Name: Emily / Emmly / Em
DW username: pigeonfeather
IM: PigeonDandy

Other Characters: N/A

Character Name:Mordecai Heller
Series: Lackadaisy
Timeline: current/ as of his most recent appearance in
Canon Resource Link:

Character Background:

Mordecai was born in New York City in 1899 to German-Jewish immigrants Isaac and Tzipporah, and was raised in a slummy tenement with his younger sisters, Esther and Rose. His third sister, Hannah, died in infancy. His childhood was fairly ordinary, though Isaac was hospitalized for a stroke when Mordecai was still very young. He started work when he was just thirteen, beginning as a bookie for less-than-legal employers, and in a way, has not stopped working ever since.

His first killing occurred when he was 17 years old. The story behind this is unclear, but it seems to have been work-related in that it was apparently out of opportunism and maybe a bit of a grudge as well. New York was becoming less and less of a good place for him to be. He was shot in the head at one point, possibly leaving fragments lodged somewhere in his cranium. This would lead to future rumors pertaining to the status of his sanity. At 21, while finally fleeing the city, he ran into entrepreneur Atlas May, who took him back to St. Louis with him for a brand new opportunity.

Atlas was the owner of a café called The Little Daisy. It enjoyed fairly healthy business, but it was in fact merely a front for a much larger, much less legal operation: the Lackadaisy speakeasy. This joint was constructed underneath the café, utilizing St Louis’s network of limestone caves. For a time, Lackadaisy was hugely successful with few competitors and hardly any threats. During Mordecai’s time there, he was considered one of Atlas’s “golden boys” and did various jobs for him, many of them unsavory. Atlas had recognized Mordecai’s unique personality… that is, his sociopathic tendencies, monomania, and seeming lack of empathy in many situations… and saw it as an opportunity. Atlas was, above all things, an opportunist.

While racking up his likely impressive headcount with Lackadaisy, Mordecai worked with his partner, Viktor Vasko, a good deal of the time. The two were a dynamic duo in many ways. Mordecai’s calculating, cold precision combined with Viktor’s explosiveness and intimidating strength and stature made for a very formidable force. When not working (and sometimes while working) they would tend to butt heads. Mordecai would complain about various minutiae and be baffled by emotional situations, while Viktor would get frustrated easily and become… shouty. Despite the turbulence, however, they came to care about each other in their own ways. Viktor didn’t seem to mind talking to Mordecai some of the time, who prattled on to him in ways that hasn’t been shown to with other characters.

In 1926, Atlas was killed. It is still not known who was at fault. In his absence, and among rising competition, Lackadaisy immediately began to struggle despite the efforts of Atlas’s widow, Mitzi, who still tries to maintain the Speakeasy out of sentiment. A good deal of her employees and patrons ended up drifting away. Mordecai had a bitter departure of his own… before seeking greener pastures with the Marigold gang, he “reasoned” with Viktor to retire. Though worn and war-damaged, Viktor refused to leave Lackadaisy, prompting a dissatisfied Mordecai to kneecap him, which nearly left him crippled.

In 1927, Mordecai is now 28 and the right hand man of Asa Sweet, Marigold’s night manager. He was teamed up with the ruthless Cajun siblings, Nico and Serafine Savoy. Lackadaisy itself does not seem to hold any value to him any longer, sentimental or otherwise. He has already gone so far as to steal all of their stock of armaments for Marigold. When some of these arms were donated to a group of vengeful pig farmers, Lackadaisy was struck yet another damaging blow. Viktor, who still refused to leave Lackadaisy, was caught up in this attack, and now reluctantly mopes in his home to recover from a lungful of buckshot.

When Mitzi mentions to Mordecai what happened to Viktor because of him, he stares a moment before stating, “He shouldn’t have been involved.”

Abilities/Special Powers: Nothing particularly supernatural, though it would seem he is a very accomplished gunman. His usual M.O. is a pair of handguns which he keeps concealed on his person more often than not. He’s been known to use improvised weaponry when the need arises, and does so well and without hesitation.

Mordecai is obsessive, orderly, and is never without a timepiece.

Mordecai has also been said to have a head for math. His near-neurotic sense of order and need for symmetry and neatness seem to contribute to him being very efficient in general, and very skilled at cleaning, in every sense of the word.

Third-Person Sample: Minimum of three paragraphs, introspective piece. We’re judging your grasp on the character and how you log with them;. We would prefer if this was not a simple re-telling of canon events, this way we can see how you handle the character's actions.

He was just about ready to start ironing the second shirt when it began. Static and whining at first, but then, the muffled sound of some popular song or other emanating from the ceiling. Someone upstairs had decided that it was time to listen to the radio. At 7:30 AM. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

Mordecai breathed in deeply through his nose, glaring down at his ironing board. Maybe they would realize how inconsiderately noisy they were being and turn it down in a moment. He re-checked the shirt for stains or fuzz for the umpteenth time, smoothing it with his hand and lifting the iron once again, ready to…

…for heaven’s sake, he could hear the silly sound effects of the commercials. Those chipper voices, warbling through the wood and plaster and setting his eyelids to twitch. No, this would not do. He simply wanted to complete his chores in peace. He wouldn’t even be home long; was a little concentration so much to ask? Setting the iron back down, he took almost dramatically long strides to the dresser where his guns rested, and snatched the broom that leaned against it. Aiming the tip of the handle towards his ceiling, he gave it a few sturdy thumps. He waited a moment for no result, and delivered another set of thumps. As he squinted at the now lightly flaking surface, he heard the volume of the music fade to a faint murmer. Well, maybe that would have to do.

Returning to his ironing, he peered at the shirt once more. Fine grains of dust and plaster had sprinkled down upon the once nice, clean cotton.

Mordecai quaked.

First-Person Sample: Show us that you can portray the character’s voice in a journal entry. Minimum of five sentences.

First of all, I am not lost. There is a slight possibility that I made a wrong turn somewhere, but it is unlikely. I must have been misled… you see, the written instructions I was given are honestly atrocious. Look at the way this stooge crosses his Ts. And this paper is all greasy…

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Right now, I just need to catch my bearings. It would seem I am still in the right neighborhood. Most likely. That looks like a mansion up ahead; surely there will be someone there with a proper sense of direction.



March 2013



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