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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 7 months

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BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER ONE: A Petal's Decay:

A/N: Hello hello hello! Thank you to those who participated in the poll of if I should cross post: the most answers were for yes! So here we are...and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!! That is a HUGE HUGE HUGE blessing to me. Seriously, I cannot thank you enough for how happy this makes me feel. So now, as a thank you for your support through my rambunctious posts and chaotic DMs, I present to you...

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

The smell of cigarettes was heavily sticking in the air. An overwhelming warmth accompanied it in the suite. The night was muggy, hence why she locked up all the windows. It was a warm Missouri night: yet Lacrimosa Ambrose was far from tired, despite how late it was.

She was in her lavish flapper dress, consisting of pigments of indigo and black. She had toed off her shoes and let the feather boa around her slip down, softly and caressing her arms. Tonight was a rather eventful night for the jazz singer: she really brought the blues out in her sultry voice. She was fawned over by many men, and she adored the attention secretly: yet she never wanted anything serious with anyone, as she was a lone wolf in the relationship department. However…no one ever asked about her… side hustle, regarding her occupation in the Rose Brigade: she was the boss after all …

That’s good: if people became suspicious, she would end up shooting some people in the head with her Colt M1911 pistol…she’d thank her husband for that lovely gift…if he weren’t dead.

She got up off her couch, sauntering over to her phone as she spun the dial numbers slowly and deliberately, and she put the phone to her ear. She sighed sharply, her pointed ears perking downwards slightly, and she took another hit from her cigarette to calm herself down.

“Mei deliciae, this is getting old…I get you’re in Hotel Maribel, but at least speed up this process.” She told the other person on the phone.

“Of course, of course! I’ve just been…under the weather.” He reassured her: Silas Tueuse, a French actor visiting Missouri with his sister Raquelle, was far from innocent…just like Ms. Lacrimosa.

“If you mean you were busy being at a damn juice joint and getting sick from drinking too much giggle water , then you are surely a fool to think you can fool me with this excuse.” Lacrimosa chided, as if she was talking to a child: from her perspective, she might as well be. She was almost twice Silas’ and Raquelle’s age, and her beauty slowly dimmed as more wrinkles showed from stress.

“Ah, shucks,” Silas hissed a bit, snapping his fingers, “that trick never works, dunnit?”

“Use proper grammar in my presence, Tueuse. I will not ask you again.” Lacrimosa twirled with her pearled necklace with a finger, and her claw retracted.

“What’s the problem with the way I speak, ma’am?”

“You and your sister come from wealthy parents, I highly expected some elegance from you.”

“Ma’am, I come from a French mother and an English father, as does my little sister: we have different ways of speaking: she’s like mother, I’m like father. So expect a bit of slip ups and slangs from us…~”

Lacrimosa internally cursed him. She sucked in a sharper breath, brandishing her cigarette. “Silas, do me a favor and get yourself in line…I won’t hesitate to lodge a bullet in your pretty little skull.” She glanced over towards an ebony desk, seeing a slightly rusted revolver, glinting a little in the soft lighting.

“...yes ma’am.”

“Are you about to go down from your room to…do the task?”

“In a few moments…after all, I am a good actor~” Silas pulled out a small vial of cyanide, playing with it. “After all, I could always slip it into a drink or two.”

“You remember the target?”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll get it done as soon as I can.”

“I want you to go immediately after we finish this call: is that clear?”

Silas grimaced: “Yes, that is crystal clear, Ms. Lacrimosa.” Oh lord, what was he going to do? His sister was conked out on the hotel bed in Hotel Maribel, after drinking too many dry martinis and throwing up on herself in a not–so elegant fashion. She had changed out into something much more comfortable to sleep in.

“Good: that’s my left hand man~” Lacrimosa teased, smiling with feigned sweetness. She then hung up abruptly, the smile drooping into a deep, frustrated frown. She rubbed at her temples, leaning against the table and sighing. Her tail thumped against the wood, and she walked over to the window, opening it. The smoke and smell of cigarettes wafted out of the apartment complex, and she pressed her elbows on the windowsill, hands under her chin. Her amber eyes dulled, watching the cars, the people, and everything else slowly drift by. She craved some form of entertainment, something different from the dullness. St. Louis was a hit or miss sometimes…but soon there will be a good story: a good dose of entertainment, all thanks to the French actor Silas Tueuse. She smiled, flicking off some ash and ember, and it landed on her rose plant…the flame ate at one of the petals, and it shriveled up: she didn’t feel too bad. The poor plant was dying anyway…

Her ears flicked at the sound of a violin. She sighed almost gently, shoulders dropping. She extinguished her cigarette onto the ashtray, put her shoes back on, and grabbed her feathered boa again, wrapping it around her: the violinist lived in the exact same apartment building as Lacrimosa, and boy did she love her like a daughter. She grabbed her keys and left her apartment, locking the door and leaving. She began treading down the hallway, tail slowly swishing in sync with the violin’s notes. She hummed along to the tune. She knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and the music stopped. There were footsteps, and the door opened.

An older Sphynx with a left glass eye and scar marks stared at her, an eyebrow raised. Her cold, stern features softened slightly. Her ice blue eyes dulled, and she backed away, beckoning Lacrimosa to enter.

“Your playing is soothing, Mandisa. I enjoy it.” Lacrimosa walked into the darker apartment, and she put her arms at her sides. She gazed around with a bit of a sleepy–eyed look to her.

Mandisa smiled slightly: despite being wrinkly, she was still a bit in her youth: thirty–five was still rather young. “I’m doing it for the kids.” She told her.

“They’re asleep, yes?” Lacrimosa raised a brow.

“Both Cassandra and Malachi, yes.”

“...what about the other one?”

“Don’t you recall? He’s living with his father.”

“My condolences.”

“It’s quite alright.”

Their conversations were light, but filled with calmness and respect.

“I have another job for you, Silas, Raquelle and the others.” Lacrimosa fluffed up her boa.

“So soon?” Mandisa straightened herself up.

“Yes…Silas is already after the target. He’ll be done rather soon…but that’s not the point. We’re going after Marigold’s head honcho.”

“...really? Asa Sweet?”

“Bold, isn’t it?”

“A little tempting, but much more dangerous: don’t you remember his little shadow? James has that divot in his ear thanks to Heller’s bullet!”

“Damn…that’s right.”

“Certainly, we can’t go head on.”

Lacrimosa then grinned deviously. “Lure Heller away…as well as his little posse. We could also ruin some lives in the Little Daisy Cafe~”

Mandisa sat down, her tail curled next to her thigh. “This is…interesting.”

“In due time, everything will work out~” Lacrimosa grinned sharply, crossing one leg over the other. “Lure them all away…that way, we pluck away everything they love.”

…and this is the beginning of how things become twisted.

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

Aaaaand here's chapter one! I'm going to post a chapter or two on here a day, but once I really write more in the future, the posting process fic-wise might slow down. Either way, hope you enjoy!

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 5 months

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Couple more chapters to go!!! :DDDD

please let me know how you like this! <3

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 7 months

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Alright y'all, you can rizz her up now lmfao please send me screenshots (if you want!!) if there's something that I need to fix, something that's downright hilarious, or any convo you want me to see!! <3

Below the Surface here!

#Below the Surface - Lacka-Fic #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy #original characters #lackadaisy ocs #lacrimosa ambrose #silas tueuse #raquelle tueuse #mandisa sephtis #james monroe #celeste legerra-smitt #lackadaisy lacrimosa #lackadaisy silas #lackadaisy raquelle #lackadaisy james #lackadaisy mandisa #lackadaisy celeste #i'm so sorry #lmao

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 6 months

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CHAPTER 35 IS OUT!!!!! :D

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 7 months

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BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER FOUR: Wilted Wonders:

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

TW: blood mention, mention of dead bodies, violence, attempted assassination

--- "It makes my heart sick when I remember all the good words and the broken promises." - Chief Joseph ---

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

A sigh, then fluttering of eyes, all from him.

Rocky watched Mordecai whilst giving the tuxedo cat his usual chipper grin and sparking blue eyes. The two of them, along with Ivy, Freckle, Serafine, Nico, Mitzi and Mr. Sweet were seated at a table early in the morning within the Little Daisy Café. The front doors were locked with a closed sign, so nobody could enter.

The dawn’s light gently broke through the windows and laid on surfaces, a warmth gently resting upon everyone’s arms and laps. It was a comforting morning, despite the grim topic they were discussing, and what outcomes would be necessary.

“...well, it’s nice to have you back, Ol’ Serious Face!” Rocky broke the silence for a bit, smiling a bit more. Mordecai raised an eyebrow, tail flicking. He remained silent until Mr. Sweet gave him a gentle nudge.

“...the feeling is mutual, Mr. Rickaby.” Mordecai finally spoke: it wasn’t exactly a lie…but it wasn’t the full truth , either. “Now, elaborate the whole ordeal, and how the six of us are coming to conclude these murders. We are not the police, need I say more?” He gestured towards himself and the rest of the group.

“So that’s why you came over?” Freckle tapped his fingers on a glass of orange juice he had. He was a bit anxious near the tuxedo cat. Mordecai nodded again.

“We overheard de lil conversation wit’ your boss.” Serafine gently ran her fingertips across the blade of her knife. She pointed it at Freckle, and he shrank back, gulping audibly. Mordecai pushed the blade back from Freckle, eyes narrowing when he side–eyed Serafine as a warning.

“So you came up with the idea of…working with us?” Ivy felt Freckle grip her hand.

“Mhmm~ you’re saying dat like it’s a bad ting~ Are you two scared?~” Nico leaned back, smirking.

“Uhhhh,” Ivy’s shoulders tensed up, and Mordecai could be heard quietly muttering, “for Christ’s sake,” at Nico and Serafine’s actions.

“Calm down, you three: I can tell you’re excited.” Mr. Sweet chuckled, facing Mitzi. Mitzi raised a brow, then pursed her lips.

“You wanted to come and discuss why we need these two groups to ban together.” She traced the crevices in the table with her finger.

“With the murders affecting both businesses, it draws people away. I want your little group to come together with mine…kill the predator, so to speak.” Mr. Sweet extinguished his cigar in the ashtray.

“What?! After they tried killing us?!” Ivy blurted out.

“Ivy, honey…it’s only one time that you’ll be working with them.” Mitzi rubbed her temples.

“Despite them literally shooting at us?” Freckle pointed out.

“All a part of de business, petit feu~” Serafine chuckled. Freckle pursed his lips tightly to bite back a grimace.

“Especially wit’ us against de other speakeasy businesses.” Nico smirked, and Serafine nodded.

“Dat’s jus’ business.” She repeated. She analyzed Freckle with narrowed eyes and a shrill grin, watching him sink back in his chair.

“Anyway,” Ivy giggled nervously, pushing away an empty glass, “where do we search first? Didn’t the funeral home collect the bodies for the autopsies?”

“Some are still rotting away,” Mordecai pushed up his pince–nez, dropping his gaze to his lap. He avoided her curious and overall concerned gaze, feeling a pang of regret so suddenly. He shoved it down deep, shoulders dropping as he stared into those yellow eyes of hers.

“...rotting away? Like they haven’t been discovered yet?” Rocky fiddled with a nearby fork, pointing at Mordecai.

“Exactly that.” The tuxedo gave another nod.

“So it could be classified as a murder mystery! To find out who is behind these ploys!” Rocky stood up, gesturing outward in a theatrical fashion. His movements were dramatic and his features were exaggerated. “It could be one of us , even…” He lowered his voice.

“Rocky,” Ivy groaned.

“Aw, let ‘im be dramatic! It’s adorable,” Serafine rested her chin on the backs of her hands. Rocky’s smile broadened, and Nico laughed.

“You look a bit more pleasant dan wit’ you throwin’ dynamite at us.” He commented.

“Do not remind me of that. Ugh, it took forever to get rid of the water and muck in my clothing because of that damned water tower collapsing and combusting.” Mordecai rolled his eyes.

“It was eleven kinds of stupid to use dynamite like dat.” Serafine added on.

“Precisely.” Mordecai sighed sharply.

“Point is, we can surely count on you to figure out what happens next, yes?” Mitzi’s ears flicked up.

“...yes.” Freckle nodded reluctantly.

“So we got our team formed: what now?” Rocky smiled still, tilting his head to the side. That’s when the explanations got interesting…

****

“Any possible suspects?”

“Nothin’ so far, Peekon.”

“Damn…”

Mordecai’s fingers tapped on the cover of the journal he was writing in. The evening brought a nice, sunset glow through the windows of the Savoy’s suite in the Hotel Maribel. The scent of cigarettes was strong, as well as hints of gin and…nicotine? It seemed like it.

“...what about de cat flirtin’ with you?” Nico leaned back, putting his feet up on the table. He crossed his arms, raising a brow.

“...Silas Tueuse? The French actor?” Mordecai recalled. “While rather lewd and ludicrous, I hadn’t suspected anything more than an…” He grimaced, internally shuddering at the innuendos shoved into his face that night. He tilted his head back and forth, mulling for a good word: “... eager , patron.”

“Silas Tueuse? He’s here in Missouri?” Ivy leaned forward, feeling a gentle brushing of Nico’s tail.

“Mhmmm. Stayin’ at de Hotel Maribel.” Serafine hummed. She twirled her knife. “I don’t tink he’s a threat, per se…”

“Everyone is a suspect until proven to be innocent. We are unsure of who and what to trust.” Mordecai chided, writing something down in a journal with a red china pen. He scribbled something out, making a noticeable face. “Ms. May and Mr. Sweet are not suspects. Mr. Sweet was more than just appalled with the murders, keep in mind.” He tapped the pen against the multiple pages of paper.

“And so was Ms. M.! She looked concerned, more than anything.” Rocky looked over Mordecai’s shoulder, and Mordecai slammed the journal shut with one hand, flicking out a knife and holding it towards the other with his other hand.

“Stand away from me, Mr. Rickaby.” He scolded. Rocky moved to the other side, and Mordecai flicked out another knife, his tail thumping violently.

“Ooookay, you are much pricklier than I remember.”

“Back off.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

“And keep that in mind for the future.”

“He’s really prickly, ain’t he?” Serafine commented behind her hand, whispering to Nico.

“Yeah, he really is,” Nico whispered back.

“He was always like this back at Lackadaisy,” Ivy matched their tone, “that’s why Rocky called him ‘Ole Serious Face’, because of how much of a grump he was.”

Nico chuckled, eyes lighting up slightly. “Aww, is dat so?” He turned his head to watch Mordecai. Mordecai rolled his eyes once more, sneering at the commentary.

“You needn’t reminisce, Miss Pepper.” He told her roughly.

“But it’s nice to! I missed your…your…” Ivy faltered. Mordecai raised a brow, clearly unamused. Ivy then brought up, “...punctuality!”

“I am quite punctual, thank you for noticing.” Mordecai grabbed his jacket, putting it back on. “Speaking upon such a topic, I have work to attend to.”

“Lookin’ after Mr. Sweet jus’ in case he ain’t dead?” Serafine smirked.

“I’m his right hand man, Serafine: just because that is my position, does not make Mr. Sweet defenseless.” Mordecai chided again. He walked towards the doors of the suite, gripping the iron handle. He pulled the door inward, opening it, then let go of the handle, his eyes going wide at yet another slumped body against the door. Blood was splattered, and he staggered back, letting out a small noise. Immediately, he reached for his revolver and gripped the handle, cocking it violently as his head snapped around to peer outside of the suite.

“What the…” Serafine stood up, then her ears flattened on the back of her head.

“Holy simoleons…” Ivy whispered, eyes going wide, as well. Mordecai’s eyes scanned the area. He sighed sharply, stepping over the body.

“Nico, Serafine, I’ll be off to tell Mr. Sweet about this unfortunate circumstance.” He fixed his pince–nez. Before anyone could question anything, he was off to inform Mr. Sweet.

“...he was always like dis, huh?” Serafine turned to the Daisy Trio.

“He was, though he wasn’t entirely angry like this.” Ivy commented. “…right?” She turned towards Rocky, who only nodded in confirmation.

“Maybe we can loosen ‘im up…Mr. Sweet said dat we needed to tie up dose loose ends…” Serafine shrugged with a shoulder, playing with her knife. She flicked it out towards Freckle, who flinched and scooted away. “Aw, what is it, chér? You afraid of de lil blade?~” She then giggled, leaning forward as Freckle leaned back, tail fluffing up. “I don’ bite! Hard, at least~”

Ivy’s eyes widened slightly as she pulled Freckle by the arm, yanking him to her side in a protective manner. Nico chuckled.

“Ain’t dat cute?~ De young couple is trying to get away from us, sis.” He commented.

“Mmm, oh I know, brother of mine.” Serafine grinned, baring those sharp fangs of hers. “We ain’t gon’ hurt you two! Unless you cross us…” A twisted gleam in her eyes flickered. Rocky peeked back and forth between the body, then the other four.

“…did you kill them?”

Serafine and Nico paused before bursting into laughter. The Daisy Trio watched in horror.

“Did you…?” Freckle lowered his voice.

“Ah, no, no, petit feu, we ain’t de ones to do dat. Ain’t dat right, Nico?” Serafine smirked.

“Yeah,” Nico nodded, speaking a bit less now.

“See? You got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Serafine smiled fully: though it may or may not have been genuine.

“Yet…” Freckle whispered.

“Don’ worry one bit, chér. We’ll protect you.” Nico chuckled as Ivy backed away. Rocky had begun to skim through the notes.

“Do you want a death wish, Rocky? What are you doing?” Ivy perked up, moving to face him.

“Well, this is certainly a nice change of pace from Mordecai…” Rocky chuckled, examining the pages. His eyes scanned the notes, but then sparked at the sketches in the margins. It was so surreal to find out that Mordecai of all people had a bit of artistic flair. It was endearing, surprising, amazing…everything at once. The spark in Rocky’s eyes faded, and the goofy smile he harnessed shifted into something smaller, thoughtful even. “...these notes aren’t just about the murders…they…” He flipped through the old, warn out pages. “They’re about Atlas.”

“...what?” Ivy rushed to Rocky’s side. He was right: every page had at least one mention of Atlas.

“Peekon is softer dan what he wants to let on.” Serafine made her way to them, taking her time. Her ears flicked in curiosity. “...dat’s why he’s here, den.”

“To solve de murder dat happened a year ago…” Nico raised a brow, lowering himself slightly to see the notes better.

“...he really didn’t betray us. He–he’s only…” Rocky scanned it more, his eyes twitching, then widening slightly more. He dropped the journal at the sounds of gunshots and footsteps. He whipped around and the rest of them stood by the doorway. They watched in awe and shock when they noticed black fabric fluttering, flapping, rushing through the dim lit halls, dodging Mordecai’s bullets.

“Chér?” Serafine then rushed to grab her Boudreaux, gripping it tightly, cocking it. Another gunshot echoed, a bullet whirring into the suite. It didn’t hit anyone, but it made Ivy let out a scream.

Mordecai dodged another bullet, though slamming into a wall. He hissed, eyes narrowed. He watched the cloaked figure’s fingers twiddle, her gloved hand hovering over her strapped revolver. She whipped it out and pulled the trigger…but this time, aiming in the suite. A scream and shatter echoed, and Mordecai let out a strangled breath. He snapped his head to see that Ivy was almost shot at, and it was enough for the figure to run away. He growled, rushing after her, but then she jumped out of an open window. The warmth of the Mssouri air rushed through, gently brushing against Mordecai’s fur. He rushed to the window and peered outward.

“Mordecai! What happened?!” Ivy ran over. “Mordecai?!”

Mordecai’s eyes were narrowed: Ivy noticed that there was a bit of blood splattered on his fur. His gaze remained out the window, and he lost sight of the figure. Though a bit of cloth from the cloak was pierced and flapping on the black fence.

“...there has been an assassination attempt.” He fixed his pince–nez, turning to face her. “Mr. Sweet fought her off first, as did I, however that escalated into a violent fight. We have yet to identify who is doing this. But one thing is for certain…” He glanced back at the body, and the rest of the group. Ivy’s gaze bore through him in fear, and his heart squeezed. His ears flattened against his skull.

“That is…?” Ivy nudged gently. Nico raised a brow in unison with Serafine, sharing glances. Freckle reached towards Ivy, and Rocky had picked up the journal. Mordecai’s brows furrowed. A scowl lit up his features.

“...there is more than one killer on our hands.”

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 7 months

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BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER THREE: Complicated Conversations

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

--"A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. That's why there are so few good conversations: due to scarcity, two intelligent talkers seldom meet." - Truman Capote--

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

“...this really isn’t a good time, honey...there’s been another murder.”

Rocky’s usual smile dropped at Mitzi’s words, his eyes wide with concern. Ivy gripped onto Freckle’s hand for support and her ever growing anxiety. Freckle’s eyes were dulled, as he prayed silently, over and over…and Mitzi was right: there was yet another unfortunate soul killed in the darkest corner of Lackadaisy. They all sat at the bar, discussing the unfortunate events.

“...another?” Rocky broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Wh–when? When did this…” Freckle trailed off.

“It happened sometime when we were asleep, I guess.” Ivy chimed in. Her ears flattened, and she glanced in between the other patrons.

“These aren't the…best circumstances that have befallen us.” Wick gripped his cup of rum. He blinked once, twice, then fully turned towards Zib, as the other squeezed his shoulder as a sign of comfort. Though his yellow eyes showed uncertainty, even worry.

“Who would even do something like this?” Ivy hid the urge to grimace, so she pursed her lips tightly.

“I have good idea who vanted this to happen…” Viktor growled out, slowly cleaning a shot glass, his grip being rough. Anger showed in his eyes, and eventually he broke the glass, a shattering ringing throughout everyone’s ears.

“Viktor…I warned you about handling glass.” Mitzi bit back a groan.

“Isn’t he implying that the ones behind the murder are Marigold?” Zib pulled out the cigarette from his mouth. “Specifically…” He waved his hand a bit in a gesturing motion.

“Mordecai?” Ivy caught on. She flinched at the sudden growling of Viktor, and another shot glass shattering and cracking. She stared at him, wide–eyed, shrinking back.

“Viktor!” Mitzi exclaimed.

“It could be…but the last time we really saw him was, well…the run–in, and the dynamite.” Freckle brought up.

“Which you, for a matter of fact, still need to explain what happened,” Wick cut in.

“We’d rather not…” Freckle’s ears flicked back.

“There’s gonna need to be an explanation for all of this later, though.” Zib pinched the bridge of his nose. Mitzi frowned, rubbing her temples now…she left the others to discuss the dynamite incident, known as the last run–in they had with the Marigold Trio. She really needed some alone time…so she left to go to her husband’s office, and looked at the painting of Atlas, still hung on the wall, looking good as new. She gripped her necklace gently, taking in a breath and closing her eyes, going deep into thought…that was until the ringing phone snapped her out of her thoughts. She slowly turned and walked towards it, fluffing up her boa as she sighed answering it…she hadn’t known he would be calling…

****

“Mitzi…we have a problem.”

Mitzi blinked: Mr. Sweet’s voice caught her completely off guard. Her ear flicked, and she gripped the phone.

“It’s happening to you too?” She fiddled with her necklace, twisting it gently, nervously. The words came out of her mouth before she could properly register it. “All the murders?” She lowered her voice.

Mr Sweet chewed on his bottom lip, looking towards the Marigold Trio. Mordecai looked deep in thought, Serafine was rambling on in concern and confusion about everything, and Nico was replying to her comments, still rather confused on what’s happening. The siblings noticed Mordecai’s ears flick up, after hearing Mitzi’s name. Mr. Sweet continued,

“Yes…and we don’t know who is responsible…but it knocked the wind out of Mordecai and the Savoys.”

Mordecai growled, ears flattening on his head: he didn’t get the ‘wind knocked out of him’, nor did he want Mitzi of all people to hear that…he was just squeamish in certain aspects, and that murder…he was getting out of his head when he felt a squeeze on his shoulder, and he begrudgingly eased.

“Is there anything we can do? We can’t just let these things go out of control..!”

Mr. Sweet tapped his fingers on his desk. Mordecai watched him expectantly with the Savoy siblings. “...we may need to do the unexpected, my dear.”

Mitzi froze up, ears flicking. “...what do you have in mind?”

“The little trio you have…working with mine.”

Mordecai’s tail fluffed up, eyes narrowing, letting out a small growl. Serafine chuckled, shaking her head. She nudged his shoulder.

“Ya heard dat, Peekon? We get to see de lil trio we ran into a week ago.” She teased.

“Mmm, I tink he ain’t so excited about it, sis.” Nico smirked. Mordecai rolled his eyes, standing and walking over to Mr.. Sweet. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Sweet silenced him by holding a hand up.

“Things will certainly be interestin’ with Mordecai back in the mix…” Mitzi stared at Atlas’s old desk, seeing the New Year’s of 1926, framed in a photo. She smiled slightly, fondly, gripping her necklace again. “...mmm. If it’s a yes from Rocky, Ivy and Freckle, we’ll meet tomorrow. Little Daisy Café, in the morning…but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Be careful running the business, Mitzi…things can crumble if taken too far.” Mr. Sweet spoke it as a farewell, but meant it as a warning. Mitzi hung up, and Mr. Sweet turned towards the Marigold Trio. “Well, you three are going to—”

“—figure out who or what is behind this debacle? With that little…posse?” Mordecai spoke, his tones laced with disdain.

“Now Mordecai: I know you aren’t too fond of them…but just this one time, you need to work with them.” Mr. Sweet clapped his shoulder, giving him a knowing gaze. Mordecai scowled, brows furrowing. However, he took a deep breath and nodded.

“...yes sir. We’ll do as we're told.” He remained professional, when in reality he wanted to ram his fist into the drywall. Lackadaisy, of all the people? Memories weren’t doing him kindly. They never did, anymore. Mr. Sweet then gestured for them to leave, and Serafine and Nico did. Mordecai watched as they shut the door behind him.

“Son…I know this is rough.”

Rather surprising, coming from him. Mordecai raised a brow.

“I haven’t a clue what—”

“Cut the crap. Look at me.”

A sudden outburst, but whatever. It certainly caught Mordecai’s attention. He stared into his eyes, feeling the weight of his boss’s hands on his shoulders. Mr. Sweet leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, a stern look now hardening on his features. Finally, he lowered his voice,

“I know exactly why you’re here.”

“Pardon?”

“In Marigold. Don’t lie to me now.”

“I can assure you sir, that—“ Mordecai let out a small noise of shock, feeling the gentle squeezing of his shoulders.

“You’re here ‘cause of solving the damn murder of dear ole Atlas May…aren’t you?”

Mordecai’s blood went cold, his tail fluffing up. His facial expression remained nonchalant, but his tail was a dead giveaway.

“Of course, back when we met Mitzi for lunch and told her Atlas was goin’ over his head, you gave me that old look of yours.” Asa explained. “I’ve known this whole time, Mordecai.”

“I…I’m at a loss for words.” Mordecai faltered. His ear flicked. Was he not discreet enough? Not careful enough? His head was filled with multiple questions at once. But mainly, he was just scolding himself. Why hadn’t he—

“You aren’t going to find anything useful here.” Mr. Sweet then took a seat, lighting one last cigar and intaking the smoke. “You’re too brazen for your own good, son. Now, I want you and the Savoys to meet at the Little Daisy Café tomorrow.”

Mordecai raised a brow, but didn’t question anything. A bubbling hatred began to rise to the surface. He didn’t remember the orange cat…what was his name again? Frisky? Ah, Freckle…Ivy just brings too much pain for Mordecai, he can’t bear to look her in the eyes…then, there was Roark. Rocky Rickaby, a damn psychopath. Though the thought of him brought a sense of familiarity, a sense of comfort…

He silently chuckled at the recollection of playing Waffle’s Advocate. He will admit: he did miss that rambunctious ragamuffin…though he didn’t miss how messy Rocky was with pancakes and syrup.

Finally, he replied with a dejected sigh: “...fine.”

“Good.” Mr. Sweet grinned. “Now you can be off…I understand how shaken up you must be.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Sweet,” Mordecai pulled away, “I am not ‘shaken up’.”

“You don’t need to keep this up.” Mr. Sweet began sternly. “...sleep on it. Then come back here in the morning.”

Mordecai then turned on his heel to leave. The body plagued his memory. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he ran his hands through the top of his head to slick back his hair. He treaded carefully, quietly, and his breathing became slower. He seemed collected, but he didn’t want to show the pure annoyance he felt. God, this was going to give him one hell of a migraine…

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 7 months

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Do you have drawings/designs for all your OC's, or just Lacrimosa? Because I looked through your posts some and couldn't find them :/

Oh, I do!! I just haven't gotten around to posting them. Here's one full piece of art I did with everyone in the Rose Brigade:

Also here's (in order) Silas, Mandisa, Raquelle, Celeste, and James:

(this is an old concept for Celeste! As soon as I make the official one, I'll add it here :))

I hope this helps! I'll also try to post them more, too.

#Below the Surface - Lacka-Fic #lackadaisy #original characters #ask #answered ask #thanks for the ask! <3 #silas tueuse #raquelle tueuse #james monroe #mandisa sephtis #celeste legerra-smitt #lackadaisy ocs

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samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires · 6 months

Text

BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER FIVE:

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

---“Often enough the manipulator approaches, stimulates, or even creates a powerful wish or a strong desire in the target's mind.” – Sapir Handelman ---

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

“Need you go on about this murder, dear?”

“I have to: Lacrimosa’s orders.”

Mandisa had slid off her cloak, and sat on the couch in the jazz lounge. Barely anyone was there, aside from her, and her lovely Maine Coon lover: James Monroe. An author from England, traveling for inspiration and businesses. He had treated her better than her ex husband ever had. She didn’t feel like an object around James.

“You have to realize that you’ve been running yourself ragged.” James gave her a knowing look. Mandisa craned her neck up to look into his blue eyes, and how they softened when they were around her.

“Business is business, my darling. I cannot control that.” Mandisa replied, a bit curtly, even. James merely raised an eyebrow. He sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“Let me make you a drink, at least…you need to unwind.” He insisted. He turned on his heel and left to the other direction, his bushy tail gently brushing against her arm. Mandisa turned her head to watch him, and she held her arms. A faint smile came across her slightly wrinkled face, and those wrinkles did represent a bit of happiness. The dimples she harnessed whenever she smiled. Her blistering glare made her dangerously attractive, at least to James.

After a while, he came back with a cup and a saucer of Saiidi tea: her favorite. Seeped for five minutes over a burning fire. The fragrance calmed her down, and her ears slicked back. Her fingers traced the porcelain cup gently, and she held the handle. She brought it to her mouth and sipped carefully.

“...thank you, James.” She whispered.

“Anytime, love.” James pressed a gentle hand against hers. “How are Malachi and Cassandra?”

“Both are excelling in school. Cassandra is enjoying her art class, and Malachi is exceptionally good at baseball.”

“Ah, perfect!”

“Not perfect: …comforting.”

“Comforting?”

“Knowing how resilient they are, despite not having Aziraphale with them. Those two are thicker than thieves, now…”

James gave another smile, then a hum as an answer. “You’re a good mother, my dear. I am unable to comprehend how much you stress over being terrible.”

“I want a better life for them, James.” Mandisa’s smile dropped, and it faded into something sullen. “I shouldn’t be doing this job, but after… this, ” She gestured to her glass eye, and the jagged scratches on her eye, “this and the rumors…rumors of a divorce between ‘the Marvelous Mandisa’ and her ever-so-loving husband?”

“Is that why you chose to hide away?” James’ voice turned gentle. Mandisa squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing ever so slightly. She turned her head to look up at him, her eyes becoming glossy.

“Not hide away: run. ” She lowered her voice. “Princeton was my home…until Lorenzo ruined it for me.” She hissed out the last part. “I’m already torn. I couldn't take Aziraphale, despite me wanting to get him into a safer environment. Lorenzo didn’t listen to me, nor did he care.”

“...it was all arranged, correct?”

“Pardon?”

“The marriage, I mean.”

“Unfortunately…though he started off nice…things went horrible slowly.”

“My condolences, Mandisa.”

“Don’t be: condolences don’t convert already–done damage.” She went silent once she heard the familiar clicking of heels. She sighed, straightening herself up and placing the cup and saucer down. James gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, before walking off, just in time for Lacrimosa to walk in. She wasn’t in her usual flapper dress. In fact, she was in her suit. Her slacks were black, her undershirt was white, and her jacket was dark blue, with a fresh rose regalia pinned onto the lapel. She fixed her cufflinks, her tail swishing.

“Mandisa, honey…how did the assassination go?” She kept her gaze down. The brim of her fedora was covering her amber–orange eyes, hiding the indication of how she was feeling.

“A failed assassination attempt. Heller is a damn monster with that gun.” Mandisa remained calm. Lacrimosa raised a brow. She slowly walked over to the booth, watching the Sphinx cat in front of her.

“So you’re telling me you failed?” She spoke in a dulcet tone.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hmm.”

“I can certainly try again: though it’s going to be a better plan in order to execute it perfectly.”

“Are you defying my orders?”

“I–-excuse me?” Mandisa stared in disbelief. Lacrimosa lifted her head, showing a flash of disdain in her eyes.

“I heard through your yammering that the plan didn’t work: it was the fact that you didn’t try hard enough .” She made herself tower over the other. Mandisa’s ears flattened on her head, and she bit her tongue.

“...you’re correct, ma’am.” She gave a singular nod. “I should’ve tried harder.”

Lacrimosa smiled a bit. “Good: that’s all I needed to hear. Now…where’s that violin of yours? How about you play us a symphony?~” She smirked.

“...I don’t play for anyone but my children.” Mandisa stood her ground.

“Mhh. A pity.” Lacrimosa toyed with her cufflinks, now. “Mmm. Alright. I suppose I can let this slide once. But do me a favor?”

Mandisa blinked. “Yes?”

“If you fail another mission for me, then you are certainly going to be replaced by Silas: we both don’t want that to happen.” Lacrimosa tilted her head slightly. Mandisa pursed her lips tightly, nodding again.

“Yes…you are correct.” She choked out.

“Good: now, I’m off to the Hotel Maribel to discuss some…business, with dear ole’ Mr. Sweet.” Lacrimosa tipped her hat. “Make sure the Tueuse siblings don't cause any trouble~”

“You get to deal with them in the hotel, remember?”

“...agh, damnit. How didn’t I recall?”

Mandisa had to fight off a smirk. “Apologies for the inconvenience.”

“Whatever is an inconvenience can be shifted into a convenience~” Lacrimosa waved a hand. She cocked her M1911, then went to a coat rack in the front of the jazz lounge. She threw it on, and glared over her shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me: you’ve reached the top, so don’t tumble to the bottom.” She gripped the door handle and flew it open. She walked out, slamming the door shut, and Mandisa was alone with her thoughts. She sat down in the booth, fingers tapping gently at her cup of tea now…it was cold. She ran a head on her head, eyes dulling. She gripped her ear.

“Damnit…” She whispered. Lacrimosa was certainly interesting, coming to emotional outbursts or reactions. She would be sweeter than honey one minute, then an absolute monster the next. She was very unpredictable.

Mandisa felt a sudden weight in the booth, and a hand on her shoulder. She was pulled closer by James, and rested his head on her head. His eyes closed slightly.

“...I know it’s rough…yet you’re doing so good.”

“I hardly recall being drained as ‘doing good’.”

“Yet here you are, trying your hardest.”

Mandisa hummed at the comment. “I don’t feel it’s enough.”

“...to me, it is.” James slowly reached for her hand, his fingers laced with hers. He smiled slightly, his eyes squinting slightly. Mandisa cracked a grin, her dimples being accentuated. It made James feel slightly relieved to witness her smile now.

…it made him feel complete.

“...where is Silas, again?”

“He and Raquelle are at Hotel Maribel. Raquelle had gotten too tipsy to return, and Silas had to deal with doing another murder.”

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“I surely am.”

“Hey now.”

“You know it’s true, James.” Mandisa pulled her hand away reluctantly. Yet she didn’t fight James’ thumb running against her knuckles gently. “I wouldn’t be here if Lorenzo wasn’t unfaithful.”

“If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have known how much of a lovely person you are.” James whispered. Mandisa stared at him. She gripped his hand one more time.

“You’re too sweet.” She mumbled.

“I’m only speaking facts.” James replied. He tilted her chin slightly, eyes dulling. “...I will say: you deserve every ounce of happiness…especially after being torn up in the past. Quite literally…” He chuckled awkwardly. Mandisa rolled her eyes, unable to disguise her grin.

“Thank you for the reminder.” She commented. Her eyes fluttered wide open as a soft kiss was planted on her forehead.

“Not a problem, love.” James brought his hand to her cheek. “Not a problem at all.”

Mandisa held the hand closer to her cheek, and she pulled herself closer to him. His hands now rested on her hips, and the two of them were inches away from each other’s faces. Finally, after breaking the tension, Mandisa pulled herself inward to kiss James, her eyes shutting slowly. At first, James flinched, but he eased, his hands once again gliding up to the sides of her face.

She wasn’t worried about the cold tea anymore: because she was in his warm embrace.

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

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