Below The Surface - A Lackadaisy Fanfiction

He Was The One That Made Us

Knock knock knock.

"Chér? Open up..."

Mordecai groaned to himself, listening into Nico's voice. "Why should I?" He called out. "Are you here to mock me, or some other immature business?"

"It's about de murders. We need to talk." Nico answered. Mordecai blinked: his eyes went wide enough to the point where he could feel them bulge out. Quickly, he rushed over to the door, unlocking it and opening it.

"You're not fibbing, correct?" He lowered his voice.

"Not in de slightest, Peekon." Nico leaned against the door frame. Mordecai paused, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He stepped aside and let the bigger cat in, closing the door behind him.

"I'm intrigued to know why you of all people are invested in such atrocities." He remarked, moving around to his desk and sitting on his chair.

"Someting about dat Silas don' seem right to me." Nico shrugged. "Dere's someting off..."

"Off? How so?" Mordecai's ears flicked up.

"I dunno what: it's jus' dat feeling you get when you know tings are wrong." Nico gestured to nothing. Mordecai tapped his pen on his desk.

"Well I'll be damned," He whispered, "though I must admit: Silas is improperly handsy and vile. It's horrendous that the French are enamored by his... behavior. "

"Dat's de point: it's a facade." Nico then smirked; "Kinda like what you do, now."

Mordecai's eyes narrowed at him. "It is not—"

"Don' lie to me." Nico warned, his brows furrowing. Mordecai only blinked at his reaction, being a bit taken aback with it.

"...anyhow." He cleared his throat. "What exactly did you want to discuss?"

"How we're goin' to do dis. How to solve it all." Nico sat in front of Mordecai.

"...I had a few speculations. I had recently met with Miss Lacrimosa Ambrose: this morning, to be exact. She was speaking with Mr. Sweet on certain affairs. Then she requested to speak with me of all people."

"And? How did it go?"

"...she brought up..." Mordecai then glared at Nico, internally scolding himself. "...this is none of your concern."

"Mhh, alright. But if it gets you down, den you're gon' need to tell someone. Aight?" Nico shrugged it off. "We're family, Peekon. Remember dat."

"I'm quite aware." Mordecai scribbled something out.

"...you draw, chér?" Nico's brows rose.

"It's not drawing: it's etching." Mordecai told him curtly: he was very much drawing. Nico slid over the journal to himself, receiving a loud protest from the tuxedo cat. Nico laughed, turning his body away as Mordecai reached. "Give back the journal, you ruffian!"