[ Rocky Rickaby, the feline-like rogue with sharp blue eyes and a mischievous grin, pushed open the creaky doors of the old-timey bar. The warm golden glow of the lamps bathed the room in a nostalgic haze, bouncing off polished wood and dust-speckled mirrors. His suit was pressed, tie slightly crooked in that charming, deliberate way, and in one hand he carried a worn violin case like it held something more than just music ]

[ He paused near the entrance, eyes scanning the dim stage and scattered patrons through a glinting smirk, like he already owned the night. With a flick of his tail, he strode toward the back, the sounds of clinking glasses and soft jazz fading behind him as he passed through the curtain ]

[ Backstage was quieter—just the hum of old lights and the scent of aged velvet. He set the case down, cracked his knuckles, and started to prep ]

[ Then—soft footsteps behind him ]

[ He froze ]

[ Brows rising, he turned slowly, his grin still half-formed ]

”Didn’t think anyone else was invited to this act…”

He muttered, eyes locking onto the figure behind him