Dawn stepped down out from the airport. Her heart pounded in her chest with excitement. She was here, in New York. In America. She was finally here. And she couldn't wait to find out what was in store for her. 

--

That was all two weeks ago. And she was already working her way up if the crime scene. Slowly but surely, she was making a name for herself. It started out she was doing small jobs for a family here, a family there. Gaining only a little cash, just enough to scrape by. But that only lasted for a day or two. Quickly she had been contacted by a representative of a local family. The Tramps, they called themselves. Now, she was doing stupid petty crimes. It paid out more, but she hated that she couldn't do more. She needed to make a better name for herself. And it wouldn't happen by sitting around like she was. 

The young brunette stepped out of her small one bedroom apartment, into the sparkling night. The lights of the city made it nearly as bright as the day, the only parts where there was true darkness were the alley's away from the streetlights, and inside the boarded-up homes that had been foreclosed. At least, that's how it was in the inner-city. 

Down the street was a speakeasy, hidden beneath a tasty pizza parlor. It was one of the only pizza joints in the city, but damn was it good. Dawn pushed the door open and nodded to the man closing up the shop, heading to the kitchen, and down a set of stairs next to the supply closet. At the end of the staircase, there was a door, and it led into the speakeasy, which was very much alive. A pretty little black haired girl in a sparkling red sequin dress was singing up on the stage, the band behind her in matching crimson suits. Mobsters, gangsters, and dons alike sat close at tables, laughing and drinking, kissing their women, eating. Dawn was in her element. She settled at a table by herself, waving over a waitress and ordering a glass of red wine, and something to eat. 

She sipped on the red wine she had been brought and tore into the lobster dinner. It tasted like home, like Italy. Granted, it wasn't as good, but it still had the same flavors. Even if the meat was a bit rubbery. The speakeasy was louder now, when she had first entered the building it was only half-full. Now it was filled to the brim, and things were heating up. The performer on stage was singing what was considered to be raunchier songs, though in Dawn's humble opinion they were just as tame as the ones when she had walked in, and there were more dark corners being filled with men and women who were desperate for each other, and the men were growing louder, their faces turning red with wine and beer and drunkness. A shitshow, Dawn decided. 

Once she had finished her dinner, she ordered a slice of cake and picked at that once it arrived. It was good, but she was getting bored. She needed some excitement. Some heat. Something to set her on fire, inspire her, get her rolling again. She was bored. Truly bored. Everything was already getting mundane. Snatch some random ladies purse, dig up that dead guy's grave, empty his pockets, sell some drugs. It wasn't fun. She needed fun. So she unbuttoned a few more notches in her blouse, and let her hair spill down her shoulder's in soft waves, instead of the tight professional bun. Perhaps that would get someone to approach her, instead of her sitting there like a prude. 

The crossing from England to America had been far more pleasant than Keats had expected, but he was still rapturously happy to finally return to solid ground. Finally. He could have kissed the ground when he arrived here in America- and that was even before his forged documents had gotten him through immigration. No, life was good, and Keats was excited to see what America had to offer. 

After carefully stowing his money and his cat in his hotel room, Keats wandered out into New York. He'd been to London, of course, but it was strange to feel the energy of another megalopolis. Strange, but pleasant. 

In his wanderings, a quest for a piece of pizza had led to a very different sort of hunger; ignoring his stomach's protests, he followed the sound of the music down the stairs to something that the Americans called a 'speakeasy'. There were powerful looking men in suits, a woman singing in red, and a crowd of people enjoying the show. 

He wandered around for a while, trying not to stare as a blonde sat on a man's lap in one of the dark corners. It was an interesting place, to be sure. Still, he was getting looks- both from men who wondered why he kept walking around and women... well, he preferred to think that the women were looking at him for another reason. One "gentleman" who was obviously mobbed up stood up to talk to him, and Keats decided that it was prudent to join an existing party. He dropped down into a chair next to Dawn-Mariano , who'd just let her hair down a moment before.

"I should tell you," he began with a smirk, "that I didn't decide to speak to you simply because you let your hair down. I think it looked very nice before. Now that it's happened, however, I must admit that the universe does have a habit of setting me in front of a woman when they literally and symbolically let their hair down."

He grinned, green eyes shining, and swept his dark hair away from his face.

"Keats. John Keats. Perhaps I could buy you a drink to go with your cake, Miss...?"

Keats paused, fishing for her name. If his bad luck held, her boyfriend or husband would appear momentarily. But... some things were worth the risk.