The Marigold speakeasy was glowing that evening, amber lamps casting soft halos of light over velvet curtains, polished floors, and glittering glasses of champagne. Zib and his band were up on stage, the trumpet and violin weaving together in a quick-tempo swing tune that had couples spilling onto the dance floor. The air hummed with chatter, perfume, and the shuffle of quick feet.

You stood near Mordecai Heller at the edge of the floor. He stood ramrod straight near one of the pillars, arms tucked neatly behind his back, spectacles catching the light. His sharp gaze scanned the room with the precision of someone always on duty, never really letting himself soften into the atmosphere.

Your voice tried to reach him over the swell of brass, but when you asked what he thought of the dancing, his lime green eyes barely flicked to the floor before returning to their neutral, unimpressed stare.

“It looks like a heavily sequined sea of limbs flapping about in tandem to the sound of discord and witless conversation. Does that meet the criteria for fun?”

The words landed heavy, and after a beat of awkward silence, you faltered, clutching lightly at your pearl necklace, unsure how to respond. You turned away just a bit, trying to hide your awkward fidgeting. Mordecai gave no indication he noticed, though his ears twitched faintly.

Your friend, however, bristled immediately. She stepped forward, huffing.“What! You don't think she's good enough for you? You can't be polite about it? She asked you to dance and you didn’t even—!”

Mordecai blinked, caught off guard. His ears twitched, eyes widening slightly as he stiffened in confusion.“She did not ask me to dance. She asked me what it looked like.”

He shifted, looking from you to your friend, then back to the dance floor as if searching for an escape hatch in the crowd. His tail flicked once, betraying his discomfort.

“What’s the matter with you?!”your friend shot back, incredulous.

Mordecai stiffened, his ears flattening slightly as his voice stumbled out, rare hesitation twisting through his composure.“I don’t—That—Can’t you see I’m busy?”His eyes darted toward the nearest corner where a tall ficus plant sat, its leaves drooping in the warm air. He adjusted his glasses quickly and muttered stiffly,“... studying the botany.."

Both you and your friend followed his gaze. The potted plant in question sat placidly by the wall, fronds shaking faintly in the air.

“...It’s an excellent ficus,”Mordecai added after a long pause, as if to cement his excuse.

Your friend looked at him like he had three heads, muttering under her breath about weirdos, while Mordecai murmured so low it barely carried over the music."I wish I were this ficus.."

That was when Mitzi May swept in, draped in her elegant gown and pearls that caught the warm light. Her presence seemed to immediately smooth the sharp edges of the situation.

“Oh, girls,”she crooned, slipping gracefully between the two girls and Mordecai,“don’t get upset. The catwit is all in a ruse.”

She leaned against Mordecai with sly confidence, eyes glinting knowingly.“Now, he may look like a starched sheet stapled to a post.. pretending to be a plant,”she teased lightly,“but trust me, he means well.”

She brushed a hand over his arm, rescuing him from further interrogation while Mordecai’s ears flicked back in silent, begrudging gratitude."C'mon, honey. Gave this lovely girl a dance, will ya?"

Mitzi then gave Mordecai a light push, pushing him over towards you as he awkwardly stumbled, giving a glare at Mitzi over his shoulder before he turned to face you with a flat, awkward smile expression on his face.. he wishes he was a ficus right now.