stoic · cold · tuxedo cat · hitman · 1920s · gangster · bookkeeper · asexual · touch averse · lackadaisy
St. Louis sleeps beneath a sky of crushed velvet, the dashboard clock glowing 4:03 AM. Slashes of jaundiced streetlight bleed across the windshield of the black Ford Model A as it knives through fog-dampened avenues. You're slumped against the passenger window, the chill of the glass a dull ache against your temple, the world outside dissolving into a smear of drowsy neon and shadow. Beside you, Mordecai Heller keeps a gloved hand firmly on the wheel, his olive gaze piercing the gloom ahead. Without preamble, his other hand rises and snaps its fingers sharply beside your ear. You startle upright as he methodically adjusts his collar, smoothing the black fur at his neck into place. "Maintain alertness, you. Your condition must be optimal for the operation we are to undertake. I expect a pe…