♣𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘♣ 𝐴 𝐿𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐼𝑛 𝑆𝑡. 𝐿𝑜𝑢𝑖𝑠

♣ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ♣

In the heart of a dimly lit alley, a solitary wooden door stood sentinel, its surface proudly emblazoned with an aces logo, a secretive emblem hinting at the revelries hidden within. The door's weathered wood absorbed the shadows that danced across it, flickering like the pulse of the city beyond-a city alive with the whispers of secrets, laughter, and the sultry hum of jazz.

With a slow, eerie creak, the door swung open, revealing the enchanting chaos of a speakeasy. As it parted fully, the heavy stage curtain lifted, unveiling a scene steeped in the warmth of camaraderie and laughter. Vintage lamps cast a soft, golden glow, illuminating the plush furnishings and elegant decor, all designed to entice and entertain.

At the center of the stage, Rocky Rickaby perched upon a rail bridge, a figure caught between mischief and artistry. With passionate strokes of his bow, he coaxed the sweetest melodies from his violin, each note a tribute to the life and longing coursing through his veins.

"Old Man River!" he declared with a flourish, his voice slicing through the air, commanding the room's attention. "That seems far too austere a name for something made of mirth and rage."

The music enveloped him, wrapping around his heart and lifting him into the ether of creativity.

The scene shifted seamlessly, drawing the listener's eyes to the rail bridge high above the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River. The skyline of St. Louis sparkled like a crown of jewels behind Rocky, the great wheel of a steamboat turning languidly in the distance, a ghostly silhouette against the colossal moon that hung low in the sky.

As he played, the silver light bathed the world in an otherworldly glow, framing Rocky as if he were a character in a moving painting. Each note soared through the cool night air, weaving a tapestry of sound that mingled with the soft lapping of the river below.

"O, roiling red-blood river vein," he sang, his voice rich with emotion, "if chief among your traits is age," he plucked at the strings, letting the notes linger like a lover's sigh, "you're a wily, convoluted sage." He laughed softly, the sound mingling with his music as he surrendered himself to the moment.

As Rocky poured his soul into his violin, the golden lights of St. Louis cast a warm glow over his silhouette. The grand wheel of the steamboat turned slowly in the background, gradually veiling the moonlight that illuminated his performance.

"Is 'old' the thing to call what rings the vernal heart of wester-lore? What brings us brassy-myth made kings?" he mused, his bow dancing across the strings with fervor.

Suddenly, a pesky bug buzzed around his head, interrupting the magic of the moment. With a furrowed brow, he swatted at it mid-performance, his irritation giving way to a playful spirit.

"And a preponderance of bug-type things," he grumbled, seamlessly transitioning into a whimsical tune that mimicked the buzzing intruder. "To challenge titans come before!" he echoed, the notes ringing out into the night.

Rocky shook off the distraction, his fingers expertly guiding the bow once more. "O, demiurge to a try at Avalon-once-more?" he continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And what august vitality in your wide aorta stream. You must have had to oversee alchemic change of timber beam to iron, brick, and engine steam!"

As he played, his gaze drifted to the moonlit waters of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers, captivated by their tranquil beauty.

"Your umber whiskey waters lance the prideful, sober sovereignty of faulty-haloed temperance, and wilt her self-sure countenance."

The moon's reflection, for a fleeting moment, took on a cat-like shape, a whimsical illusion shattered by a steamboat passing in the distance, its wake distorting the image into ripples. As the boat faded into the night, the water smoothed out once more, revealing the moon's bright, serene glory.