Chapter Text
Rocky’s day-to-day went along the lines of waking up in a cramped sedan, getting pricked by Cactus Friend mid-stretch, arrived to the Little Daisy Café to eat pancakes for breakfast, run errands that Mitzi entrusted him with (much to Viktor’s chagrin), tune in his violin to rehearse during his break, scout for information or at least eavesdrop on the paperboy to hear what was the latest headline that day; strike a conversation with either one of the musicians, Horatio, one of the mice or Viktor (when Ivy or Mitzi are unavailable) and if Rocky gets desperate he either starts talking to Cactus Friend or makes his signature space coffee to power through the rest of the afternoon. And the only way to get him to sit still long enough to not pester anyone else is to get him to use a typewriter. Warning: He may have enough ammunition to write an entire thriller novel, new lyrics for the band to use or a volume of poetry books. That is if the muses are speaking to him under the effects of the space coffee.
Sometimes Freckle shows up with his own jalopy to the café or to pick up Ivy from the Academy himself. The buggy Freckle drives is an older model therefore not meant for moonlighting nor rum-running. But for the most part, Rocky revs up the engine of the Struggle Buggy, rifles through his possessions in order to make room for Ivy in case he has to pick her up from the Academy and chat during the drive back to the Little Daisy cafe.
After the three of them are together, they just hang out at the cafe. Rocky burns the last of his energy rehearsing the last notes of the music sheet Zib had given him, practicing on his violin before taking a nap backstage to recover from the few hours of sleep he couldn’t get during the morning from being watched by Cactus Friend. Rocky wakes up from his nap around 6PM-8PM to begin rumrunning.
Rocky and Ivy go to St. Charles to get Freckle in the Struggle Buggy armed and prepared to locate the booze. Each purveyor had their own method of distributing or selling their booze:
- The Arboghasts send encrypted obituaries for the bootleggers to decipher and deliver the Algin whisky (or Canadian whisky at the risk of getting killed for double dealing).
- Captain Kehoe sends his shipment of absinthe, turpentine, or other illicit spirits at English Cave.
- Find an alternative in case the routes become compromised.
If they don’t get intercepted by the Marigold Gang or some other competition wanting to snag the liquid gold, they’ll return to Lackadaisy relatably unharmed.
If Rocky brings the needed amount of booze, he gets rewarded with attention, a somewhat stable paycheck and a compliment from his kind, benevolent employer.
If Rocky doesn’t bring enough booze to the table, his beloved Miss M. gets sad.
If Rocky doesn’t bring booze at all… he doesn’t want to imagine the outcome of getting disposed of or being replaced.
So he tries his best to not think about the what-if scenario.
Rocky woke up one day feeling fully rested in a comfy bed instead of feeling like he got bent into a pretzel for a change. Not that he didn’t like sleeping in his car, he actually got used to sleeping in a cramped space and having a seemingly sentient Cactus for a roommate. But the feeling of being able to stretch his limbs freely without hitting something or getting pricked was actually a pleasant feeling. Rocky wiped the sleep from his eyes before looking at his paws and took in his surroundings. At first, he thought he had been dreaming that he was back in St. Charles at Freckle’s house but when he looked down, his fur had a different color. Even his padded paws looked different. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that he was in Freckle’s body. Rocky still assumed that it was still a dream, so he went to the bathroom to wash his face. Opening the faucet, he cupped his, or rather his cousin’s paws to fill the water, leaned in as he felt the water dampen it and after splashing his face. He’s starting to believe that he was no longer dreaming and he wanted to wake up. “Freckle? Where are you?”
At the women’s dorm of the Academy in which Ivy resided at the time. It was around nearly a quarter to six o’clock when the curtains of the windows had been drawn to let the sunlight creep in. Freckle was used to hearing his mother call him to wake up, to rise and shine. To get him to eat breakfast. He dreaded eating oatmeal, but if it was a grilled cheese sandwich (or any kind of sandwich) he would get out of bed in no time flat but what caught him off guard was that a girl was telling Ivy to wake up. “Ivy, get up. We’re going to be late.”
“What?” Freckle croaked but got out of bed to look for her, he saw a girl standing in front of him. “Where am I? Who are you?” In hindsight, he hadn’t met any of Ivy’s roommates and had no clue who Olivia was nor Helen for that matter.
“Drunk again? Didn’t you want to go to the Girls’ Rifle Team early?” Helen groaned.
“What are you—” Freckle had recalled his girlfriend mentioning it in one of the previous nights they had gone rum-running. “Oh yeah.” Freckle then hesitated as he averted their gazes. “Where is she?” He asked as the two roommates exchanged confused glances when Freckle crawled out of bed and saw the lacy cotton-silk nightgown and the slender legs. Freckle was confused. Since when did he have this on?
As he moved, he darted his eyes at the girls, then at his girlfriend’s body while he moved. What’s happening?
When he looked at the body length mirror, he saw Ivy and gasped at the same time as her reflection did. “Begorrah!”
They were surprised by the new word she picked up but not the reaction. Bad hair day perhaps but they brushed her off while they got changed.
Ivy woke up feeling sore all over. She was aware of Rocky’s current predicament but damn she had no idea how Rocky was able to sleep with all this junk lying around. Random paraphernalia ranging from faded comic books, scattered marbles, moldy pancakes and she got startled by looking at Cactus Friend too closely, not to mention the sudden jab of getting pricked by the tail.
She had to wipe away the drool with a partially damp cuff, then wiped the sleep from her eyes. (Technically, it was Rocky’s eyes but you get the picture.) Ivy was no stranger to waking up from a hangover but in this case, she needed to figure out how it happened and how they were able to get through this. Ivy scrunched her nose, wondering where the stench was coming from. It was a mix of sweaty clothes, mildew and alcohol.
She tugged the slightly yellowed dress shirt to give it a sniff and truth be told she had wondered when it was the last time Rocky had a decent bath.