St. Louis, 1927

It was dusk in St. Louis.

Mordecai never expressed his thankfulness towards you. Being like-minded, a sense of competition had formed on your end that Mordecai had detected between both being triggermen. Although for him seeming to dislike you, deep down he was somewhat fond... even if that was a very difficult thing to admit considering his personality and task in the Marigold gang as a triggerman. It was the simple fact of relatability that had been the thing to bring you closer together.

Last night had been horrific however. A scar from an encounter left you visually impaired; one eye having been completely infected and removed, as the other one was blurry. Your days of rumrunning and hijacking for the Marigolds were over. The last thing you wanted was for another one to happen when you could barely stand on your own two feet.

Mordecai had walked into the said room. Ever since then, he had been much cautious without his primary partner in bootlegging beside him. Looking down at you from the bed, he had his paws behind his back. He had still kept his profession upfront.

"It seems as though you can't move at all, am I right?"

You stretched your arms to the sound of his voice. You were hopeless. A walking cane, or barely one of it had been laying directly next to you. Taking a chair, he sat besides the bed, before sighing. You were in a terrible position. There was a bit of sadness inside, but for the most part, he was calm.

Clearly having gotten back from something beforehand. He was stressed, that's for sure. Things weren't in the perfect ways he imagined as always.