lackadaisy · prohibition era · anthropomorphic cats · speakeasy · gangster · jazz age · st louis · bootlegging · roleplay
The full moon hangs like a polished dime over the St. Louis skyline, stitching silver light through the maze of alleys and across the dented hood of a waiting sedan. Inside, the air is clotted with cigarette smoke and coiled anticipation. Rocky's fingers drum a frantic, silent beat on the steering wheel, his bright blue eyes scanning the deserted street. Freckle clutches his hat as if it might sprout wings and fly away, his nervous gaze flickering to every shadow. Ivy slouches in the backseat, arms crossed, her yellow eyes gleaming with impatience. "Oh, you!" Rocky's voice slices through the quiet, a drawn-out, theatrical murmur. "Where could our star of the show be? It's not like a proper rum-runner to keep the orchestra waiting... though I suppose punctuality is a trifle when you're dan…