As you walk through the business district of Downtown Detroit, your eye is drawn to the gleaming silver sign with the black silhouette of a bird. Elegant script beneath the image reads:

Nightingale Books.

The front of the brick building is dominated by large windows, one of which has another sign in it:

Books: Rare, Used, and New. Special orders welcome. 

On entering, you see the store illuminated by the light from the windows. The room, despite being packed with books, still feels open: the only furniture apart from the bookshelves are the comfortable reading chairs spread out throughout the store. Dozens of bookshelves fill the large, single room, most of which are labeled by topic, sometimes by country, sometimes by genre. The varied selection appears to offer something for everyone. Your feet pad on the hardwood floors as you browse around, taking in the thousands of books that fill up the walls and aisles of the store.

The doorway in the back of the store reveals a stairway that presumably leads to a second story and a basement, but it's chained off with a notice for Employees Only. 

Looping around the store, you see a young man with unkempt hair standing behind a counter. He wears a somewhat faded green coat, white shirt, black pants, and an affable expression. One of the man's hands absentmindedly scratches the neck of the orange tabby cat perched on the counter next to him. Its tail is curled around, resting on its paws, and its green eyes watch you as if wondering what you'll do. 

Stepping into Nightingale Books Store Rom found himself nearly taken, he had never really been that much of an avid read. Yet in times like these, sometimes books offered more wisdom than people ever could and right now that is what he needed, something to take his mind off of some things, an escape if it was, and he wasn't going to be doing the usual of drinking and having late night meetings with women...that was out of the question.

He briefly eyed one of the books, though he had to say that it did not seem like something he would like. It read a bit too factual for him, some things like a good old fantasy tale was things he enjoyed. The stories that truly took you away from the shit like death and despair, one that opened your eyes to an entirely new world. 

Walking up to the young man with hair that seemed to be more in control than him at the current moment.  He smiled at that, he often had the same problem, but he combed his but for a reason, Rom saw that it suited the man, it gave him a roguish look that would be appealing to some that would walk into this very place.

"Excuse me, would you happen to host a collection of fantasy novels?"

With that, his fingers began to rhythmically drum on the counter, a total of four beats as if he was playing a drum. It seemed to happen without his knowing as he continued to do so, smiling at the man, genuinely.

Keats and the cat both glanced up as the door opened; on hearing the bell, the cat strolled over and curled up in a pillow on the counter. The customer seemed like a tall man- young, with neatly parted hair. A student from a local college, perhaps? Keats listened as the man approached him to ask about fantasy novels.

"Good request. Let me think..."

Keats wandered off through the shelves, pulling a few books from different sections as he muttered to himself. He returned to the counter with three books.

"There's some more things you could find out there if you'd like to do some more browsing, chiefly over there..."

He gestured toward one of the corners.

"... but these would be my picks if you're looking for fantastic novels. The first one here is George MacDonald's Phantastes, the second is The Well at the World's End by William Morris. The third one is She: A History of Adventure. Those are the big three that come to mind. She takes some fantastic elements and brings them into our world, whereas The Well at the World's End imagines an entirely different world. Phantastes is a mix of the two. And like I said, I've probably got a few more if you want to browse."

Keats returned the smile, happy to either speak more about his selections, help the customer purchase, or give the man some space to look around. 

For a moment he thought about it, tilting his head to the side, and he enjoyed the apt description. From looking at the cover alone, maybe he would enjoy it and it would be something that he would come to enjoy for time on end. 

"Any more? Sorry, I love these and would love to purchase them but I read a lot in my spare time, my work takes me all over and not a lot of time for the radio, so while I'm at it, why not enjoy some things like this, eh?"

The tapping grew faster, the excitement reached into him and wished for him to jump into a never ending string of tapping. Yet he calmed himself, resigning himself to that simple tapping. 

He would not deny that this was nice, it was a great possibility for him to be able to read, so when the offer was there. He wished to grip it by the horns and make sure that he got the best out of any situation he had. 

"So, anything else, besides these three? I want to be able to enjoy myself right now."

Tilting his head, there was nothing that could have held back such childlike excitement. The way his eyes brightened, as if the sun itself reflected in them, it would have been quite threatening to see in such...dull eyes. 

"Same genre, it's what interests me most and makes me excited to read more. So I don't really forget what I do for my business, keeps me secure..."

And with that, another light smile played at his lips. One that did not hide anything, if anything, it played well into the bright look that reflected in his eyes.

Keats pursed his mouth, thinking, somewhat disrupted by the man's tapping on the desk. Perhaps the young man was under the influence of something; he certainly seemed excitable. Well, Keats wasn't one to judge. 

"Morte d'Arthur is a classic, of course. There are some fantastic elements there, of course."

Keats moved towards the back of the store in search of more volumes.

"And what is it you do for business, Mister...?"

When those next words escaped the young man, the way he framed it, he found himself curious. For a moment, he wondered if the truth worked in such situations. For a reason, he found himself wishing to be somewhat...truthful, he didn't know to which extent. His eyes looked at the man, like the changing of a season, his eyes had gone from a golden beaming sun to that of a dull frosty winter.

"I'm a narcotic's distributor. I make sure to work with the correct people and make sure that all the people that I deliver my product to get the best."

Well that was something that didn't exactly leave him vulnerable, someone had to know, the man seemed relatively unaware of the world that they lived. Of course, it was clear to tell by the undertones, the way his voice had turned solemn. Discussing the business in such a fashion, the way it shaped him to be the way he was, the thrill of it, well books and the means of making money proved to be his motivation and need for escape. 

"It often takes me across the country, so here I am now. My name is Rom, short for Romulus, it's not something that I always like to give away. My name, my business is an entirely different matter."

The rhythmic tapping had stopped, his voice had turned up a step, a falseness was there, hiding. Yet he simply gave the young man a soft smile, one that was very different from the ones he had before. He often had it when the business caught up with him, so here he was wishing for a few books, the single thought of those had brought a gleam to his eyes, a happy memory seemingly. 

"What is your name, sir? What exactly is it that you do away from this humble store?"

Rom's voice came out breathless but during the moment of saying his name, he had to wonder if the man had recognized it. His name once meant something, yet the unruly-haired man had simply maintained his position in the back. Not a clatter or thump of something falling to the ground, not even the soft rushing of steps, the man had no idea who he was before now, for a moment, he allowed a bitter smile that reached his eyes. 

Keats nodded briskly, and his voice seemed chipper.

"Ah, a medical man. Pharmaceutical industry seems like a popular one these days. And Romulus is quite the name... although I doubt someone raised by wolves would appreciate a good book."

Keats stopped as they reached the shelf he was aiming at, and he slid out a copy of Le Morte d'Arthur.

"Maybe this would be a good decision to your pile there? My name is John Keats, and away from this store... well, I work as a personal assistant to a businesswoman. Nothing too special; she's into horseracing, so I help her out with some things here and there."

Chuckling, the smile that now played at his lips, it was genuine. The man that didn't pry, yet the way he nodded, and how his voice 'seemed' chipper. One would think that it was but growing in the life, where he was now, he was just glad that the man didn't seem to have a problem with the situation that he was. 

Another thing that he planned to use, the way the man had said that he was raised by wolves. Oh, but he was, smirking ever so slightly, he decided that maybe this is just something that maybe he had to grow through to be who he was right now. 

"Oh, but I was, not wolves in the animalistic sense, if you want to say that. I'm talking wolves in the sense that they were hungry for their son to do what they wished for him to do. I'm always a bit hungry, ambitious in my line of work, my parents often are the best example of me being the product of my upbringing."

There it was, a small cheeky toothy smile that seemed to purposefully look like he was a beast of some kind. Only to then turn his head away, noticing that the man now had a book in hand, he couldn't tell exactly what it was. 

"Hmm, Le Morte d'Arthur? Tell me, what's it about? What would draw me in like the others?"

His voice was genuinely curious, the man had recommended some good ones so far. One that did draw him in at first glance, yet what was it about this book that would give him the hunger to read more? To thirst for another page as if it was a cube of beef that was seasoned to perfection. 

"Nice to meet you John Keats, it's a pleasure, personal you say? You freelance or only working for the horse-racing miss herself? I'm assuming you mean Mercy Fiorentino, she's quite known in Detroit. She's one of the few that stick out when people mention the city, I've been meaning to meet with her, if she is who you are talking? There are not many women that partake in the ponies or horse-races if you wish to call it by the actual term....so I hazarded a guess."

With that, his eyes wandered around the store for a moment before finally landing back on Keats, the man had proven to be interesting, and he had been in luck. He had found more than a simple book, he found someone that surprisingly he wished to keep speaking with for a moment.

"Well, there's wolves of every shape and size, I suppose. And Le Morte d'Arthur is Malory's famous retelling of the story of King Arthur. Just about all the stories. Arthur. Lancelot. Guinevere. Merlin. Gawain. There are some great stories there of quests, companionship, honor, justice... and, of course, betrayal, lust, and catastrophe. It's very American, in that sense."

Keats grinned. 

"I figured you'd know about Miss Fiorentino. She's made quite the impact. As far as I know, I only work for her. But I'd be open to other things if there's enough money in it. I'm happy to represent people in an official diplomatic capacity, deliver things... I've got a lot of bills to pay, unfortunately."

Chuckling, the eyes followed the young man before he finally bowed his head, looking at the book cover for a slight moment, his eyes wandered like a map, making sure to memorize every inch of the book. Finally, he looked back up and at that moment, he finally met the man's eyes, they were not the same dull that his own had, almost like they had life, a function that even he, did not come to recognize. 

"Indeed they are, they hunt in packs, yet some of the strongest are often the Omega's, the lone wolf. The ones that wish to be in solitary, the ones that find strength within themselves and instead of being in a part, they become their own. Each part of them having a function to it's pack."

The moment that the words left his lips, it seemed exactly the tapping, as if he had no idea where it came from. Yet it ploughed into his mind and desired, no, craved and demanded to be spoken. So he did, with such ease that he thought his voice did not even sound like his own. For a sly moment, he was wondering what was wrong with him for that moment. 

Shaking his head, he moved forward. Deciding that this could be filed away for later, he didn't exactly have such patience to deal with things that came to him as if struck by an unknown force. So he focused on the words that Keats said after, finding that they were easier and more pleasant. 

"I'd guess that's life as well, a lot of factors. I'll take it, certainly it'd be interesting and stories of adventure with angst, who doesn't love a good tearing at the strings of your mind or heart? It seems to be a common thing nowadays my friend."

He noted that the way Keats spoke about Mercy, there was a seeming fondness there, though there was a hint of reluctance. Maybe he didn't want to say too much in front of him, he didn't exactly know, yet he found himself curious. He couldn't exactly read Keats like that, he had only been speaking to the man for only a short while, so more than likely, he was just misunderstanding the man. 

"She's been a trailblazer, she always has something up her sleeve. You're a lawyer or something that would lend skills in persuasion and tactics of peace? I would need someone like that, my business often involves going towards an edge that could be solved with matters of discussion. There would be plenty of money involved in such a position, should you wish."

The man had piqued his curiosity and there was a desire brewing within Rom, maybe Keats could turn out to be something. For once, he didn't exactly know where this was going but the more he spoke with the man, the more he found himself ready to continue talking. He wondered, would his line of work scare the man away? He was, after all, only dealing with horse-racing, Rom believed that is.

"From what I've heard, the lone wolf is a myth. Or at least the idea of the successful lone wolf. People do better with independence than wolves, no doubt."

Keats smiled; Rom was... intense. Very intense. He didn't seem to be the sort of person you'd want angry at you, and Keats was happy to make sure he stayed on the right side of Rom's approval. As Rom spoke about Mercy and their business, Keats focused more.

"Not a lawyer, no. Just someone who understands people. And plenty of money is what I need, frankly. You'd just need to go through Mercy to arrange any discussions where I'd be helping you out. What would it be, business deals? Lining up sales to hospitals? That sort of thing?"

The way Rom talked... Keats didn't still think he was in the pharmaceutical industry. 

"Well true, lone wolves are less successful, that is true. I guess it's why they're packs. Hmm, yes I would guess that, people do that and sometimes we see the best of them in such a manner. It's often interesting to see how they take to it."

Keats looked at him, with a smile. He was interesting and once again, his take on certain things was something that even he couldn't deny. The way his mind worked, it seemed to be something that even liked the idea of a lone wolf type of person. As if they could continue to go at it alone, yet he knew, from personal experience, people needed a pack, something to rely on and sometimes being your own...pillar was not always it's best.

"A person who understands people, as in reading people? Plenty of money is already on the table, trust me on that one."

Now his lips twitched up again, as if to say that he knew something Keats didn't. Of course, he couldn't exactly tell the man that he would be working for a distributor if he didn't take the job. So a...medical rep sounded better than anything else, of course, there was something in Keats' posture that almost seemed...off, like he didn't believe him on that little belief. 

"I'd need someone like that, someone who has a knack for reading people, if that is what you do. Mercy and her line of work is something I hope to introduce myself to soon, she's someone that has been on my list of potential partners for the future."

He leaned forward, he did a single tap on the counter top, he had his moments, so now there it was, a smile. Deciding to either tell Keats or not, the man did seem to have the slightest of ideas but for then Rom played it off. 

"Business deals, lining some clients, lining up deals. And attending some of them with me, watching my back. This is meant to be a big deal type of thing, so I want you prepared for the type of things that you'll be facing here Keats, it's big time eh?"

Smirking, maybe he could ease the man into this. He didn't want to scar one away, after everything, with this in mind. He eased up, opting for a soft smile instead.

Honey was on a mission to find a place that an acquaintance of his had told him about. A book shop in Detroit that claimed to have literature that came from more sources than America itself. Not that there was anything wrong with the Bostonian Poe or Missourian Twain but nothing was so dear to his heart as the Scotsman. Honey had left several of his books and collections of writing behind as he and his brother had originally thought they were just coming to America to settle their da's affairs and then return. Their ma, however, had a differing opinion and had told them that America would provide more opportunities than the heather and moors and sheep.  

At last he'd found it, Nightengale books, and inside the store front he could see that his quest would be fruitful. Neatly arranged in a pile of books he could see a small collection of poems by Walter Scott sandwiched between a few other books that contained the poetry of several notable authors. With excitement, he gently pulled on the brass handle of the heavy door and opened it slowly, breathing in the dusty smell of pages. It was one of his favorite smells in the world and here he could bask in it. He perused the aisles slowly, studying the books and slowly picking ones he thought might be interesting. He could already hear Ham groaning over the clutter that several books would bring to their cramped flat but he too would secretly be appreciative that he could share in the stories and poems. They'd been reading from a book of vespers at night and punctuating that with a bit of Rabbie would do them a world of good. 

At length, he curled up in one of the chairs, intent on devouring at least some of the book he was holding in his hand. He'd hardly gotten twenty pages in when the soft thump of something hitting his chair brought him out of his reverie. The cat, which he hadn't noticed earlier, was perched on the top of the wingtip chair that he was currently draped over. It looked at him curiously before plopping down into a sort of loaf, its tail swinging freely back and forth to occasionally hit him in the head. 

"Do y'mind beastie? Ahm trying to read and I cannae with you being so throughly distracting. Where did y'come from anyway?"

"Any sort of negotiation or representation would work okay, but what do you mean by "watching your back"? Like, making sure you don't miss anything in the fine print?"

Keats kept the smile, but it was becoming clear that Rom might be suggesting something a little more... intense. Perhaps even illegal. 

"If you're looking for a bodyguard, that's not exactly my forte, unfortunately. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Maybe we should sit down with Mercy and talk things through a little more directly? I'd like to make some cash, but I wouldn't want to be involved in anything too... serious."

Keats noticed another customer come in, and began walking slowly back towards the counter to finish up Rom's purchase. It sounded like Rom might have a chance for money, and Keats was in far too much debt to ignore that potential, but the man had a strange intensity about him- an edge of something dangerous.

As Keats was finishing up with Rom, the orange tabby attended to Honey. The cat trailed the newcomer around the shop as the latter explored the books and curled up in a chair. In response to Honey's question, the cat simply purred louder.

Tilting his head, he could see the wheels turning in the man's head, he was admirable, as if he tried to keep up the moment where this would be turning elsewhere. Rom would never wish to force anyone into working with him, the way they would be going and how this would work, he could see Keats either didn't have the stomach yet for this type of thing or wished to be kept out of it for now. Rom respected that, he had the choice too and allowed himself to walk into this life of his own volition. 

"Negotiation and representation would be one of the many avenues that would be happening here. I don't want you to get into this, unless you are sure Keats. If you want this and do not wish to be blinded by money, think about this and then, only then, get back to me, and we can discuss, alright?"

Rom could almost see the draw, the man was about to accept this for what it was. He could see the potential, but this kind of life, one that held death like a gun in its corner....it was something that he did not wish for something to go through, unless they were sure. Money only secured so many things, yet the look and smile that Keats continued to have, one that looked so forced, he would have bet money if possible....

"Look, Keats, don't think I don't see you thinking about this and you're slowly figuring out the things that I do for a living. We can contact Mercy, we can make sure that this is the right move for you. I don't want you regretting it later down the line, I may be something of a bad guy in the eyes of a minority, majority, or however the fuck it works nowadays. I want people who are ready to cross that...line."

With that, a soft smile settled on his features as he eyed Keats. One thing was sure, Keats could either join this willing, be a part of something that could grant him all the monetary desires that he truly wanted and craved. Yet he could walk and decide to continue doing business with Mercy, if it made him the money he needed, who was he to interfere?

Keats nodded to Rom as he gestured to the books. 

"I'll think about it, Rom, and I'll talk to Mercy about it too. Thank you, though. Maybe you can swing by when you're finished with these four books, and we can discuss things further?"

He indicated the four books on the counter.

"Was there anything else you were looking for today?"

With that, he knew the man would do so. He hoped to work with the man, he seemed to have a great head on his shoulders, it would truly be a shame if such a thing were to befall him in terms of a fate that would not befit him. Yet this life, as cruel as it was, had death at it's centre, and he would not be forgetting that. So he decided to move, making sure to give Keats a sly grin.

"Good, this is going to be something that maybe we can all be invested with. I want to make sure that...we all make a little money before moving on. Thank you, Keats, for the books, as well."

Bowing his head, he soon shook it after. He paid for the books, noticing Honey on his way out, he gave the man a small smirk walking up to him and patting on the shoulder as he left. 

Honey found himself thoroughly distracted by the tabby as it purred and rubbed its head on his hand. He scolded it as it tried to use the corner of the book he was reading to gnaw on, gently pushing his nose away from his treasure. It was at that moment that he truthfully noticed both the shop owner and his acquaintance, Rom, chatting at the counter. 

"Ah, perhaps he's collecting his dues". He thought, watching as Rom paid for his books and left with a knowing smirk. He tipped his head in return acknowledgement, sighing as he remembered he had a business himself to finish setting up. A leisurely afternoon of reading in a sun dappled corner with a cat on his lap would simply have to wait. 

With a grunt, he heaved himself from the chair and gathered the small stack of books that he had curated, taking them to the counter where the slightly disheveled shop keep stood. He was greeted amicably as he placed his books down on the counter. 

"Could'nae help but notice Rom leave the shop. Wonder what sort of books he's interested in." He spoke half to himself and half to the shopkeep, his attention distracted again by the cat which was winding its way through his legs and purring loudly.

"Cat seems friendly, means he's got a good owner. Suppose he keeps the mice from the shop eh?"

Keats said farewell to Rom and pushed thoughts of future dealings from his mind; for the moment, he needed to focus on Honey.

"'afternoon, sir. Ah, the previous gentleman was interested in more fantastic novels. And thank you for complimenting Byron here..."

Keats bowed his head to the cat, who had followed Honey over to the counter.

"... he keeps the mice away, yes. Little mouth teeth don't mix well with books. But more than that, he's a good friend."

Keats smirked; his oldest friend, actually. Which was sort of sad, considering the cat was only a couple years old. Ah, well.

"What can I help you with today?"

Vasili quietly entered the quaint little store, well as quiet as his cane would let him be. Glancing briefly at the gentleman in the faded green coat, who he presumed was the owner, he left the man to his conversation as his steps took him further into the establishment. His eyes wandered along aimlessly from the brick walls to the open window, to a chained off rear door.

Meandering about leisurely, Vasili perused the selection of dusty tomes on hand, recognizing fewer titles and authors than he ought to, considering his relativel refined upbringing. The image of his boyhood tutor, horrified at his ineptitude, threatened to draw the ghost of a smile on his lips.

His fingers idly caressed the spines, pausing briefly as if in contemplation before drifting off to another. Finally finding a name he would be embarassed to not recognize, despite his disregard for literature, he pulled out War and Peace. Unbuttoning the blazer of his bespoke beige suit, he sat down on one of the chairs and opened up the book to revisit some memories of his childhood as he waited for the owner's conversation to end.