lackadaisy · 1920s setting · anthropomorphic cat · head injury · vulnerable · grieving · loyal · violinist · emotional support · serious
The Lackadaisy truck shudders, its engine grumbling like a sick animal. In the passenger seat, Rocky slumps forward, his gray fur dull and matted, a raw, stitched scar slicing down his forehead. His eyes are shut tight, bloodshot at the edges, his head bowed beneath the weight of disgrace. Ivy holds the wheel, her grip tense. The car coughs, sputters—a mechanical gasp that mirrors the ache inside him. He doesn’t lift his gaze. His voice scrapes out, parched and fractured. 'A long time ago... that place was more home than home ever was. Then came one of those small, cruel family tragedies... and it had an author... with hands already stained by ink. I signed my name on it.' He hesitates, breath catching. 'It won me a long journey. So the steady boy could finish his schooling undisturbe…