It was a lazy, sunny afternoon in Detroit- but it had been a long time since John Keats had been out in the open air. Instead, he'd been working like a maniac with his assistant, Kates, to get his bookstore ready for its Grand Opening. And when Kates was done, he spent most of his time working on the secret business he'd be launching in the basement. Or sleeping up in his second story apartment. There were three bedrooms up there: Keats had the largest one, Kates had the second largest one, and Tibbs had the smallest. Originally, Tibbs had had Kates' room... but Keats had been persuaded to let them switch. A cat, after all, wasn't too picky when it came to bedrooms. 

On this particular afternoon, both Keats and Kates had worked to get the shelves in order- and they were almost done. The hardwood floors gleamed. The new leather couches were perfectly comfortable. The books were organized and the shelves were filled. Even the windows were washed. The would, undoubtedly, be open within two or three days. For now, they simply enjoyed the quiet and put the finishing touches on the store. Keats was behind the counter, drawing up hypothetical numbers. Kates was working on stacking the final section of books in the corner. Tibbs, meanwhile, was perched near one of the windows looking out at the passing cars. When ChelseaUccello walked in, three heads turned to greet her. Two smiles immediately broke out.

But in Chelsea's defense, cats never did smile much. 

"Wow, look at this place! All ready for the grand opening, I see," Chelsea said as she reached out for a book on the nearest display. 

'Medea'. 

With a derisive snort, she replaced the novel where she found it and continued further into the large room, nodding and humming her approval over all the work that Keats and Kates had gotten accomplished in such a short period of time. 

"You two look well," she grinned, giving them both a quick once-over. "When's the big day? Oh, please say the fourth! That would be spectacular, if they do fireworks here in downtown. If the businesses stayed open until dark, I imagine you'd capitalize on that as well," she said. A cat came up from behind her and jumped up onto the counter where Keats stood. She reached out to pet it, and when her hand neared its tail, the rear end went up in the air like an elevator.

"Oh, got yourself a mouser, too. I approve," she said, tickling it under the chin. "I had a nagging urge to see you, so I jumped the first flight out of Chicago and came straight here. Care to have lunch with me?" She asked, still giving the cat her attention. She reeked of dynamite and molotovs, and seemed in an exceptional mood.

It got very quiet, then, the sound of purring the only thing breaking the silence. Who was she talking to? Keats? Kates? The cat?

Three pairs of eyes followed Chelsea into the bookstore.

"The fourth," said Keats, "is for celebrating, I think. Although... your idea of opening after dark is an interesting one. Usually, books and fireworks are not an excellent mix, but..."

He blinked.

"No, I think a nice, quiet opening is preferable. I wouldn't want to draw too much attention."

Keats grinned, both at his statement and the way that Chelsea and Tibbs took to each other.

"He is less of a mouser and more of a lazy accumulator of sunshine, but he is a good friend. And he is my cheapest employee."

The glossy black and white feline raised its chin approvingly, accepting scratches from ChelseaUccello. 

"Care to have lunch with me?" asked Chelsea.

"Sure!" piped up Kates immediately.

Keats glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, questioning "Do you two know each other?"

Kates smiled, remembering the night out dancing, and nodded.

"Well," said Keats, "that's that, then. Kates will be joining us.Where do you have in mind, Chelsea?"

"There's a fish and chips place not far down the block... haven't tried it myself, but I hear good things," she said, continuing to pet Tibbs. 

"Maybe someone with get a doggie bag afterwards? Or would that be a kittie bag?" The cat, clearly, did not care, as long as he was getting attention. 

~

Keats locked up the shop, and Chelsea had an awkward moment of where she would walk... Keats in the middle? Next to Kates? The decision was made when all three moved, and she was just suddenly flanked by them. They kept the conversation light; the weather, new businesses popping up in downtown Detroit, what the K's anticipated the bookstore business to entail. Chelsea nodded, listening with her hands shoved deeply into her pockets as the conversation bounced back and forth. They finally arrived at the chip shop, and Keats pulled the door open for the two women, Chelsea's parenthesis of attraction, broken. 

"Why do they call them 'chips' when they're so obviously French fries?" She asked as she studied the menu board over their heads.

"Why do they call them 'chips' when they're so obviously French fries?" 

Kates chuckled. Keats grinned. 

"Well," said Keats, with the air of a professor beginning a long lecture, "the longer answer is that a chip is anything that's a piece; basically, calling something a "chip" is to say it's a slice of a vegetable. The shorter answer is that the British are a stubborn people, and it makes them feel much more important to be unique. It's why you'll find some British men and women get offended if you say that England is a part of Europe. Every atlas and human being with a bit of sense knows England is in Europe, but some will still protest that fact, since it helps them feel superior, unique, and special."

"That was the shorter answer?" questioned Kates with a raised eyebrow. 

Keats chuckled as he picked out a booth in the back and led them there. He was wearing a white dress shirt and brown trousers; Kates, who'd been wearing paint-stained work clothes, had sprinted upstairs to change at the mention of lunch. She'd been tempted to wear her one 'nice' outfit of her grey dress and the boots again, but it'd only been a few days since they'd been dancing, and she didn't want to wear it again so soon in front of Chelsea- even if the other woman had seemed to approve.

Finding a compromise, she'd  picked out a blouse, a denim skirt, and wore the knee-high boots again. As she had walked with them, she found herself glancing both at Keats and at Chelsea. Kates had mostly listened, chiming in every now and then. Mister Keats, obviously, had been flirting with Chelsea, although he didn't lay it on too strong. Every so often Chelsea would laugh or Keats would smirk and she would remember the first time that she saw Chelsea, sprawled out on a pile of books with Mister Keats. She had found herself blushing just thinking about it, and resolved not to think about it anymore. 

Moving together toward the booth, the three friends slid in and studied the menu. Keats had picked a spot where he could clearly see all the entrances and exits. Skimming the menu, his vibrant green eyes peered over at Chelsea.

"So tell me a bit more about yourself, Chelsea", began Keats, "we were very hasty in getting to know each other previously, but I must confess my curiosity in such a fascinating woman."

Kates looked up and smiled as well, seeming just as interested in Chelsea's answer.

Surely he didn't want to hear again what she'd already told him? It didn't seem like something she'd want Kates to know, but why start lying about it now? 

"Abused child, moved, profitable escort, husband, moved, much crime, moved, cheating husband, moved, moved, moved. I'm done with all of the above... save for the crime," she grinned. Keats had heard all this before, but Kates had not. 

Neither had the waiter. The water glasses on his tray knocked together threateningly as he set them on the table. Chelsea smiled sweetly at him, then at Kates, but the one she offered Kates had something more in it. A flicker passed through her irises, but it happened so quickly that it could have been a reflection from the window beyond their table.

The waiter asked if they were ready to order, and Chelsea just asked for the special that day, which appeared to be cod. He wrote it down carefully on his order pad, and the tremble in his hands was almost unnoticeable. Looking up again, he waited for the other two to decide, all the while casting futile looks at Chelsea, as if she were a viper preparing to strike.

After ChelseaUccello spoke, Kates just stared at her while Keats smirked, but they were interrupted by the waiter before either could respond. Keats, having quickly read through the entire menu, ordered a lobster ravioli in pink vodka sauce. Kates stuck with a bowl of clam chowder.

"Chelsea," began Keats when the waiter had left, "I said something a bit more about yourself. I'm curious about you. You burst into my life, as we all know, quite memorably..."

Kates coughed into her napkin, but Chelsea could see the smirk poking out from one side of the linen.

"I'm sorry," said Kates, "about at least two of those things. Did you like being an escort? Or was that something that you were made to do? Or felt like you had to?"

"And in addition to the sultry parts of your life that Kates here is so keen to ask about," piped up Keats, "I would like to know some of your favorite books, poems, etc. Because of course I would."

Books? Poems? She hadn't familiarized herself with much of either. Her mouth opened, then closed. She took a sip of water, realizing the escort questions were actually easier to tackle first.

"I was raised by my father, poorly, on a farm. There was simply no money for college, so after high school, I moved away to Las Vegas, where I'd heard all kinds of stories about the money that could be made. I was very, very lucky to get in with a... manager, an older woman by the name of Molly. She lived in my building, and her husband had once kept the books for some of Vegas' more influential people. So to speak. She would screen them, so i never got really hurt or anything, but like it? I wouldn't say that. I did what I felt I had to do, and I was paid very well for it. I suppose I could have gone back to school, gotten a degree or something with the money I made, but it wasn't long before I met-"

The food arrived, and she was grateful. She hated saying the bastard's name. There was a deep-seated fear in her, the only one she really had, that by saying his name, she would somehow summon him, and then be forced to see him, day after day after day, with his newest woman on his arm and for all the world having tossed her aside like yesterday's trash.

"There was, is, so much money to be made, in this kind of life. I do know a fair bit about art, because it was advantageous in my line of work to do so at one point, but I have to confess I'm not well-read. Street smart, sure, but book smart? Not so much," she said, then forked up a piece of battered fish and crunched into it. Excellent, but would be better with tartar sauce, she thought. Chelsea did love her sauces.

"I like movies, do those count? STELLAAAAAAA!!" She ground out, gesticulating with her hands in her best Brando impression. A few people turned to look at her, but she neither noticed, nor cared.

"There's a line in that one I really liked. 'Never inside, I didn’t lie in my heart'," she said, then reached for a glass of wine that she'd forgotten to order. With a sigh, she picked up her water instead.

Kates was enraptured by Chelsea's story; her grey eyes had widened, and the particular hue was more noticeable to Chelsea than they'd been outside, in the club previously, or their brief but memorable exchanges in the bookstore.

"Sounds like, all things considered, you had it pretty well," said Keats, "although I'm uncomfortable with that whole line of work, myself. In theory, I'm obviously supportive of the idea that a woman can do whatever she'd like with her own body. But in practice, it seems like young women are consistently taken advantage of. I'm glad you had a better scenario than that."

Kates nodded her agreement; she tended to be quieter when "Mister Keats" was around.

"What's it like to be on a farm?" asked Kates. "And did you want to get a drink? What was the drink I had the other night?"

Keats raised his eyebrow, smirking, "Well, I see how it is. Sociliazing without me? Or when this was when I was indisposed after my rendezvous with Chelsea?"

His foot gently touched against Chelsea's under the table; Kate, remembering that particular rendezvous, hid her flushed face with a long drink of water.

"The farm, I'm afraid, wasn't much better than prostitution. You're still just working with animals," she said, hailing the waiter's attention. He looked hesitant to come over, but it was his job, after all.

"Two vodka rocks, and a pint," she said, grinning at Keats. His foot found hers under the table, and she nudged it back. Then, she did the same to Kates'. 

The girl could not possibly turn a darker shade of red.

"Keeper." Chelsea said to no one, or everyone. Drinks arrived, this time with a steadier hand. 

"The ice should slow you down," she said, sliding Kates' glass closer to her, then downing half of her own. Keats picked up his, and they stared at each other over the rims of their glasses for a long moment. 

"You should come out with us next time," she said to him eventually. She could feel Kates' eyes on her now, at the words 'next time'. To Chelsea, it was simply a forgone conclusion. When she turned to face her, Chelsea crooked a smile at her. 

"He can handle the both of us, right?" 

Oh, she'd been so wrong! There WAS a darker shade of red! Resisting the urge to touch her cheek to see if she was a warm as she looked, Chelsea went back to work on her dish, slathering the cod with way too much tartar sauce.

"You're still just working with animals."

Both Keats and Kates chuckled as the waiter approached. Keats nodded approvingly at the 'pint', adding a bit more specificity. As Keats was considering the draft list as if it were a life of death scenario, Kates felt Chelsea's foot and smiled. 

God, Kates thought, this woman was so much trouble, but she was fun. She visibly perked up at the mention of 'next time', and was just about to break her silence and address Chelsea when "He can handle both of us right?" burst on the table like a thunderstorm- well, at least for Kates.

Keats laughed it off, patting Kates' hand reassuringly, "Don't worry, Kates. She's just teasing you. And if you keep blushing like that, I'll have to teach you how to play poker... you've just about got the worst poker face I've ever seen. Fortunately for you, at least it's a pretty one."

"Well," said Kates drily, "at least I've got that going for me. And you shouldn't tease me like that, Mister Keats. It's not like I'm going to Oxford or anything, but I am looking at schools for the fall!" Kates' eyes met Chelsea's, and there was at least a little fire behind them now. "My father always wanted me to go to college. I promised I would before he was killed." She sighed. "And, well, maybe my life isn't exactly like he'd have drawn it up, but I do want to do that much, at least."

"Kates' father was in the life," added Keats. "I've dipped my toes in as well, although only far enough so that I can pull them out if things get hot. You mentioned 'crime' multiple times, too often to be joking, so I figured I'd make it clear that you were among friends here. Or, in Kates' case, someone sympathetic. Do you have a specialty you hope to pursue, in terms of your current work?"

Specialty? She hadn't even thought about a specialty, not really. She was certainly more adept at some things than she was at others, but...

"... I'm in it for the thrill," she said, all honesty and smiles as she lifted her glass again. The drink she took from it this time was smaller; this was a more comfortable conversational area to maneuver through.

"I can honestly say I simply enjoy it. It's an adrenaline rush. If it was me, sitting behind a desk somewhere and collecting a paycheck? No thank you. It would drive me insane. I need the excitement," she said, spearing another fork full of fish. The crunch of the batter enveloping it resounded around the table. When she finished chewing and swallowed, she lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth and turned to face Kates.

"Tell me about your father. Please. If you're comfortable doing so. I have a feeling there's a story, there," she said, her eyes expressing the interest she genuinely had in the topic at hand.

She hadn't forgotten about @Keats , though... her foot once again tapped his under the table, some obscure Morse code being played out with appendages.

Keats spoke as he raised his drink, "Here's to the thrill, then. Remind me that I have something to show you, when we're back at the bookstore. Something thrilling that I haven't showed you before." Kates raised an eyebrow at him. "Not that, Kates. Well. Not just that." He chuckled as he put a dent into his pint.

"Tell me about your father. Please. If you're comfortable doing so. I have a feeling there's a story, there."

Kates took a long drink when Chelsea asked her the question. Eventually she responded.

"It's a story. Maybe not a long one, but I'm still... I don't know... processing it all. He was a wise guy. Working with a bunch of Italians out in Vegas. The old school guys, they don't really let you in unless you're one of them, so my father, being some sort of Scot and English mix, was an associate and ran a couple of businesses for them. I grew up in this very sheltered life- didn't even know what he really did until a year or so ago. I thought he was just a businessman, you know? Well, his crew got taken out a couple months ago. And apparently now, they hit the wise guys just as much as the made guys. So... he died. I didn't know if I was in danger too or not. He'd always kept me out things, kept me safe. Wanted me to focus on my education, go to college. So when he died, I just took off. I was scared. Grabbed the first flight out of Vegas, and it wound up being in Detroit. Well, the two things I was really interested in were medicine and literature. But my father was sick the last couple months, even before they... you know. I just didn't want to try to be a nurse again so soon after nursing him. Bad memories. So I tried to find a job with books, you know? But none of the libraries wanted me. One of them recommended this bookstore opening down the street. And I went there and met Mister Keats, and I'm pretty sure my job interview lasted three hours because we talked so much about books and things. And he gave me a job and a place to live, because there's three bedrooms upstairs. I switched with Tibbs though because he doesn't need much space. So I've just been working there, and it's nice."

She ended abruptly, realizing just how long she'd been speaking for as she looked at Chelsea. This time, though, she didn't blush; she just smiled and took a longer sip from her drink before speaking again.

"Uh, sorry. That's all of it."

Kates focused on finishing her chowder.

Keats, as he'd listened, had rested his hand on the back of Chelsea's chair, tracing patterns between her shoulder blades with his index finger.

Recent death was never easy to cope with, regardless if it was of a person, of a marriage, of a dream. Chelsea appreciated the honesty; she'd had an impulsively obsessive need for it, as of late. It couldn't have been easy for Kates to lay it all out for her like that, but she'd done it.

"Thank you," she said simply, then quickly switched the subject to lighter things. They finished their meals while talking about the new businesses cropping up, and Chelsea's odd habit of purchasing real estate in different states while not having a place to live in Detroit yet.

They were walking and talking now, and Chelsea was laughing at herself. 

"All the travelling, it just hasn't occurred to me to find anything permanent here, yet. Chicago and Philadelphia... I suppose I look at those more like investments? You're both welcome there any time, by the way," she said as they neared the bookstore. Keats unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting the women through. Tibbs was sitting there by the entrance, and Chelsea had a moment to wonder why he never tried to dart out the door whenever it opened. 

Then again, if it was her, would she ever try to leave, either?

"So where else do you own places? And what sort of places do you own?" asked Kates, as they strolled into the bookstore. Keats seemed busy with something on the far wall, and Kates was curious about ChelseaUccello. She was such a... what was even the word for her? A strange woman? An enigmatic woman? Kates could imagine her being her favorite high school teacher... but she'd also seen the woman bang a stranger on a pile of books and admit she enjoyed breaking the law for the fun of it. She was a contradiction, it seemed, and she had an edge that Kates found herself envious of. After she listened about Chelsea's businesses, Keats locked the door, drew the shades, and waved them over.

Pressing a well hidden button on the side of the bookcase, Keats swung the whole shelf open; it was one that was filled with maps and other rolled up posters. Following him down a dark set of stairs, at least until he clicked the light on, the two women found themselves looking at a distillery. It was small, seemingly intended for quality over quantity. 

"Now Kates," began Keats, "you must never come down here without me. I trust you, of course, or you wouldn't be here- both of you. But, frankly... Tibbs likes to mess with things when he's unattended, so it's better to just leave this place to me. This is the lab... the dream, really. I made a business connection named Aurora_Mastrosimone who helped me set all this up. Those over there are a couple pot stills. Those barrels actually began their lives stashed around basements in and around Oxford; I've been working on them for years- just had them shipped over."

His gleaming green eyes focused on Chelsea.

"Would you like a taste? I assure you, you won't regret it."

"I would love one," Chelsea said, meeting Keats' eyes. She was impressed; this was no small undertaking. After he offered them both a small glass, she held hers up to the low light and swirled it around, admiring the rich amber tones. 

"Citrine. It looks like citrine," she said, then gave it another swirl before inhaling the scent. She looked like a judge at a wine tasting event.

"Oak, of course... and is that caramel?" Before he had a chance to answer, she lifted the glass, sipped, hummed, and then finished the rest in a quiet little gulp.

"That's wonderful. You'll be able to sell that anywhere, with the right connections. I imagine Aurora is just the girl for that." Kates was sipping hers cautiously, and it made Chelsea smile. Poor thing was going to be knackered on two drinks, and it was barely past noon. Sliding her eyes to Keats, she tilted her head.

"A home and two businesses. Pretty soon, you won't have time for... yourself," she said, the corner of her mouth raising in a playful smile. "I suppose if I have any hope of spending time with either of the two of you, I'll have to find a place to stay nearby," she winked, her eyes landing on Kates now, hoping to get a rise out of her. Oh, how fun it was, watching the color rise in her cheeks.

"I more or less lucked out on the real estate I found in Philadelphia and Chicago. Both fixer uppers, but the lofts in Chicago are finished, and the building on Quaker in Philly is coming along nicely. I insist, if either of you do travel that way, that you'll come stay there. Whether or not I'm there, I'll see to it that both your names have permanent apartments attached to them. Home away from home." 

Kates flashed a wide grin at ChelseaUccello.

"Well, I can't say that I've ever really traveled before, except for leaving Las Vegas and coming here, but it's nice to know that if I ever had to leave again I'd have somewhere to go! And, of course, you can stay here in Tibbs' room whenever you want...

Keats cleared his throat.

"... well, as long as Mister Keats says so, of course."

"Which he does, of course," added Keats with a smirk, "although he does prefer to make those sorts of offers himself. But of course, always feel free to stay in whichever bedroom you like."

Keats chuckled as Kates began to blush.

"Anyways," he concluded. That's that. Still, ever since Chelsea had raised the whiskey toward her mouth and closed her eyes to savor the taste, he'd barely looked away from her. His green eyes had an intensity and a hunger that she was very familiar with.

"Kates, I'll give you the rest of the afternoon off today. Just... clean up the basement first? Wipe down the bar, the stills, but don't touch anything that looks fancy, and then maybe a good sweeping? And that'll be that. I'll take Chelsea upstairs and show her the bedrooms, just so she knows what to expect if she decides to stay with us in the future."

Keats, with a hand resting on the small of Chelsea's back, helped her up the stairs as Kates grabbed a broom, staring after them as they left. Chelsea could feel his eyes on her as she walked up the two sets of stairs. When she reached the bedrooms, Keats reached in front of her and opened up the door to Tibbs' room. The room, much smaller than Keats', was more bed than floor: a large, king-sized bed dominated the room. There was also a dresser with a mirror behind it and a large window that looked out on the city- and a bird feeder that hung outside.

As she glanced into the room, Chelsea simultaneously felt Keats' arms slip around her to rest on her thighs as his lips gently began kissing the back of her neck and her shoulders- as deftly as any vampire ever had.

Chelsea was just relaxing into the reversed embrace when the sound of glass shattering sounded from below. They both froze, and a moment later, Kates could be heard running up the stairs

"Mister Keats!" She panted. "Those boys... they've thrown a molotov against the front of the store!"

Keats and Chelsea were past her and rushing down the stairs before she got the last word out. From her view at the balcony, she watched as Keats went right, going for an extinguisher, and Chelsea went...

...straight out the front door.

The three hooligans certainly hadn't expected that. They were still standing there, stupidly staring at the blonde coming at them when she barrelled into the first, knocking him to the ground and, with two well-placed hands on each side of his head, spun it until his neck let out a sickening crack.

The other two finally decided to run, but Chelsea was already up and giving chase. She grabbed hold of the backs of their shirts and yanked backwards, ripping both and unbalancing one man enough to send him to the ground. A kick to the face stunned him, and then all of that black-eyed attention was on the last. The right hook dislocated his jaw, and the hard jab to the hyoid bone in his throat silenced him forever. Before he'd even hit the ground, Chelsea spun and knelt over the lone survivor, who looked like he was trying to backstroke away on the sidewalk. The heel of Chelsea's hand slammed up at an angle into his nose, sending bone shard into his brain. His limbs danced briefly on the sidewalk, then stilled.

Chelsea stood slowly, and turned to see Keats dowsing the flames that were trying to creep up the facade of the building. He hadn't seen what she'd done, not yet.

Kates, standing there with her lovely mouth hanging open in horror, had seen it all. 

With a tinge of something as close to regret as her Other had ever displayed before, she placed two fingers on her lips, kissed them, then extended her hand toward the other woman. 

And then, she was gone.