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unscrupulousartist · 9 months

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hellerby fic, part 3/10

10 March 1929

Like most days since returning to the Lackadaisy, Mordecai woke in his modest one bedroom apartment between soft cotton sheets. Unlike most days, he was woken by a hyperactive Ivy Pepper.

"Good morning!" She cheered, bounding across his little room to pull open his curtains. Leafy plants sat on the white windowsill. It's already mid morning, but the North facing windows denied the worst of the sunlight from his personal sanctuary. "I need you to drive me to St Charles!"

Groaning, Mordecai pulled a pillow over his head. "Ask Viktor."

"Viktor's tired from the Kehoe run."

"I'm tired from the Kehoe run. Or have you forgotten, it was twilight when we returned."

Little hands took hold of the edge of his blankets and yanked, exposing him. "Viktor never betrayed my trust to work with the enemy," she huffed and grabbed his pillow.

He hissed. "You can't keep using that excuse to—to—bully me into doing what you want!"

"I can," she propped her hands on her hips. "And I will. Now get dressed." Sticking her tongue out at him, she spun around to stomp out into the main room. He took notice of her dress; a more conservative cut, reminiscent of something his mother might have worn to church, had his mother paid any attention to fashion.

Rolling onto his back, he allowed himself a moment to stare at the ceiling and rub the sleep from his eyes. At length he sat up, running his claws through his fur to attempt at taming the inevitable bedhead. Partially dressing, he ventured after Ivy to make his way to the tiny bathroom.

Over the years, Mordecai had collected a number of items to decorate his home. The initial design had, of course, been plotted under Mitzi's careful eye. It showed most in the cozy sitting area, with curved plush chairs clustered around a little fireplace, mostly ignored in favour of the desk set up adjacent to the kitchenette. At the time, Mitzi insisted it was for her own comfort, and indeed she had spent many afternoons sprawled across his otherwise unused chaise to complain about Zib, or Atlas, or Church, or whichever poor soul had evoked her trivial anger that day. Now, it's where Ivy sat.

"Aren't you ready yet?" She kicked up her feet, frowning at him.

"If you expected expediency, you should've called ahead," he left the bathroom door open as he fished for his brush. "What are you dressed up for? Where are we going?"

"Nevermind what!" She pointed a finger at him, then proceeded to outline a series of complex directions—no doubt pulled from the depths of her memory.

He rolled his eyes, but let her rant as he brushed his teeth and wandered around the apartment watering plants. Her voice followed him back into his room as he finished up his routine, purposefully going slow to rile her up. Taking a cue from her tasteful earrings and necklaces, he donned his favourite cufflinks and picked out his nicest shoes.

"Finally!" She jumped up while he pulled on his jacket. "Why do you take so long!?"

"I could go back to bed," he reminded.

"No, no, no!" Scooping a long box under an arm, she moved to push him towards the door. "Let's go!"

"How did you get in, anyway?" He asked, pausing to lock up. "Do I need to dispose of my doorman?"

"What you need are better windows," she snickered.

"The fire escape, of course," he sighed.

Offering his arm, they took the stairs at a moderate pace. They bid the doorman a good day, then walked the three blocks to the Lackadaisy Cafe to borrow one of the company cars. It was only Horatio behind the counter, and Ivy chatted with him for a few minutes while Mordecai continued to the garage. He drove around to pick her up out front, and they were on their way.

It wasn't until they were out of St Louis proper that Ivy looked at their surroundings. "Take that left!" She pointed at an oncoming intersection.

"This would be easier if you just told me where we were going."

"I told you, we're going to St Charles!"

Hackles rising, an old memory came to him. The details were fuzzy, the context unclear.

"I'm drivin'—" Rocky hiccupped, laughed, and wrestled his way past Mordecai to the driver's seat.

Swaying on his feet, Mordecai tried to follow, only to stand awkwardly in the open door. He blinked. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace special," Rocky grinned. Then he took hold of the front of Mordecai's vest and started hauling him into the car—and, consequently, into his lap.

Feeling loose and amenable, Mordecai let the musician maneuver him up and over into the bench seat. He rolled with the motion, ending upside-down with his feet against the passenger door. Which was when he noticed: "Where'd my shoe go?"

This time, he recognized the bridge.

"There's a little road, a couple miles along," she gestured to the other bank of the Missouri River. Beyond her side of the vehicle, a streetcar rumbled past in the opposite direction taking people toward St Louis. "I remember, there was a funny rock with a tree growing up on top of it."

"Fascinating," he scanned the road periodically as they ambled alongside traffic, wedged between an empty farm truck and a couple other leisure cars. "Perhaps it would be helpful to consult a map."

"There weren't many signs," she admitted.

He sighed. "I'm beginning to think you don't actually know where we are going."

"I do know," she insisted, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "It's just, been awhile since the last time I was there."

"Of course," he raised his chin to put on an air of arrogance. "Do I at least get to know the name of the person you're courting?"

Her nose wrinkled. "You're not allowed to judge him."

"Judge?" He raised a brow at her. "Who do you take me for?"

"Shush you," she swatted his shoulder, pouting. "You think you’re so clever."

Humming, he caught a glimpse of the little turn off that disappeared beneath the bridge.

The car bumped over the uneven path. Boneless, Mordecai noticed the reflection of headlights in the Missouri from where he was plastered against the passenger door window. The truss bridge passed out of and into focus, and he shifted to rub his dry eyes and look at Rocky. "Where are we?"

"He wakes!" Rocky sang. Changing gears, the car jolted to a stop and the engine went quiet; though the lights stayed on.

"So it seems," Mordecai hummed.

"Are you sure that we are awake?" Rocky asked. Only, his voice dipped theatrically and he turned to face Mordecai. One hand braced on the bench seat, beside Mordecai's knee, and he leaned close. "It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think—" reaching into his jacket, Rocky pulled out his flask. "—the duke was here, and bid us follow him?"

Mouth dry, Mordecai pressed himself back against the door. "What?"

Rocky sighed, and uncapped the flask. "My own fault, for forgetting."

They lost their entourage one by one to the major intersections before Ivy pointed out the funny boulder wearing a tree. It was nearly another half hour of zig zagging through the outskirts of St Charles, then they pulled onto a semi affluent road. The houses there were modestly spaced between privacy bushes, offering an allusion of wealth.

"There!" Ivy leaned over the dashboard to point at a specific house. It was differentiated by plant boxes in the window and meticulously tended flowers. "Pull over, pull over!"

"Calm down," Mordecai took his time parallel parking, eyeing an angle that he might be able to see from the front window. "Does your father know you're making housecalls?"

"No," she glared at him as she pushed open her door. "And if you tell him, I'll sneak mayonnaise into your office."

His tongue curled in disgust, but she had already jumped out of the car. Following, he caught up to her on the cobblestone path to the front door. "And what if I tell Viktor?"

"Viktor is the one who told me to come here," she boasted. Juggling the long box she'd carted the whole way, she took hold of the door knocker and struck the hammer three times.

"Then why not take Viktor?" Mordecai crossed his arms. "And don’t give me that excuse about the Kehoe run."

"You know how Viktor is," she raised her brows.

Then the door opened, and an older lady frowned at them. She was dressed in something borrowed from the previous century, with narrow glasses and curls piled beneath a bonnet. "I've already found the word of God," she clipped. "And I'm not interested in buying."

"Goodday!" Ivy demured, performing a perfunctory curtsy. "Mrs McMurray?"

The name registered, and Mordecai's ear twitched.

"Yes," said Mrs McMurray. "I don't fancy on repeating myself."

"We’re not trying to sell anything. I was hoping to visit with Calvin?" Ivy asked, tone sweet and eyes innocent. "My name is Ivy. Ivy Pepper? I brought Calvin a present, for his birthday."

"Oh," Mrs McMurray seemed to relax, her expression turning to curiosity. "He never mentioned you."

"He does seem awful shy," Ivy agreed, nodding. "I've asked Rocky about a million times to bring me over, but—" Ivy hissed and bit her cheek when Mordecai stepped on her toe.

Mid headshake, Mrs McMurray didn't seem to notice. "Say no more. That nephew o’ mine is half handful, half dalliance, and not a speck of common sense. Come in, come in—" she stepped back, opening the door wide for them to enter. "The boys are working in the yard, we'll have to call them in for tea."

"Splendid," Ivy grinned, nearly vibrating as she tried to control her excitement. She bustled in, wiping her shoes and moving far enough along for Mordecai to follow.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he managed not to grit his teeth around the words.

"Of course," said Mrs McMurray. She shut them in, then gave him a considering look. "You must be Miss Pepper's chaperone. Mr..?"

Behind Mrs McMurray's back, Ivy pretended to gag.

"Mordecai Heller," he introduced. "I used to work with Miss Pepper's father—I've known her for quite a few years now."

"How quaint," Mrs McMurray intoned, eyes flat. "And what is it you do, Mr Heller?"

Ivy blanched, panic causing her fur to rise.

"Accounting," answered Mordecai. "Your roses are growing nicely. Do you tend to them yourself?"

"Yes," Mrs McMurray preened, her shoulders squaring. "A gentleman who knows his flora?"

"Plants are easier to understand than people," he explained.

"Well, then we should take tea in the garden. It's a good day for it." She hustled ahead of them at a good pace, spry for an elderly.

Ivy waited for him to walk beside her, and leaned close to whisper. "A gentleman who knows his flora?"

"Ivy-Ivy?" He mocked.

"Shut up."

"I hope Calvin doesn’t mind seeing his supervisor on his birthday."

"You're not anybody's supervisor, Mordecai."

"The paperwork says otherwise."

"Here we are!" Mrs McMurray announced as she threw open the back door. She charged ahead, maneuvering down the steps and toward a grassy patio surrounded by fruit trees and shrubbery. "Calvin! Roark! We've guests!"

Ivy elbowed ahead to pause on the stair; her ears perked and angled forward. Her grip on the gift tightened as Mordecai loomed on the step above her. Following her line of sight, he quickly determined the cause of her symptoms.

"Guests?" Freckle asked. He stood in about the middle of the lawn, a hatchet in hand for splitting wood, dressed down to his undershirt and suspenders. He blinked in the sunlight, lean muscles on display. A pile of logs beside him explained his state.

Next to him, in a similar sort of undress, Rocky dropped the two splinters of wood he had been carrying to a wheelbarrow.

"You have me at a disadvantage—" Rocky wagged his brows as he shrugged out of his vest. The whole while, Rocky managed to keep a hand on Mordecai's chest, pushing him lightly against—

"Miss Pepper!" Rocky shouted, taking immediate notice of them both. "What are you doing here?"

Ivy raised a hand, fingers waving as she held the gift with her elbows.

"She's come along to visit your cousin, Roark," Mrs McMurray tutted. "I thought, I surely misheard when Miss Pepper said you refused to bring her along for introductions. Have you no consideration for your family, Roark?"

Freckle coughed, and Rocky scooped the dropped wood to toss into the wheelbarrow. "I considered us to be living in progressive times, dear Aunt. If the boy wanted to introduce her to his mother, he would've invited her along ages ago."

Ivy chewed on her lip as Freckle panicked and looked at her. Mordecai prodded her along.

"Yes, I did wonder at that," Mrs McMurray narrowed her eyes at Freckle.

All of Freckle's fur stood on end, his tail raising straight as his shoulders hunched. "We work together—" he glanced at his mother, back at Ivy, then turned to the ground. "We never—um—"

"You know how he is," Rocky placed a hand on each of Freckle's shoulders, pushing as he spoke to Mrs McMurray. "Our Funny Freckle can barely speak to you, Dear Aunt. How did you imagine him approaching an intimidating figure like Miss Pepper?"

Snickering, Ivy smiled as Mrs McMurray looked back at her. "It's lovely to be here," she deflected.

Sighing, Mordecai edged past them all to choose a seat. He tuned out the idle chatter as he studied the round table set in the rectangular space. There were only four seats, each angled so one's back faced a corner. Seeing few opportunities for true symmetry, he clenched his fists and picked the spot with the best view of the ingress.

Ivy bounded over as Mrs McMurray followed Rocky and Freckle inside, and dropped into the seat next to him. A pleased smile decorated her face, and her eyes seemed wistful. "Did you see how surprised he was?"

"No more surprised than me," Mordecai removed his glasses to inspect the lenses, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "I somehow doubt that Viktor advised you to ambush Mr McMurray in his home."

"Not in so many words," Ivy shrugged, focusing on carefully placing the gift in the center of the table.

"Just the other day he called McMurray a weak jawed milk drinker, unfit for our lifestyle."

Gasping, Ivy punched his shoulder. "He did not!"

"Not in so many words," Mordecai shrugged, brows quirking at her as he cleaned his glasses.

"You'll be nice today, Mordecai," she hissed. "I really like him."

"Ah, yes, the one quality I am known for," he replaced his glasses. "My niceness."

They had a couple more minutes to quietly bicker before Mrs McMurray returned with a tea-laden tray. Five sets, Mordecai noted, plus a little jug of syrup. "Make a bit of space please, Miss Pepper," she directed, not-unkindly. Ivy scrambled to pick up the gift again, holding it in her lap. "Thank you—Roark says you work together. What instrument do you play?"

"Not in the band," Ivy managed an awkward laugh, nodding in thanks as Mrs McMurray placed a teacup and saucer in front of her. "I—um—sometimes I wait tables at the Lackadaisy."

"Neither of them take their jobs very seriously," Mordecai added. "But the customers like them, so Mrs—" he hesitated a moment, and settled on a borrowed euphemism, "—M keeps them around."

Ivy's lips pinched as she glared at him.

"Roark takes very few things seriously," Mrs McMurray sighed. "And Calvin?"

"We're lucky to have him," Mordecai managed. Ivy relaxed into a small smile. "He's good at… fixing things."

"He's always had a mendful spirit," Mrs McMurray nodded.

The door opened again, and Freckle stumbled out, as if pushed. Freezing, he glanced up at the table with wide eyes and pinpricked pupils; but he was well dressed, with a jacket overtop of a pinstriped vest.

Rocky waltzed out a moment later, violin and bow in hand. He wore his usual duds, sans jacket, with his sleeves rolled up. "Hark! Have you started without us?"

"Heaven forbid anything should start without you, Roark," Mrs McMurray tutted. "Calvin, come sit at the table. Roark, something soothing, if you'd be so inclined."

"Of course, Dear Aunt," he fell into a deep bow, then kicked Freckle into motion. As Freckle joined them at the table, sparing Ivy a shy smile, Rocky put his instrument to his shoulder to tune.

Though Mordecai had never made a habit of watching Rocky play—the opposite, in fact, had been his general goal—he'd had, over the years, plenty of opportunities. Enough to realize that, regardless of piece or company, each performance always brought the same image to mind.

Bow flying across strings, Rocky seemed preoccupied in some other plane of awareness. He stood on the car's roof, the headlights catching the underside of his chin and arms as he plucked a pizzicato. The fireflies were out and dancing about his head, an ethereal chaos that incited the musician to laugh and spin, tail wavering.

Mordecai's grip tightened on the flask, holding the borrowed drink between both hands as he leaned heavier on the car's hood. "What song is that?"

Rocky slowed, the rhythm cutting in half as he peered down at Mordecai. "Hm?"

"Well, Calvin," Mrs McMurray settled in the spot between her son and Mordecai. "Now is as good a time as any to say how you met Miss Pepper."

"Ah—?" Freckle grimaced and looked at Ivy.

"Rocky brought him along to work," she jumped in. "And at the end of the day I asked him to come dancing."

"How forward," said Mrs McMurray.

Beyond the table, Rocky hopped onto the splitting log. He cocked a toe and pulled a long note from his instrument, then pitched into sing-song. "Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are, of imagination, all compact."

“No quoting, please, Roark,” Mrs McMurray sighed. But she readied the fifth cup for him, placing it on the arch of the table closest to Rocky. “Or, if you can’t contain yourself, something less frivolous than Midsummer’s Night.”

“Do you have requests, Dear Aunt?” he asked, pivoting into a spin. “Perhaps from the happy tale of Hamlet?”

Freckle snickered and Ivy grinned.

“That’s Shakespeare?” Mordecai guessed.

Rolling her eyes, Ivy elbowed him. “A little literature wouldn’t hurt you.”

“A big enough tome could cause significant blunt force trauma,” Mordecai challenged.

Ivy’s eyes widened as Freckle winced; she tilted her head significantly at Mrs McMurray.

Sighing, he shifted in his chair to address the matriarch directly. “That was a joke. I prefer to restrain my small talk to shrubberies,” he reached as if to feel the closest leaves, but they remained too far away. “Is this a Japanese Cypress?”

It proved a decent tactic. “You’ve a keen eye, Mr Heller,” Mrs McMurray appraised. She slipped into an easy lecture, and Mordecai made sure to hum and nod and ask questions at appropriate intervals. Rocky played an Irish aire, and Ivy leaned close to whisper with Freckle. Quietly, she passed him the gift box; he peeked inside, grinned, and looked up at her shyly.

A hasty equilibrium held for half an hour, before the performer descended from his pedestal and approached the table. “I’ve heard not a word of dancing,” said Rocky. Juggling bow and instrument in the same hand, he tipped a generous portion of syrup into his teacup.

“Then you need to clean the cotton from your ears,” Mrs McMurray drawled. “For it was the first thing Miss Pepper mentioned.”

“And you dropped the subject,” Rocky nodded. “No doubt thinking of our dear Freckle’s two left feet.”

Ivy giggled, and Rocky winked at her.

“Rocky,” Freckle hissed.

“Is there supposed to be a story there?” Mrs McMurray asked, looking over her glasses at Rocky. “Or are you determined to embarrass your cousin at every turn?”

“I entreat you to imagine a scenario where both could be true,” Rocky grinned at his aunt. “For Miss Pepper has spent many an evening teaching our dear Freckle to dance.” He cradled his fiddle like a ukulele, and plucked a quick tune. “Perhaps your eyes would believe faster than your imagination.”

Squealing, Ivy jumped from her seat and pulled Freckle with her. “Come on!”

Laughing, Rocky managed a quick sip of his tea before readying again his instrument. Propping a foot on Ivy’s abandoned chair, his eyes swept over Mordecai. But it was only for a moment, then the musician started a fast paced jazz improvisation. It was somewhat lacking without accompaniment, but it was more than enough for Ivy to guide a smiling Freckle through the Lindy Hop.

“How lively,” Mrs McMurray failed to keep some fondness from her voice, and she managed a small smile. She raised her voice to address the merrymakers. “And where did you learn to dance, Miss Pepper?”

“Mostly my godmother,” she admitted with a laugh, spinning with Freckle. Her coordination survived the extra task of talking. “But all her friends took turns teaching. Even Mordecai!”

“Ol’ Serious Face?” Rocky snickered.

“Don’t be rude, Roark.”

“It’s simple fact, Dear Aunt,” Rocky soothed. “Though my memory might fail me, I am certain I have never seen this cat dance.”

Mordecai rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. “Many things have failed you, Roark.”

Gasping, Rocky struck a discordant note, then pointed his bow at Mordecai. “Take that back.”

“Calm down, Rocky,” Ivy giggled. She slowed to a stand, arms still around Freckle.

“Nope, no, only Aunt Nina calls me Roark,” Rocky shuddered.

Ivy sighed. “Are you done being dramatic? I was having fun.”

“The dramatics are never truly over,” said Rocky. He took the opportunity to slurp more tea.

“It was nice of you to come visit,” said Freckle. He looked almost at Ivy, smiling.

“I’ve been meaning to, for a while,” said Ivy. “But someone seemed to think I shouldn’t come over.”

“Let me play the lion too,” Rocky performed another gasp, then raised his voice. “I will roar that I will do any man’s heart good to hear me! I will roar that I will make the Duke say—”

“No more quotes, Roark!” Mrs McMurray yelled over him.

A prickle wound down Mordecai’s spine. He couldn’t help asking: “Who is this Duke?”

Rocky turned to him with a wide smile.

“Nevermind Shakespeare,” Ivy groaned. “Be quiet, Mordecai, or I’ll make you dance with me.”

“That would be a sight to see,” said Rocky.

Mordecai made a show of pulling his watch from his pocket. “If you’re finished dancing with Mr McMurray, perhaps it is time we go.”

Ivy opened her mouth to complain, but Rocky interjected. “A serendipitous notion. You’re no doubt going my way, you can give me a lift.” He turned to Freckle and Ivy and waved his instrument at them both. “Chop, chop, lovebirds. Say your saluts so we can be on our way.”

“Rocky!” Ivy stomped a foot.

But Mrs McMurray was unaffected. Standing, she picked up her teacup to take with her. “I suppose it’s prudent to take opportunities when you see them, Roark. But perhaps next time, you could do your cousin a favour?”

“We’ll make a meal of it,” Rocky placed a hand on his chest. “Next Sunday dinner, I’ll bring Miss Pepper around for a proper interrogation.”

She shook her head, then looked at Freckle. “Calvin, see your friends to the door while I gather your cousin’s things.”

“Yes, mother.”

The four of them watched Mrs McMurray retreat inside; then Rocky’s smile dropped and he pulled a familiar flask from his jacket. “Blast you, Miss Pepper.”

Freckle flinched.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport, Rocky,” Ivy huffed.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times,” he complained as he tipped a measure of liquid into his teacup. As an afterthought, he offered the flask to Mordecai.

“No, thank you,” Mordecai drawled.

“We should go inside,” said Freckle. His shoulders were raised, but he still held Ivy’s hand.

“Not you, too,” Ivy groaned.

“You groan because you don’t understand,” Rocky flailed his arms, then drained his syrupy drink. “It’s bad enough we dragged Freckle into our sordid mess of a life—and yes, Miss Pepper, you still get to share in that blame, I don’t care how you rationalize it—but what do you think will happen if you, Little Miss Princess of St Louis, were to be followed? Am I to one day return here—” he gestured at the house, then pointed at Freckle. “—to our childhood home, to find Dear Aunt Nina dead or worse?”

“Worse than dead, Rocky?” Ivy crossed her arms.

Mordecai sighed. “There were four vehicles that crossed the bridge with us,” he said, standing. “None of them followed us off the main road.”

Arms dropping, Rocky blinked at him. “You’re certain?”

Mordecai hesitated, heat flushing beneath his fur.

“You’re certain?” Rocky asked, breath ghosting across Mordecai’s lips. “Absolutely? Because the others seemed to insinuate that—”

Mordecai kissed him.

“Most of my job relies upon attention to detail,” Mordecai rationalized.

“But are you certain?” Rocky pressed.

He recognized some semblance of desperation in the other cat’s eye. Clearing his throat, Mordecai looked up at the well maintained home. “I’d risk my mother’s life on it.”

The musician relaxed, a comfortable grin coming back to him. “No you wouldn’t,” he challenged.

“I wouldn’t,” Mordecai agreed. “But, by definition, it wouldn’t be a risk because no one followed us.”

Mrs McMurray poked her head out the door. “Are you coming, or have we changed our minds?”

“Coming!” Freckle and Rocky chorused together.

The ensemble was hustled inside, and Rocky disappeared to sort his violin and do whatever else he still needed to do in the home. Freckle and Ivy loitered, talking in whispered giggles. It left Mordecai to entertain Mrs McMurray again; this time he focused on the photos on the walls. "You've a lovely home," he gestured.

"Thank you, Mr Heller," she nodded, following his movement. "It hasn't always been a peaceful place, but we make do."

Reluctantly, he took a look at whatever frame he had inadvertently drawn attention to. It appeared to be a family portrait, with a young Rocky and Freckle both front and center. Freckle's head was ducked and he looked up at the camera awkwardly; whereas Rocky had his normal huge smile, a tiny violin cradled in his arms. Behind them was a host of adults, Nina McMurray near the edge. More than half were close enough in appearance to suggest siblinghood, and one—who rested a hand on Rocky's shoulder—held a full sized version of the child's instrument.

"I'd imagine any house with Mr Rickaby to have been chaotic," Mordecai mused.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Mrs McMurray huffed.

Then Rocky came barrelling down the stairs, a case in hand and fully dressed. “Pick up your feet, players! Time to make our exit.”

“You could stand to foster a little more serenity, Roark,” said Mrs McMurray. She handed him a parcel of clothes. “Your laundry; pray, please get less blood in them next time.”

“I shall try, Dearest Aunt,” he leaned to kiss her cheek as he took the items. “But you know how clumsy I am.”

“Mhm,” she glowered.

“And we’re off!” He danced out the front door, then froze on the step. Shoulders dropping, he sighed. “Of course, he parked out front.”

“Where else would I have parked?” Mordecai asked. He glanced back to check on Ivy, who gave Freckle a quick peck on the lips.

“Nevermind,” Rocky waved back at him, already on the move again. “I’ll drive.”

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy fan comic #lackadaisy fanart #fanfiction #the fic has been written but I'm still illustrating it #posting all the parts here before i upload to ao3 later #inappropriate use of shakespeare #i haven't picked a title #hellerby #mordecai x rocky #mordecai heller #rocky rickaby #*slaps fic* this baby can fit so many headcanons #like mordecai is a plant person #ivy and freckle being cute #nonlinear #flashbacks

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