Below The Surface - A Lackadaisy Fanfiction

Prepare

Sometimes murders will burn you out: Mordecai is no exception. He already found the suspects, but what evidence is there? ...he could go investigate the autopsy reports from the funeral home...

But tonight he couldn't: because he was dragged to the damn event at Wick Sable's mansion. Mordecai hadn't realized how much time passed: it was rather concerning to him.

So here he was: in a black, crisp and pressed suit. He paired it with a white, somewhat frilled dress shirt underneath, and he sighed. He had on perfectly shined shoes, nice slacks, a marigold regalia on his lapel, and his hair was slicked back. His pince–nez were shined to perfection, and he looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned: while he appreciated the formality of the event, he just didn't feel like mingling with people. Especially with growing tension.

Now, pair it with him being required to wear a damn masquerade mask? He hated it. Yet he decided to swallow back any complaints and put the mask on. It was ebony and silver, budded with ruby studs. The linings were thin and white, and he stared at himself again. He rummaged through his drawers and snatched a knife, slipping it in his sock and garters under his pants: it would come in handy later. He would take his hotel room keys, shove them into his pocket, and leave the comfort of his room. He was then greeted with those all–too–familiar blue eyes, peering from behind a theatrical mask.

Rocky pulled off the mask, grinning sharply and broadly. He was in a dark blue suit, with an orange bowtie for a pop of color. Mordecai bit his tongue at the color scheme, and he raised a brow. Was he not affected by the words uttered only a couple nights ago? Or was he just masking it completely?

"You look sharp and dandy, Ole Serious Face," Rocky told him. Mordecai gave a hum.

"...I could say the same for you, however your bow tie is rather crooked, not to mention negatively contrasting against your suit." He chided, his hands gripping the bow as he adjusted and twisted it. His eyes were narrowed, focusing on making it as symmetrical as possible. Then again, it was Rocky, nothing was symmetrical about him.

"Ah, thank you for fixing this! You always have a sharp eye, you know that?" Rocky commented. His hands were slightly outstretched towards Mordecai. Mordecai blinked, and looked around: nobody was here at the moment. So, he let his fingers lace with the other's, and he sighed.

"...how..." He began, then grimaced: he was trying to make small talk amidst the awkward tension. He choked out, "...how've you been?"

"Ah! I've been rather well!" Rocky beamed at the question.

"...you didn't burn down any farms or buildings in the past few days, correct?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Good, I was about to say—"

"— this time."

"...oh for Christ's sake, Roark." Mordecai groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Rocky chuckled, then linked arms with him rather forcefully.

"Don't mind if I just do this, then," He hummed, and the two began walking down the hall, together, slowly. They contrasted completely: appearances and personalities clashed. Yet at the same time...opposites attract.

"I am going to mind a considerable amount," Mordecai spoke under his breath.

"...how've you been?" Rocky then flipped the question around. Mordecai's mind began to race after the question was directed at him, now.

Exhausted. Angry. Stressed. Confused. In a tizzy. Humdinger.. . "Just a bit tired." He told him.

"I get it: your big ole brain has been workin' wonders in solving this murder mystery!" Rocky answered. Mordecai gave him a knowing gaze.