetically and with a big smile. “That was incredible!” He shouts, jumping up from his squat and walking towards Mrs. M, rambling about the piece they played, though her gaze meets with Zibs, her as speechless as he is breathless.
“Been quite some time since we played like this, huh guys?” Sy says and chuckles. “Who wants to grab a cig and take a break.”
“I would.”, “I’m in.” Both Ben and Mozzie say, walking towards the exit. “But you normally smoke he…” Rocky suddenly gets pulled along by Sy.
“You’re coming along.” and before both cats realize they’re alone backstage, looking at each other in silence, only the light buzzing of one of the cheap lights audible. Zib coughs and walks to the table they previously played poker on and sits down.
“How’s the marriage going?” he asks as he pulls his hip flask out of his inner pocket, screwing the lid open.
Mitzi sighs and places the guitar against the table as she sits down next to Zib, holding her hand out to get the hip flask after him.
"It's as always; the day's used for acquaintances and work, the night's for business.”
Zib gives her the hip flask and chuckles. “Sounds dull… all alone… in his empire.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Not trying to.” he lifts his arms and smirks. “Just looking out for a friend.”
A little chuckle escapes Mitzi’s lips as she places the hip flask on the table, the chips on it jumping a little.
“Thank you for the little play… even though I’m a little rusty.” She stands up and quickly grabs her white guitar and walks off into a tunnel.
Zibs yawns as he gets up and stretches, grabbing the flask and hiding it in his inner pocket. “Not any less rusty than back then.”
Mitzi soon comes back empty handed and walks right to the exit. “See you around, Zib. I’m eager to hear you play the new songs on friday." With a soft smile she opens the door and walks out, finding Mozzie, Ben, Sy and Rocky sitting at the bar, everyone except Rocky holding a cigarette and a drink.
Her ears flatten as she makes her way to the four and frowns. “You know you aren’t supposed to drink our alcohol without permission?” she folds her arms in front of her chest, a foot tapping annoyed on the carpet.
“Don't worry, we’ll pay.” Sy explains and holds a few dollar bills out. Mitzi rolls her eyes and sighs, sitting down next to Sy and Rocky. Silently Sy hands her a cigarette and offers her a light, quickly lighting the stick and her taking a drag. “You didn't have to leave just now.” She declares and blows the smoke upwards, not wanting to cover Sys or Rockys face in smoke.
The orange cat in green shrugs. “Just wanted to give the two of you some space.”
Mitzi groans and elbows him annoyed. “I am married, why thank you.”
“Just sayin’.”
The tabby to her right starts tapping on her shoulder. “Mrs. M…” he mutters unsure.
“Yes honey,” she answers after blowing another puff of smoke upwards. “What is it?”
“Can I ask a favor of you?” He takes off his blue fedora. “A incy wincy favor?”
“Did you destroy the Sedan again?” she guesses and frowns.
Rocky chuckles and shakes his head. “No no, it's still in the perfect condition Viktor rectified it to,” he makes an okay gesture, smiling intensively. “It’s a different favor. I kind of need a place to stay… and I thought maybe you could help me.. out…” His voice becomes weaker as he speaks.
Surprised by such a ‘favor’ Mitzi coughs the smoke she inhaled out before slapping her own chest, trying to get the rest of the prickly smoke out of her lungs.
“Are you alright?” Sy asks and gently slaps her back.
“I’m… I’m fine, thank you.” Quickly she regains her composure and wipes a strain of loose hair back behind her ear before looking back at Rocky, his smile a little smaller than usual, uncertainty in his big blue eyes.
“Rocky…” she starts, lost for words as she stummers. “I’d love to help you, but I can’t decide somethin’ like this behind Atlas back.” She explains and puts her hand on his arm. His ears flatten and his tail falls. The room is dead quiet for a moment, even the chattering between Ben, J.J. and Mozzie dies for that moment.
Rocky thinks, his eyes darting from one blank space to the other. Yet only one thing comes to his mind.
“Then we’ll just ask Atlas.” He announces and jumps off the stool, back to his prior energetic personality and grabs Mitzi, surprising her yet another time in just a few minutes.
“I don't think he has time for that. He’s too busy.” Mitzi explains as Rocky drags her along towards the maintrance. Quickly she frees herself from his grip and sighs, unsure if he should try to talk with her husband. “Mrs. M please.” he looks at her with his huge blue eyes, so innocent that you almost feel sorry.
With a heavy heart Mitzi huffs. “Okay, we’ll try to ask him. Let's use the elevator.”

With a light chime the doors open as first Mitzi followed by Rocky walk out, entering the busy office up on the second floor above the ground. A few cats with documents and binders walk past as the two make their way through narrow hallways, doors left and right, every one with an assigned name tag in the middle. As they walk past the doors Rocky starts to wonder, Are these offices for workers? Surnames from around the world are engraved; Ms. Keller, Mr. Collins, Mr. Bouvier, Mrs. Acosta, Mr. Heller and another twenty or so he doesn't has the time to read as Mitzi suddenly stops in front of a dark oak double door, the knobs decorated with a simple golden art deco pattern. Hesitant she knocks lightly, a low “Come in” seeping just moments later through the door before she turns one of the knobs and opens the door.
Atlas sits at the desk, documents everywhere, a half full cognac bottle along with a fitting glass and a black telephone on the desk as his yellow eyes glare at Mitzi. Atlas looks stoically at his wife, especially as soon as he sees Rocky behind her with his big toothy smile.
“Mitzi,” Atlas says. “Why are you here?” He sorts the documents as Mitzi makes her way around the massive desk and next to him.
“I… well Rocky needs a little help,” she starts unsure how to bring such a topic to her husband. she swallows and sighs. “He needs to stay with us for a few days.”
“Why is that?” Atlas asks Rocky directly, scanning him with his yellow eyes and a crooked eyebrow. “Was destroying my Sedan not enough?”
He will never live this down, will he?
“Well, Mr. M, I’m again terribly sorry for what happened with the Sedan. The streets of St. Louis aren’t as safe as they used to,” Rocky explains and chuckles, his smile unchanging as he holds his fedora in front of his chest, “But I tried every possible thing so it wouldn’t come to this situation. I went to my family, looked for motels and hotels, looked for apartments but now I ran dry on money and need your help, Mr M.”
“Mhm…” Atlas hums, leaning into his chair and crossing his arms. “So you are broke and homeless. That just makes it worse now…”
“W-Well… we still have the guest bedroom,” Mitzi comments and softly puts her hand on her husband's shoulder. “He could stay there the next few days.”
With a huff he squints at Rocky, his gaze not leaving the tabby’s frame. “He is a vagabond; no home nor useful job. He is your chick without anything going for him.” Atlas looks back at the papers on his desk.
Mitzi looks troubled at Rocky whose tail and ears fall flat.
“Sweetie… we… we can't just send him back on the streets.” Mitzi protests softly, her hand leaving his shoulder as she walks in front of the massive desk.
He waves nonchalantly. “He survived on the streets once, he'll manage this time too.”
“Please Mr. M. I'll do anything to stay.” Rocky says frantically.
Desperation, his favorite. "Oh really? What are you good at?” Atlas asks with a raised eyebrow.
Rocky thinks for a moment. “I'm good at poetry, I'm good with the violin… and I can run rather fast.” he counts along with his fingers, looking up at the lamp above.
Atlas thinks for a moment, his hand on his mouth as he quints at the tabby.
“You will work as a fetch boy or leave.” he says, his mouth corners lifting the tiniest of muscle movements. “especially for my chief operators you'll work at their whim.”
Rocky's smile grows as he nods. “Yes, I’ll try my best Mr. M!”
“Then it’s a deal.” Atlas holds his hand over the desk and Rocky quickly reciprocates by shaking it.

Rocky whistles as he walks up the two flights of stairs with the little luggage he owns in hand and rings at the door with ‘May’ written on it. Mitzi opens the door and lets him in with a smile.
“Is that all?” She's surprised when the tabby confirms, “What do you even have with you? That seems like nothing.”
“Well I got my suit, a few shirts and undershirts, underwear, socks, my suspenders and my shoes,” he explains as he places the two suitcases down along with his violin case. “And in this one is… stuff. Anyway, where is the room?”
“right this way honey.” Mitzi motions Rocky to follow her down the hall, lots of pictures of her, Atlas and many other people on the walls. The wall itself is covered in a delicate blue flower and white background wallpaper. On the left, a glass double door that opens into the kitchen, on the right, a white oak door as simple as a door can be, slightly open letting Rocky take a quick glance into the living room, a big couch facing opposite of the door inside. Further into the hall is another door on the right, though this time closed. At the end of the hall, opposite of the front door, sits a door with a makeshift sign with ‘bath’ simply written on it.
At the end of the first hall is a small archway that leads to the left, a smaller hall filled with a closet, a dresser and a few boxes. As Mitzi walks through the archway right towards another door, Rocky quickly closes the distance and stands behind her as she opens the door, the hinges screaming from the lack of care in the last few years. Both cats wince and fold their ears.
“Here it is.” Mitzi says and quickly walks in, the air filled with dust and covered in complete darkness, to one of the windows and pulls the thick curtains away, the dim sunlight that is covered by the building right next to the apartment filling the room barely, and opens one window, the loud traffic resonates in the alley. “It's been some time since we used this room,” Mitzi says and scans the room; A middle sized double bed, along with two bedside table in the middle, the headboard on the right wall, an empty closet on the same wall as the door along with a few small paintings and a round carpet in the middle of the room, just below the lamp above. On everything is a thick layer of dust and the smell of old air that slowly leaves as a light breeze flows through the room.
Rocky looks around the room, almost fascinated with the older couple's antiques; Especially the bed attracts Rocky admiration.
"Don't worry Mrs. M, this is plenty!” The tabby says as he opens the closet, cobwebs and dust flying his direction. Coughing and waving his hands he quickly closes the doors again and takes a few steps away before regaining his initial composure.
“Well… maybe we could clean the room after all.” He says and snickers a little.
“Stay right here, I'll be right back.” Mitzi quickly leaves the room, soon reentering with two dusters, a small bucket full of water and a few dry rags. “Time for a little new year's cleanin’.”

“That took longer than I hoped.” Mitzi mumbles after they finally cleaned everything and sit in their kitchen; first the dresser and bedside tables, the floor and sealing, then the closet and at the end the bed sheets. Now with a tea in hand both Rocky and Mitzi sit at the small coffee table that usually sufficed for the two cats owning the apartment.
“You have a beautiful apartment, Mrs. M.” Rocky comments as he looks around the kitchen; the base units are made out of premium wood, the marble countertops glistening in the chandeliers light.
With a chuckle she empties her coffee. “Thank you honey… but I sadly have to get up,” the light brown cat says and stands up, grabbing her cup and placing it into the kitchen sink, “And get myself ready for tonight. You also should take a shower, Rocky.”
Surprised and a little confused Rocky smells his suit, jerking away at the pungent and definitely unpleasant smell of his sweat.
“Just put it into the laundry basket and I’ll get It cleaned tomorrow..” Mitzi says as she walks down the hall. Rocky jumps up and follows her out of the kitchen, grabbing his suitcases and taking clean clothes out, before making his way into the bathroom and locking the door. He quickly switches the light on and looks around the bath; the tub is in the far left corner, its white marvelous porcelain accentuated by the silver claw feet that hold it above the floor. Near the sealing is a stainless silver curtain rail that rings around the bathtub, two curtains neatly folded back against the wall. In the middle of the rail is a shower head in mid air, only attached to a pipe that disappears in the wall. Behind the bathtub, against the far wall, sit 4 white towels, perfectly ready to be used.
adjacent to the tub is the toilet. On the simple white porcelain tank sits a small glass vase with a Magnolia branch in it; the petals fade from white into light magenta, fitting well into the minimalistic room as the the sweet smell of the flowers fill the air. Above both the bathtub and the toilet is a small but wide window, letting almost no light into the room.
Left from the door is the sink along with a mirror cabinet and a soap dish with a white soap on it. The laundry basket sits next to the small sink.
The walls of the room are ⅘ tiled up to about the head, the upper half tiled with simple white tiles, the lower half covered in very light blue tiles, contrasting to the white floor and white fixtures.
Rocky quickly puts his clean clothes onto the toilet and slowly makes his way to the bathtub, almost mesmerized by the weird flying thing with holes.
“This is a shower…huh.” He mutters as he turns one of the two faucets and looks up with big eyes. The pipe starts to rumble, the water slowly making its way towards the shower head before the water starts to sprinkle down into the tub. With a grin Rocky puts his hand into the falling water, the cold water surprising him, making him pull away and gasp. Unsure why the water is so cold Rocky closes the faucet again and tries the other one, the water slowly dripping down before he puts his hand into it; The water's boiling hot, making Rocky shout accidentally. He quickly closes the faucet again, a light knock on the door fills the sudden silence in the bathroom.
“Rocky, is everything alright?” Mitzi asks softly through the door, “I heard ya shout and got worried.”
“Everything is alright Mrs. M, I’m just… not used to showers…” Rocky looks up to the dripping shower head and chuckles. “But I’ll make it work.”
“If ya need any help I’m still here for a few minutes.”
Rocky doesn’t answer, but opens both faucets and feels the water; it's lukewarm. He quickly throws the clothing he just wore into the laundry basket and gets under the warm water. His fur damps as the water rushes over him, the sensation soothing him. He notices a wall bracket with small shampoo glass bottles, grabbing a random one and reading the small label: short fur shampoo. With a shrug Rocky opens the lid and pours some onto his hand before rubbing it into his fur, white foam forming all around. Satisfied with the amount of shampoo on his body he turns both faucets once again, the water quickly gushing over him and cleaning him from the dirt and sweat of the last days with ease.

He grabs one of the white towels beside the bathtub and steps out onto the tiled floor, almost slipping on a puddle he didn't see. He sits down on the edge of the tub and dries his fur with the towel, overlooking the mess he made; Rocky didn't close the curtains. Everywhere is water and shampoo, even on the mirror cabinet did water land. Unfazed by his accident he grabs another white towel, using this one to clean the floor, the walls and fixtures he covered in water while he still drips water. With a smile Rocky sits back down on the rim of the tub and continues to dry his fur the best he can, humming a little tune while doing so. His still heightened mood falls flat when he sees his clothes, the shirt on top looking drenched in water. He grabs the white simple shirt and holds it up, checking how bad the water is; It's just the front that is covered in water. With a heavy sigh of relief he quickly checks the rest of his clothes before putting everything on, his still damp fur conforming to the clothes.
While wiggling his tail through the tail hole in his denim pants he unlocks the door and walks out, the colder air in the rest of the apartment making his fur stand on end.
“Mrs. M?” He asks into the empty apartment, receiving no answer.
Though not surprised that she is gone he isn't sure what to do. Being alone in an apartment he doesn't know wasn't something Rocky was thrilled to happen but it is what it is.
With a sigh he completely leaves the bathroom and flicks the light switch off, the room falling into the same darkness as before. Unsure what to do next he walks through the hall, looking at pictures of Mitzi and Atlas; one picture surprises Rocky as he stares at Zib, Sy, Mitzi and the rest of today's Brass Boys as they play in a club. He stares at Mitzi in particular, a microphone in front of her and the white guitar she brought out this morning in hand as she sings. So she was the lead singer, Rocky asks himself as he goes over to other pictures.
He stands in front of the biggest picture on the wall, a group photo made down in the Little Daisy Café and scans throughout the people.
He instantly recognises the slovakian giant sitting in the right corner of the middle booth, crossing his arms on the table and looking begrudgingly into the camera. In front of him sits a slim, unknown to Rocky cat, looking over out of the picture. On the left side sits Atlas, his gaze relaxed, a leg over the other and a glass in hand. Standing next to Atlas, back to the camera but his head turned, is a tuxedo, his face stoic and uninterested. He's wearing a black long coat, his tail with a white tip poking out as he holds a fedora.
He snaps with his fingers multiple times, trying to recount the last weeks. Soon he gasps and remembers; He's that guy that ghosts behind Atlas all the time.

Right below the photo is a small table with a wooden bowl, a key and note inside. Rocky, grabs the note and unfolds it, reading the hastily written scribbles of Mitzi:

Rocky,
the key is for the front door. Take it with you if you leave.
Don't lose it, it's the spare key.

M

He grabs the key and puts it along with the note into his pocket. Swiftly, Rocky leaves the quiet apartment and locks it behind him, walking down the first flight of stairs into the second floor, looking at the sign on the door: Little Daisy Café Management; it's written in cursive, the golden sign reflecting the small light above. Just a few hours ago Rocky left the office from this door to get his stuff out of the Sedan.
With nothing better to do and curiosity plaguing Rocky, he grabs the handle and presses down: open. Silently he opens the door inwards, letting it fall shut behind him as he walks inside; In front of him is a small hall, lights off and complete silence, to his left a much longer one with a dim light at the end. Rocky, obviously, walks towards the dim light as if he’s a moth, silently walking over the carpet floor. His ears twitch, trying to pick up any noise, though none finding their way to his ears.
Slowly making his way towards the light he sees its source; one of the offices is still lit, someone probably inside.
Cautiously he walks softly towards the already slightly opened semi-transparent glass door.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Unsure Rocky knocks on the glass. Without an answer he opens the door and finds an empty office, only the lamp on the desk lit and a black coat on the coat rack next to the table. The room isn't big but packed with file cabinets and shelves.
Curious and unaware of his surroundings Rocky walks up to the desk, his eyes flying over the top before he grabs one of the drawers at the desk and slowly opens it; Inside are utensils organized after size, small boxes after numbering and pencils after color.
“Boring.” He shrugs and slams the drawer shut, everything flying through the drawer and scrambling around. The tabbys eyes darted around the room, landing on the filled bookshelf, his interest peaked.

With a sigh his dark form moves out onto the hall, the dim light from his office in front of him. His ears twitch as they suddenly pick up humming from the office. Someone… or something must be inside.
Cautiously he looks through the glass door, only Identifying the Silhouette of a bushy tail that swishes left and right. The subtle scent of citrus fills his nostrils. Could it be Atlas, he thinks, no… he wouldn't be here without a warning.

With a grin Rocky stands on his tiptoes, grabbing the book on the third shelf as his tail slowly waves behind him.
It's a book he wanted for years; Children's and Household Tales.
It's old and known by many, but he still remembers when his mom used to-
His nostalgic memories are interrupted by a subtle click from the door, his gaze shifting, the sight freezing him in place, the book slowly slipping from his grasp.

Chapter Text

Rocky's gaze falls on the black hole on the end of the pistol, its silver body glistening in the dim orange light as it points directly between his blue orbs, his heart beating in his throat.
The book falls to the ground as Rocky's palms start to sweat, hitting his foot and getting him out of his completely frozen state.
“I-I didn’t steal anything.” He frantically blurts as he holds his hands up, his gaze moving up into almost glowing olive green eyes, the pupils thin.
With a sigh he lowers the pistole, placing his finger back off the trigger. “Mr. Rickaby, what are you doing in my office at this hour? And what are you doing with that book?” He inquires, walking to his desk and closing the open document, making sure everything still stands on the desktop as before; the lamp in the middle, the phone on the right and the adding machine against the wall.
Upon the man's ease Rocky lowers his hands again, quickly wiping the sweat off his paw pads. “Well I was still around and saw the light on the end of the hall and got curious.”
“That explains why you are in my office,” He takes the document off the desk into a file cabinet and stores it, “It doesn't answer why you have taken the book out of my bookshelf.”
Rocky crouches down and lifts the book off his foot, holding it next to his head.
“It's a literacy classic; Children's and Household Tales by the brothers Grimm!” his toothy smile hits a brick wall, the tuxedo's grimm demeanor unchanging as he opens the drawer Rocky slammed shut, his neatly organized utensils all around.
“You did this?” the tuxedo asks, adjusting his black round spectacles as he looks over at Rocky with a frown, his nose bridge crunching up as his thick white brows furrow. “Well done.”
“That was accidental,” Rocky says and shrugs, “I just closed the drawer and it all… flew around?”
The tuxedo's white tail tip flicks furiously. “Right. Please leave. Without the book, of course.”
“Sure thing…” The tabby doesn't know the man's name, the silence as he stands on tiptoes and tries to put the book back into the shelf making it evident.
Annoyed, the tuxedo sighs. Maybe Mitzi won't be too mad if he shot her ‘little project’. “Heller, Mordecai Heller. This will have consequences, Mr. Rickaby.” he presses the last three syllables out of his clenched teeth, making even Rocky clear that he is not wanted here. With a nervous chuckle he makes his way to the door, always facing Mordecai as he observes the tabbys' slow departure.
“Mhm, Mordecai Heller. I will remember that name,” he smiles awkwardly and grabs the door handle, “Good night then.”
He quickly closes the door, taking his leave, making his way through the hall.
Soon Mordecai tries to calm himself and cleans his spectacles with a small cloth, every wipe releasing a little annoyance, before he puts them back onto his nose. His gaze changes from the door down into the unorganized drawer, filling him with as much annoyance as before. He starts to get everything out of the drawer, recounting the amount and rearranging the different categories he made in his mind and evident by numbers.

Soon enough the drawer is organized and gives Mordecai a state of contentment, though a question suddenly plaguing his mind; If Rickaby looked into this drawer, what else did he rummage through?
Unsure if the tabby even would do such a thing Mordecai gets up from his chair and starts to look through his file cabinets; everything where it belongs.
Then his bookshelf; every book untouched besides the Children's and Household Tales book, it's back a little too far inwards, unaligned with the other books.
After a quick fix Mordecai opens the door and looks into the empty hall, his ears trying to find any sound, though the tabby seemingly disappeared. Good, Mordecai thinks as he walks back into his office, walking up to a small vent next to his desk and quickly removing the small metal cover, reaching his arm into the small shaft, finding the small hidden box on the top still there.
A sigh of relief escapes him as he puts the cover back on and stands up, grabbing his coat and swiftly turning the lamp off.
Only the light taps of his shoes echo through the empty hall as he leaves, his mostly dark fur blending perfectly with the dark night.

***

The kitchen is quiet as Rocky sips on the water, his gaze roaming through the space as he sits quietly, enjoying the eerie quietness, only the loud light walking down stairs noticeable.
Suddenly, though it’s 5:40, one of the glass doors swing open as a gray tall cat, his posture surprisingly good, walks in, ignoring the small tabby at the small table and walking up to the stove, grabbing the bialetti moka pot, filling it with both water and fine coffee powder before placing it onto the stove and lighting the gas with stick.
With a groan he stretches before turning around and finally realizing that the tabby is also in the room.
“Good Morning.” Rocky says with a smile as Atlas still turns.
“Ah, Rocky, you're also here, right.” Altas says without changing his rather uninterested expression. As his tail sways behind him he makes his way towards the small table Rocky sits at, standing in front of the tabby. “I'm terribly sorry but I must inform you that you sit on my seat,” Atlas says neither firmly nor angry, “Please get up.”
“Pardon, of course monsieur,” Rocky chuckles as he gets ups and walks to the other seat, wanting to sit on the opposite white wooden chair.
Though before he could even sit down Atlas speaks once again. “That's where my wife sits.”
“Right, my mistake.” Rocky says and just stands there, fiddling with his fingers as Atlas grabs the rolled up newspaper on the table, reading the title page.
“Where could… I then sit, Mr. M?”
“I don't know.” He simply states and continues to read the news, ignoring Rocky's whole existence at the moment. Unsure what to do Rocky looks around; there aren't any spare chairs around, though he knows one old raggedy stool sits in the corner of the guestroom. He shrugs, deciding to walk off and carry it into the kitchen, a toothy grin on his face as he places the stool down, the old and worn off wood completely out of place and style as well as the dead-looking black cushion on top.
With a relieved sigh Rocky lets himself down on the stool, his tail swinging eagerly as Atlas tail tip flicks low.
“At least a provisional solution…” he mutters as he gazes at the stool, his yellow eyes only half lit.
Slowly the bialetti moka pot starts to pour finished espresso, the strong scent filling Atlas' nose before he stands up, putting the stove out and pouring himself a small espresso.
After a small sip he looks back over at Rocky. “Ready for your first day?”

Just about two miles to the west and half a mile to the north a small alarm clock started to scream, the black form in the bed next to it groaning as he gets up, grabbing his black spectacles from the same bedside table as the clock sits on, its loud bells still ringing.
With a quick tap on the button on the back the clock stops to scream, only the light clicking by the clockwork audible as Mordecai cleans the round glasses with a small cloth.
His mind feels foggy as his hands move on their own, his morning routine already a core muscle memory.
It's always the same;
first cleaning his spectacles.
Then brushing his fur and getting it back into shape, including his tail.
After that changing out of his clothes into his usual attire; a black vest, a white shirt underneath and a nice even red tie, along black slack pants.

The car halts just a build away from the small well known café, the brand new black Cadillac Sedan catching eyes.
Unaware of his attention, Mordecai stops the engine and steps out, making sure the car is locked up before walking into the café, his coat swaying after him.
He quickly sits down at the counter, a waitress taking his order of a single earl gray tea as he opens a newspaper, quickly reading the newest events, mostly focusing on the headlines and the summaries.
Nothing important happened since the last St.Louis Post-Dispatch was published, putting the tuxedo's mind at ease as the waitress reappears with a cup full of steaming water along with a tea bag, sugar and a spoon.
“Here you go, Mr. Heller.”
“Thank you.”
Upon folding the paper neatly and gently putting it back onto the counter, he slowly lowers the tea bag into the hot water, the dried leaves and herbs releasing their signature dark brown-ish color into the water, the distinctive smell of the peel of bergamot fruit, a light sweet, floral note in the scent.

A tiny feeling of contentment fills the usual stoic heart of Mordecai as he takes the first still steaming sip from the on the second perfectly steeped earl gray, the soothing taste covering his tongue before flowing down his throat. The pure taste of the tea always nurtured him enough in the morning; no need for food nor any other beverages.

After enjoying his singular tea Mordecai gets back out of the Café and walks right into the entrance adjacent to the café, calmly taking the stairs before walking through the door with “Little Daisy Café Management” written on, entering the calm and silent hall.
It's still too early for anyone else to be present.
Silently he makes his way to his small office, quickly making it inside and closing his door, remembering what happened last night. With a light sigh he gets out of his coat before putting it up in the coat rack, the black fabric hanging down like a dead animal.
He quickly gets a folder out of the book shelf, placing it on his desk and opening the top; It's the monthly income of the café and Speakeasy. It's ever increasing, though last quarter grew a little slower than usual. Mordecai opens the small wooden box on the right of his desk, pens and marker inside, grabbing a pen and starting to work; this quarter's income must be added.

Suddenly a knock pulls Mordecai out of his trance of working his ass off.
He grunts annoyed. “Come in.”
The knob turns before the door opens, the brought figure enters his office, closing the door carefully behind him. What time is it?
“Viktor, enlighten me.” Mordecai says sarcastically as he pulls his pocket watch out of his inner pocket; it's 8:30 already. He quickly puts the watch back before looking down onto the unfinished report.
The siberian cat stays silent for a moment. “Are you alright?”
With a scoff Mordecai looks back up. “Of course, what kind of question is this?”
“You run off last night…” Viktor folds his arms in front of his chest, “You seem… angry.”
“Yes, I was quite angry. But now I am fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Viktor, I am sure.” Mordecai frowns and continues to work on the report.
The brought man continues to stand silently in the far corner, his one green eye watching Mordecai write before grunting annoyedly, shaking his head in silence. All of a sudden a loud, almost confident knock fills the room.
“I don't have time right now.” Mordecai groans harshly, his white tail tip flicking slowly.
“Atlas wants us all in his office in five. He has something to tell us.” A low voice by a woman shouts through the door before her silhouette walks past the door and to the next door. Confused by the sudden appeal Mordecai quickly ends the last number and puts the document back into the cabinet, opening the loud drawer and hanging the paper into the rail before softly closing it.
“Vhat do you think vhat he vants?”
“Hopefully nothing important.”

Loud discord reverts from the already open office along with smoke as Mordecai and Viktor make their way inside, a few others already inside, smoking cigarettes or cigars, making Mordecai recoil as soon as he accidentally inhales smoke. Viktor on the other hand grabs into his pocket, Pulling his almost empty packet of cigarettes, grabbing one of them and walking up to one of the men.
“Hey Viktor, how's it going?” Without even a word by Viktor the man pulls out a pack of matches and lights one, holding it up for him to ignite the tip of his cigarette.
The big siberian cat inhales deeply before slowly blowing the smoke out, “Vd'aka.”
And as quickly as he came he went back to Mordecai, both finding themselves right next to the empty desk, the cognac bottle almost empty and still open.
After another dozen or two enter the spacious office the doors shut, everyone's eyes gazing at the gray man along with the scrawny tabby.
“Everyone here?” He asks as they walk to the desk, everybody taking a step to the side, letting Atlas and Rocky walk behind the desk.
As he cleans his throat he lays a hand onto Rocky's right shoulder, “This is Rocky Rickaby, as many of you probably know. He is in our house band but will from now on also work as a fetch boy here upstairs for those of you who need any assistance with anything; be it documents, beverages and so on.” Rocky smiles, scanning everyone, though only receiving either tired, stoic or annoyed looks back. He swallows as Atlas continues to explain: “In addition I wanted to address the growing worry of some of you. We just had a setback, but that doesn't mean we will dry out nor be found out by the authorities. We will replace the lost alcohol soon enough for no one to notice, be reassured.”
Silence befalls the room as everyone awaits Atlas words. “That would be it.”
Stifling their grunts and eye rolls, most of the people start walking out, falling back into loud chattering between them.
Only Mordecai, Viktor, Rocky and another tabby stay in the office. “You can leave now. I have to talk with Viktor and Mordecai.” He waves dismissively, his yellow eyes switching between Rocky and the woman.
Both leave the room, closing the big doors behind them, Leaving the tuxedo alone with both men.
“So… Atlas, what do you want to talk about?” the tuxedo asks, straightening his spectacles on his nose.
“I think you know what I want to talk about. Last night was…” he stretches the s for a moment, “... suboptimal. We lost 39 bottles of whiskey, 13 bottles of gins and 32 bottles of wine. Luckily, these weren't any premium alcohol, but it is still a loss nevertheless.” As Atlas talks he pours the last fifth of his cognac into his glass, taking a sip between talking, “Mordecai, I need a report of how much the loss was worth until 12.” The tuxedo nods, “Viktor, you’ll drive to defiance and let Bobby know we need some of the stored alcohol.” the big man folds his arms in front of his chest before grunting affirmatively.
With a slight smile on his face and the glass still in hand he leans back. “Good. If that's it, you may leave now.”
Viktor turns around and grabs the handle of one of the doors as Mordecai abruptly cleans his throat in an attention seeking way. “Atlas, I have to report something.”

As the three men talk in the room behind, Rocky fixes his blue suit and orange tie as suddenly someone blocks the light. “Hey there. Your last name is Rickaby?”
The tabby looks up into another tabbys eyes, her fur as gray as his, though the pattern a little different.
“Yeah, who's asking?” he questions unsurely, though all his worries fly by as she smiles softly.
“The name is Evelyn Everly. Nice to meet you.” she holds her hand out, Rocky quickly shaking as their gaze meets; her eyes deep blue like an ocean. “Let me guess; Irish?”
Taken aback by her sudden question he blurts out a ‘what’ before he could think. “Are you irish? Your last name gives it away.”
With a toothy smile he chuckles, “Well that's quite a good observation. Yes I'm Irish, or at least my mother was. I also want to guess; Welsh?”
Evelyn laughs at his guess and shakes her head, “Close but not right, I’m an englishwoman.”
Abruptly both squint at each other, hatred in their eyes, as they hold finger guns at each other's throats, walking in a circle.
“You're one of them Bri'ish people…”
“And you're one of them potato munchers…”
They squint so much that they almost close their eyes before suddenly erupting into giggles and laughter. “Never expected to find one of my kind around.” Evelyn says and sighs, “And you're like a pet now? Beneath me?” She smiles maliciously, “Bring me my coffee, Peasant.”
“Do you… mean that-”, “No of course not” She chuckles, “But with the both of them in there you shouldn't be messing around like me.”
“Why?”
“They're Atlas ‘kitten’” she makes air quotations, “and will land you in enough trouble for four lifetimes.”
“What…” Rocky's tail suddenly loops through his legs and curls up his left leg, his ears pinning down.
“Yeah they're… uhm… are you okay?”
“No… I think I need-”
Suddenly, before he could fully answer, the double doors flew open, Atlas up front.
“Rocky, I think we need to have a word with you.”
The tabby swallows.

“Let me get this right, you let him, of all people, sleep in your apartment and employ him? Did our standard drop this low now too?” Mordecai groans, gripping the corner of the desk as he looks over his spectacles at the gray cat in his chair, “I usually don't doubt your decisions, but this time I can't wrap my head around this.”
“Calm yourself." he retorted calmly, “He is only staying because Mitzi wants it. And he won't work as a long-term employee. As soon as he has an apartment he will be gone again, don't worry your little intelligent mind.”
The tuxedo sighs and frowns as he makes his way to the door. “I hope so.” With lifted nose leaves the office, making sure the door shuts softly and without a sound. As he walks through the hall back to his office his tail flicks furiously, his brows furrowed and clearly not in a good mood. In his office he gets a new document out of a drawer, starting to write a report of the lost alcohol, his mood only darkening. It's been quite a long time since the last loss and the need to report such things.

the lost alcohol together; he has to get the report ready for Atlas.

After getting scolded right in front of Mordecai and Viktor by Atlas, the incident yesterday got him a warning if anything like that ever happens again that he's… gone… he had to follow Viktor to the garage, a few cars standing inside and up front, other men around and working on their receptive cars.
“I have heard you good in running, no?” Viktor asks as he grabs a toolbox and walks to a truck, turning his back to Rocky.
Rocky nods though Viktor can't see it. “Yes”
“Good, I need car parts.” Viktor quickly pulls a small folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here is list. Get them fast. The shop is uuh…” Viktor squints his eye as he thinks, “two blocks down and one left… ya vill see.”
The tabby nods again, his eyes on the paper “Will do Viktor!”
And before Viktor said another word the tabby was off, running down the street, passing people left and right.

***

Her thick tail swirls as she walks through the door, down the hall and towards the office of her husband. After - once again - awaking alone in the cold king size bed Mitzi got ready for the day; quickly putting a loose fishtail gown on and getting her hair into shape before coming down. A few people walk by, greeting her with a smile as she walks down the hall.
Mitzi quickly knocks on the double doors before hearing Atlas affirmation to enter.
She quickly opens the door and walks in. “Good morning.” she says with a smile on her lips, her tail still swirling left and right. Though not getting an immediate answer she walks around the big desk and kisses her husband on the cheek, her hand on his shoulder. Without looking up from a piece of paper Atlas places his bigger hand on Mitzi's smaller; his touch tender.
“Good morning Mitzi. Sorry I left you alone, I had to introduce someone early on.” Atlas says with a light chuckle, his eyes finally leaving the desk and gazing up into his wifes, a small smile creeping onto his lips.
“Don’t worry, nothin’ I won’t survive. After All, I was the one who wanted this.” She sighs, “How’s work going?”
Atlas frowns and rubs his forehead. “Not very good. As you know we lost about 74 bottles of liquor and we maybe won't have enough until the next delivery in 5 days.”
“And what's your plan? we can’t risk falling behind and losing our reputation.”
“I know that,” Atlas insists, “I already sent Viktor to defiance to get a bit from Bobby. That should at least save us from running dry.”
Nodding, Mitzi looks down at the paper, the loss of the bottles documented and accounted for.
Suddenly a light knock fills the room, both Mitzi and Atlas looking at the doors.
“Come in.” Atlas shouts, the doors quickly revealing Mordecai in his white shirt and black vest.
“Atlas, the requested report,” he simply states, holding two folders up, “I also felt free to add the lost liquor up and found out that we won’t have enough until the next delivery,” the tuxedo walks up to the desk and lays the folders carefully on the desk, “So you lied to us.”
Atlas opens the document titled ‘lost worth’ and looks through the few papers before nodding. “Yes I’m aware we don’t have enough. I just wanted everyone to feel at ease.”
“Nothin’ harmful in that, is there?” Mitzi adds, catching Mordecai's attention.
“No, but it's a moral gray zone, don’t you think? Actively lying about something you know just so people won’t realize the inevitable truth is…”
“What we have to do in this business. You should know that the best.” Atlas says stoically and grabs the second document folder, “Don't worry your little intelligent mind, we will fix this.”
Mordecai holds his annoyance in and fixes his spectacles, his gaze swaying over at Mitzi. “Nice to see you also finally attending work.”
“Don’t be like that,” the light brown cat smiles back at the tuxedo's stoic face, “A nice lady needs her time.”
“Right. I will take my leave when there’s nothing else.” And without any protest he leaves, quickly making it back to his small office, working on as ever.

Chapter Text

The sun’s slowly setting in the distance, the sky turns yellow-ish along with the few clouds in the sky as the day turns into night.
The truck's feathers squeak as it drives down the hill, the dirt road molting to its wheels as they pass through the forest near defiance, the road opening to vast fields of grain, corn and such. Upon driving through the unpopulated fields towards the small town near St.louis, Mordecai finally, after having to listen to the terrible music for more than an hour, turns the radio off.
The metallic sounding radio was never something Mordecai liked while long drives; the audio hurt his hearing, though the big siberian cat handling the car could never get enough of it. But before the tuxedo could enjoy the silence in the small cab of the truck, Viktor turned the knob back around, the music shouting through the vehicle.
“Vhy did you turn the radio out?” Viktor asks, his gaze only leaving the road for a short moment.
The tuxedo frowns annoyed. “It sounds revolting. No music should sound like it gets played through a metal pot. You should know that.” he explains with a frown, turning the radio back off.
“Any music is better than no.” Viktor turns the radio back on.
Without a comment Mordecai turns it back off, his eyes on the road ahead.
Turns on.
Turns off.
And in a moment notice both silently fight for the radio, each turning the small knob around. Soon they make it past the small white church and down the only road to their destination, the big house unmistakable. It sits surrounded by fields of crops, a small road leading past the sign reading ‘Arbogast funeral home’. Viktor parks the truck up front, letting Mordecai finally have the victory over the radio.
“Ve are here.” the gruff says as he pulls the keys out of the ignition.
“I can see that.” Mordecai mumbles as he opens the passenger door and steps out, the cold evening air ruffling his fur up a bit. The tuxedo lines it back into its triangular shape as Viktor makes his way around the truck's front and past the smaller man towards the entrance to the house, the lights already on inside and outside. Together they stand at the front door as Viktor presses the bell, the ringing audible through the door before a man shouts “Coming!” from the inside, the door quickly opened, Bobby standing there with the door still in hand, his eyes widening in mere seconds and the door slamming shut again.
“Elsa! Your friend is here!” he shouts inside, the thin wooden door letting the two outside listen along.
“Who do you mean Bobby?” a lighter woman's voice asks.
“You know… him.”
Without an answer the door opens again, now the light beige cat standing up front and Bobby in the back.
“Viktor. Nice seeing you around again.” she says, a faint smile on her lips.
“Also nice seeing you,” Viktor says, though not cracking a smile, “We are here because of problems.”
Mordecai fixes his spectacles and nods, “Yes, we need something and I'm cutting the case short; We need some of the back-up alcohol in the shack.” He holds his hand out expectantly, his eyes darting back at Bobby.
Elsa leans against the door frame and thinks a moment before speaking up. “You need extra alcohol? What happened?”
“Nothing noteworthy-”
“Ve got into a fight,” Viktor interrupts the tuxedo, “some stupid… šmejdi shot at us, destroying some alcohol.”
He didn’t even speak the whole sentence when Mordecai groaned, a hand on his hip as he tapped the opposite foot. “Yes. Now everybody knows what happened. Please give us the keys to the shack.”
With an eye roll Elsa walks back inside and waves for them to enter. “I have to look for them. It’s been quite some time since we opened that place.”
Both men look at each other before entering.
Inside they find themselves in the spacious living room; A fireplace made out of simple orange bricks and metal ornaments sits in the middle against the far wall, a beautiful delicately made glass coffee table with a bronze rim between two beige couches that each can seat three people, Both Mordecai and Viktor sitting on one of them. Next to the coffee table, diagonal to the two men, sits Abelard in an armchair, his lengthy legs tugged as close as possible as he's reading a newspaper that he, since their arrival, didn’t put down. Bobby enters the living room with a tray of teas, giving everyone one. “Here's tea if one of you likes.” Bobby places the silver tray onto the clean glass table and hands a tea to Abelard, the reverend quickly grabbing it before continuing ignoring his surroundings. Viktor takes one of the cups and looks over at his partner, though Mordecai shaking his head annoyed, his brows furrowed.
“Stop being such a cry baby.”
“I’m not a cry baby, I just want this to be over.” Mordecai states annoyed, crossing his arms as he sits straight.
An awkward silence fills the room, the rushling of Abelard's newspaper the only noise in the room, Elsa soon comes back down with a key chain and a few keys on it.
She smiled as she saw the tea on the tray, giving Bobby a light peck on the forehead. “One of them should open the place. Just test all of them.”
Without a second thought Mordecai gets up and grabs the bundle of keys, the metal clinking against one another.
“Thank you.” He simply says and walks past her towards the front door, her gaze following him before falling onto Viktors back; He places the cup back onto the tray before also getting up and following the tuxedo outside, Elsa coming along in silence.
With fast steps Mordecai makes his way back into the truck and waits for Viktor, his arms crossed as the man makes it into the driver seat.
Suddenly the passenger door opens from outside, Elsa stepping inside, pushing Mordecai into the middle, squeezing him between the two. “What are you doing?” he asks exasperated as he tries to free himself.
“I'm coming along. You two are going to need help loading the crates up,” She answers casually as she closes the door, “Besides, company won’t hurt.”
Mordecai looks up at Viktor, though his expression as stoic as ever before shrugging, making Mordecai groan annoyed at both cats.
Defeated and already fed up with the whole situation surrounding what's happening, Mordecai simply huffs and leans back and lets Viktor take off without any more complaints.

After a few minutes of driving to the other side of the Arbogast's huge farmstead and having to listen to Elsa and Viktor catching up on news and cooking recipes, the truck comes to a stop, the headlights lighting the way up to a wooden door; An old rusty lock on its handle. The big burly cat gets out of the car as the other two already stand in front of the door, Mordecai trying key after key.
“No… no… mhm…” he hums as he tries the keys, “The last one.”
He pushes the rusty key in but the lock doesn’t budge.
“Well…” Elsa sighed as she put her arms onto her waist, “What’s the plan now?”
Angered, Mordecai pushes the keys into his pocket before pacing a little. “I could pick the lock… but I don't have a tension wrench nor a pick along with me. Do you have any at the funeral home? Or do you have a hair pin?” Mordecai asks Elsa, his tail flicking furiously.
She shakes her head. “No, we don't have anything like that. We could quickly drive to the general store down the road.”
Suddenly the door screams as the lock breaks, the wooden door flying open.
“It's open,” Viktor says gruff, holding the red crowbar he got from below the truck's seats in the time the other two took to think, “Naow let's get alcohol.”

Before long they started to load the crates up the truck, Mordecai and Elsa getting the crates out of the dusty shack and Viktor bringing them up into the deep back of the Truck. With accentuated coughs and a waving hand in front of his face Mordecai enters the shack, acting as if the dust would kill him if inhaled too deeply. The crates full of wine and whiskey already build a thick layer of dust, most of it flying up into the air as they lift them, Mordecai looking as if he's constipated and Elsa sneezing every time the dust enters her nostrils.
One by one they bring the alcohol out, the squeaky feathers crying with every weight increase.
“You should clean here more often.” Mordecai cries as he places a crate into the truck.
“It's not always we have to open this place,” Elsa grunts as she places the last crate into the truck, Viktor easily closing the back, “And now we can't close it again.” she sighs.
“We'll send a locksmith tomorrow, don't worry.” Mordecai states as he opens the passenger door at the same moment Viktor opens the driver's side.
Once again being squeezed between the two cats, Mordecai frowned, the proximity to both is too close for his comfort.

Back at the funeral home Elsa slowly, unbothered by Mordecai's obvious agitation, takes a few steps down onto the dirt, looking back past the tuxedo at Viktor. “If there's anything we can do, just call.”
Viktor nods, his stoic and unexpressive face just faintly changing in a tiny smile, even less of a smile than Atlas.
Upon seeing Elsa smile too Mordecai cleans his throat, once again diverging their attention at him. “That's good,” he simply states before fixing his spectacles, “Atlas will send money tomorrow. It will be in a beige envelope.”
He closes the door, the thin aluminum echoing over the cold fields around them.
Elsa nods, her smile fading. “Okay, Good night. Please be safe out there.”
“Ve vill.” The siberian cat grunts before turning the keys in the ignition, the truck's engine popping as he drives backwards, the light engulfing Elsa as she waves. Only Viktor waves back, Mordecai is busy cleaning his black spectacles, his brows furrowing as the radio goes back on; Not this again.

***

Meanwhile the two are on their way to defiance and out and about, the sun sets above the dirty and polluted city of St.Louis, Rocky sitting in one of the booths in the small café. He's having his favorite; Pancakes with syrup along with a coffee… with syrup. Today was quite the rough day; first meeting everyone, getting scolded by Atlas and then running around like a crazy person, having to help there, carrying this, do that and giving everyone a tea or coffee at point 3 p.m. took the last energy out of him.
But now, with his favorite dish of all time in front of him, he couldn’t be more happy. Just as Rocky digs into his first pancake the door of the café opens, a small silhouette entering, the café suddenly getting quiet, the discord between the other patrons surpassing; Only Rocky, gobbling the syrup covered pastry down can be heard for a moment before Mitzi simply walks inside and letting the door shut close behind her, everyone suddenly continuing to talk.
Her first stop was the counter, ordering herself a espresso before letting her eyes wander through the booths, her emerald orbs soon falling onto Rocky; his white shirt covered in syrup smudges that dropped as he ate, his mouth covered with syrup and small pieces of pancake that got stuck in the thick syrup and a his plate already empty, only his fork and knife laying on it. She chuckles at his sight; he foolishly tries to clean his shirt with a paper cloth, the paper dissolving in the syrup, only worsening his situation. Soon enough her espresso was handed to her before she walked over to Rocky, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she walked over to his booth.
She places the espresso onto the table, the tabby quickly looking up to her. “May I sit with you, honey?” she asks delicately, though already sitting down.
“Sure Mrs. M!” Rocky says with a big smile, his energy back at one hundred. As Mitzi sips on her still steaming hot espresso Rocky looks back down and frowns a little, grabbing the next paper cloth and rubbing moreover the syrup.
Unable to retain herself from chuckling, Mitzi pulls her cotton handkerchief engraved with a club on it; the infamous lackadaisy trade mark.
“Oh honey, please use this, it will actually get the syrup off your shirt.” she insists as she holds the handkerchief out for Rocky to take, the tabby soon grabbing the small cloth.
“Thank you Mrs. M, I already thought I’d never get this out of my shirt.” he chuckles a little embarrassed, quickly getting the thick liquid off his shirt.
“No problem honey,” Mitzi smiles as she takes another sip from her beverage, “So how was your first day?”
"Oh, it was nice! I helped Viktor, I met this grumpy guy. What was his name…? Mor- Mormon?” Rocky scratches his head a little and shrugs, “Anyway, Yeah! I helped a lot of people!” Like a little kid he holds his arms up and stretches them out to his sides, wanting to show the amount of people he helped.
With a smile Mitzi chuckles. She's happy seeing him so happy; Even with his current situation.
“I think you mean Mordecai,” she smiles, “He's… special. But don't worry, he can have his nice moments.”
Rocky chuckles. “I already got to experience his bad side then.”
“Yeah, he's not very open to new people. Especially after yesterday.”
“He also told you?” Rocky swallows.
Mitzi nods and looks thoughtful into her half empty espresso cup.
“I truthfully didn't steal anything.” Rocky blurts, holding his arms up as if threatened.
“I know honey, the alcohol was destroyed in a gunfight. You weren't even around yesterday night.”
What? Rocky, unsure about what Mitzi is talking about, froze for a moment. Does she actually know? His interest is peaked nevertheless.
“So… what exactly happened yesterday again…?”
“One of our supplier's trucks got shot up by a small gang. That’s why Viktor had to repair that thing this mornin’. Sadly we already know who it was. One of them tiny speakeasy that think they’re the next big hit,” She sighs and lights a slim white cigarette, quickly taking a drag before blowing the smoke out of the booth, “We probably should do something against them...”
Rocky nods slightly as he listens, now trying to clean his mouth and cheeks, the syrup slowly getting out of his thin fur.
“Why don’t you just do it? Not fighting back seems counter intuitive, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t need to tell me that, but we know the golf club. Infact, Altas meets there with his business associates often, playing golf. And since he doesn’t want to play anywhere else he won’t do anything against them… as far as I know.” She says and takes another drag from her slim cigarette.
“mmmh,” Rocky hums and places the fully syrup smeared cotton handkerchief onto the table, “Thank you Mrs. M.”
“No need to thank me honey. It's just a handkerchief.”
“I mean for everything. For giving me work, letting me sleep in your spare bedroom, even just being here.” He chuckles somewhat lightheartedly, though his gaze on his lap.
An empathetic smile curls up on Mitzi's face. “Don't worry, we're happy to help. I know it’s hard right now, having to stay with us for the moment.”
Rocky's eyes fall onto hers as she smiles slightly, though his own expression surprised. “For the moment?“ he questions.
“Yes, just for the moment. You should look for an apartment as soon as possible.”
“I-I thought maybe I could stay for a few months… until I have some money to my name again.”
“Rocky, dear, I know things don't look good, but we agreed that you'll stay a few weeks at best, not that you'll move in.” Mitzi insists as she takes her last sip of espresso, Rocky deflating a little.
“Right… yeah, we should look for an apartment,” he chuckles a little embarrassed, “So… maybe a weird question, especially this late… but what time is it exactly?”
With a raised brow Mitzi looks down at her small golden wristwatch. “It's about… 6:45. Why do you ask honey?”
“I’m Sorry, I totally forgot the time. I may have to get ready for tonight in 15 minutes…” The tabby chuckles and gets up, quickly bowing a little. “Thank you Mrs. M. See you downstairs!”
Abruptly he takes off out of the café and up the entrance.
Shaking her head, Mitzi watches as she leans back, suddenly a waiter coming up to her. “Miss… should I put his order onto your bill? He didn't pay beforehand.”
Oh for the love of all that’s holy.

The huge banquet is once again filled with energetic jazz music as the tuxedo enters through the staff-only door, his ears pinned to his head; he never was a fan of overly loud music, but tonight has to be the loudest it ever was or his ear got even more sensitive.
Viktor walks right next to him, his orb scanning the place as both make their way up towards the stage, the house band playing their usual jiss. With a frown Mordecai looks up at the in blue clothed tabby; He's playing happily on his violin, eyes closed and a smile on his face.
“There you are you two,” Atlas says, Mordecai quickly looking down at the gray cat before cleaning his throat, “Already though you two would need the whole night.”
“You know we know what we're doing.” Mordecai states stoically as he stands right behind Atlas seat, folding his arms behind his back.
Upon taking his position the man sees the siamese cat sitting along Atlas and Mitzi at the table, his cylinder sitting on the table as he sips on a whiskey glas, his eyes on Mordecai.
“Mr. Sable.”
“Good evening Mordecai.”
The tuxedo simply chooses to ignore him soon after as always. He can't stand the man at all; Always acting nice and civilized, though corrupt and unlikeable. At Least in his estimation.
Mordecai watches silently for anything suspicious though soon just watching people dance, drink or play the violin.
As soon as the two checked in with Atlas, Viktor stepped away, taking a nice seat at the bar and drinking alcohol like water, ignoring everyone and everything around him.
While watching Rocky play up on the stage from the side, Mordecai couldn't help but frown. ‘How can someone so unintelligible play such an instrument?’, he frown deepens as Rocky plays diligently and flawlessly to the dismay of him.
As the tuxedo continues to squint at the tabby, Mitzi follows his gaze interested, grinning as soon as she sees the target.
“Mordecai,” she grins, “Mordecai!”
The sudden shout of his name makes him flinch and divert his green eyes onto the woman; Mitzi smiling smugly, giving him a knowing grin.
“What is it that you want?” he asks, annoyed as he fixes his spectacles.
“Oh, just wanted to ask how Elsa is doing? Business still running?”
Holding a frown back the tuxedo answers. “She's alright. We didn't stay for long so I don't know any further details.”
Mitzi hums in response. “What a bummer. How was your evening besides getting the alcohol?”
“Why'd you ask?” Mordecai answers annoyed, his half lit eyes scanning the banquet.
“I'm trying to have a conversation with you.”
“Well… besides being subjected to Viktor's choice of music and your attempts at a conversation there hasn't been much to talk about.”
Mitzi rolls her eyes and takes a nip from her wine, looking over to the stage and back at Mordecai. “How was the first day with Rocky? Did he make any trouble?”
The tuxedo looks down at the light brown cat and hums. “Mr. Rickaby? He intrigues me. I always thought he was a young idiotic boy. And he is,” he looks up at the man on the stage and frowns, “Though he luckily didn't talk with me today. But there was an incident last night.”
“mmh? What did Rocky do this time?”
“Not much it seems. He suddenly appeared in my office as I was away for a moment, rummaged through some of my cabinets and shelves and even was about to take one of my books along with him.”
Perplexed by the news she frowns. “When was that? What book was it?”
“It was at 6:46pm. I came back and found him with Children's and Household Tales in his hands. He said he didn't want to steal anything but.. well.” He Stops, letting silence fill the missing words.
“That surprised me quite a lot. I… I don't think he would steal, especially a book. Maybe he wanted to borrow it?” Mitzi argues.
“Why would he ‘borrow’ a book from an empty office? Be reasonable Mitzi.”
Maybe..” she starts but doesnt find anything to speculate about, “... Maybe you're right.” she admits, her ears falling flat as her tail flicks slowly on the floor. “I'll talk with him.”
“We already did,” Mordecai says, feeling a kind of satisfaction while ratting the tabby out, “Atlas, Viktor and I spoke with him this morning. He, to put it lightly, got a warning from Atlas; There's no need to say more.”
“I want to have my own word with him. Knowing Rocky a little better than you, I want to know his side of the story.”
Why is she always so forgiving? Mordecai just shakes his head a little, irritated by the persistence she always had and will never lose.
The conversation dies, Mitzi finally focusing on Sedgewick after he shouts her name for 5 times and Mordecai again looking around, taking a stroll through the crowd, looking for the burly man with an eyepatch.

Soon after their 90 minute slot the 7 men come back into the backstage area, 6 of them walking to their poker table and sitting down, resuming the game they paused over one and a half hours ago.
“That was a good night's performance!” Rocky says happily, a big toothy smile on his face as he puts his violin and bow back into its etui, closing the lid before lifting it carefully.
“You know the drill kid,” Zib says as he folds his hand, “last rehearsal before premiering the new songs.”
Rocky hums a loud “mhm” before running off with his case, entering the with loud chatter, laughing and arguments filled banquet hall and makes his way past Atlas and Mitzi unnoticed before vanishing into the staff-only area, soon emerging in front of the apartments door, pushing the keys into its lock.