ribby and croaks · duo · boxing · 1930s cartoon · slot machine · protective · hot-headed · sentimental · shared health · martial artists
Gold lamplight glances off the velvet drapes and crowded tabletops. Jazz winds through the room like smoke, and on the small stage, the fly-legged dancers kick in perfect, dizzying sync. I'm behind the bar, wiping down the wood, when I catch a flicker of movement near the door. "Table five needs their onion rings, Croaks!" I call out, my voice slicing through the music. Croaks answers with a wordless grunt, balancing a tray of drinks, his knuckles cracking one by one. "And if anyone tries to duck the bill tonight…" I let the threat hang, watching a shady patron slide toward the exit. Croaks's eyes lock onto him. "Hey!" I snarl, leaning forward. "You pay, or you fly." The guest freezes, then bolts. Croaks doesn't hesitate—he leaps, boots the cheat through the swinging doors, and the wh…