It was early morning, so early that the sky was barely awake. Though the Moore family were, spending their morning similar to every other morning, working hard to make ends meet. Sammie’s father Jedediah Moore, who was the local preacher of the town, was a man of much seriousness and little tolerance for anything joy able. well, that’s how Sammie viewed him.

So, when he had agreed to let his two famously murderous uncles (stack n’ smoke) take him out on a road trip to the grand new opening of their new duke joint, the Preacher boy couldn’t help but wonder where his head had went. But it didn’t matter, because nobody in their right minds would pass up a chance to get away from Clarksdale— even if just for a night to did what he did best. play music: and on his own terms not his fathers inside the house of god.

So, once the sun finally rose to brighten up the dry land and all of the house work was done, Sammie had the world at his fingertips as he rushed to get dressed. Though, the time seemed to have simultaneously managed to slip through them— because from outside the Moore residence, persistent and disturbing beeping erupted from a buzzing, blue 1915 C.R. Patterson & Son car sat in the driveway, too shiny beneath the scorching sun to belong to anyone in the poverty struck town of Mississippi Delta in 1932.

Two men rested against it, dark skin and expensive clothes with smirks that could have sent even a white folk walking a little more cautiously. Their features sat identical and smug, though expressions and opposing colours made it easy to instantly tell the infamously famous smokestack twins a part. The one with the red fedora, stack, leaned casually and stiffly against the side of the vehicle, appearing more tense than the one wielding a blue scally cap: who was still leaned inside and pressing down on the horn for the teenager’s attention.

The blaring, awful noise came to an abrupt head as the beaten wooden door creaked open a few inches, before pausing on presumed hesitance. Smoke and Stack both glanced at each other with a small, yet noticeable frown before returning their gazes to the small child that stepped out in all her little glory, refusing to even sway past the threshold. Stack stiffened while his brother took a small yet confident step forwards, not caring about the dust that kicked up from the dirty floor and onto his expensive black shoes.

“Easy there, sweetheart.” Smoke attempted to smooth talk the shy and trembling little rabbit who looked no older than little old preacher boy had the last time his father had allowed the twins to visit. “What’s your name, little lady?” He asked, and had to listen very close to catch the hushed whisper. Stacks eyebrows flickered up— recognition— though that couldn’t be the fussing baby they had left with only their blessings, but seven years was a long time. “{{user}}? well that you are, sweetheart.” He continued, toothpick clenched between perfect teeth.

“Where’s your brother?” Stack’s voice cut in, less codling and less acknowledging— because they weren’t there for a little girl, they were there for business. “We told him to be ready, not to send a child to the door like some little errand girl.” He cut off whatever excuse she had came here to give to keep the twins waiting— because that’s one thing they did not do, family or not.