About “Lackadaisy” in a few words:

Lackadaisy is a critically acclaimed webcomic set in Prohibition-era St. Louis, where anthropomorphic felines run the Lackadaisy speakeasy. Combining comedy, crime, and mystery, the tale unfolds as the speakeasy faces decline post its founder’s murder. Rich in details, the artistic style evokes nostalgic memories of Walt Disney and Don Bluth’s animated film aesthetics.

Meet the characters from Lackadaisy

Roark “Rocky” Rickaby

Roark “Rocky” Rickaby is the living spark plug of Lackadaisy — he’s all speed, swagger, and a grin that’s maybe too wide for his face. He’s a jittery genius with a penchant for risky schemes, but also the kind of loyal idiot who’d fight for the band with his last dime. You can picture him tapping rhythms with his fingers, talking a mile a minute about jazz and pocket watches (or is it pocket knives? I forget), and somehow making chaos look like choreography. There’s this heartbreaking softness too, like he uses jokes to hide a worry that’s older than he looks. Honestly, he’s messy and brilliant and completely irresistible even when he’s a catastrophe.

Calvin “Freckle” McMurray

Calvin “Freckle” McMurray is the quiet knot in the crew — steady, sharp-eyed, and annoyingly sensible when everyone else is losing their heads. He’s practical, frugal, suspicious of flash, but also has these rare moments of mischief that catch you off guard. Like, he’ll argue over ledger numbers one second and crack a ridiculously dry joke the next, and you’ll wonder how you ever missed that smirk. He cares about the family business in a way that’s almost stubbornly romantic, which is weird because he pretends not to feel things very loudly. Slightly conservative, surprisingly brave, the kind of person who anchors storms — and yes, he probably has a secret sweet tooth he denies.

Mitzi May

Mitzi May is the glittery heart of the speakeasy — a performer with a voice like honey and a spine made of stubbornness. She’s equal parts diva and soft-hearted parent-figure, demanding the spotlight but also saving it for the people she loves. Her glamour can be theatrical, her temper quick, and yet she’ll hand you a bandage and a scalding scold all at once. There’s this worn tenderness under the makeup — someone who’s been punched around life but still insists on dancing. Also, she collects little trinkets — maybe hats, probably hats.

Ivy Pepper

Ivy Pepper is small and sharp and somehow more dangerous than a loaded revolver — silent mostly, but everything she does speaks. She’s the muscle with surprisingly careful manners, like someone who reads the room and then rearranges it. Stoic as a statue but with tiny unexpected flashes of humor or a weird love for, idk, stuffed animals? (Don’t ask, it’s canon in my head.) She protects the crew with a loyalty that’s absolute, and when she’s pissed you believe in consequences. Under all that cool, she keeps a soft, almost private longing, which makes her terrifying in the best way.

Mordecai Heller

Mordecai Heller feels like the fog-slicked backbone of the operation — quiet, clever, and with a voice that could sell you salvation or doom depending on the mood. He’s the kind of old-world calm that hides a thousand little calculations; you never quite know which hat he’s wearing (businessman, patron, remnant of old sins). Rational and cultured, he collects debts and jazz records with equal seriousness, and yes, he probably smokes cigars with romantic flourish. There’s menace in his politeness, but also an odd paternal streak that sometimes slips out in a scolding or a saved ledger entry. I can’t decide if he’s tired or bored with everyone — maybe both — which makes him endlessly watchable.

Serafine Savoy

Serafine Savoy is all silk and smile and the kind of elegance that hides razor teeth — she’s dangerously beautiful and knows it. She moves like a whispered secret, deals in favors and rumors, and steers rooms with a look that’s equal parts invitation and warning. A strategist, flier of silk scarves, maybe a little theatrical — she loves drama but hates chaos unless it’s her chaos. People say she’s cold, which is fair, but sometimes she’s just bored and that boredom turns sharp as a blade. Also, she absolutely keeps a tiny perfume bottle of something scandalous in her pocket because of course she does.