Rusalka had been wandering the streets. Those that she had grown up with were slaughtered, while their kin found their way to America. Taking an interest in the faces, she found herself sitting along the rail lines or docks throughout the day. Her eyes traveling from one face to the next. She was often curious about others around her and what made them come here.

As far as she could tell many of the cities were quiet and crowded. There were a few ruckus' throughout the night when people decided to stay up late and enjoy the stars as they stumbled their way home from the speakeasies.

Being short, her feet dangled a few inches from the ground, she swung her legs as she muttered to herself.

"Seamstress." Rusalka murmured as she watched a dour faced lady coming from the nearest rail car. Further down, she saw a young man standing straight backed. "Soldier."

As each person walked by her she came up with a story of them in her head. As the soldier walked past, Rusalka's mind spun around with it's own life history for him. His parents had a well kept home, but he couldn't keep up with their expectations so in the last attempt of making his parents proud he joined the army. Now he was returning home. Perhaps a death in the family, or a wedding needed attendance.

As she sat still, she waited for more people to pass her. It was something that filled the time while she waited.

Rusalka had a late night, her eyes were starting to drop a little when the dour faced woman came back. Onto the boat that was in front of her. She had the perfect view as the child was taken off the boat. She looked a little like the dour woman. The one that Rusalka had thought perhaps a seamstress. Now she wondered if there was some sort of child labour gig. Perhaps the lady needed a trainable maid.

Tilting her head, she noticed a few more similarities and how familiar the one woman was with the child. Perhaps this was her daughter. But why was she hidden? Was dour afraid of what society would think of her? Did the father die? Perhaps she was a bit loose? There were so many questions and yet all she could was watch things play out.

The child did not seem to fear the woman, so there was no need for a rescue. Rusalka's own mother died fairly early and she could imagine that she was sitting next to her on these moments. Her eyes darting between one woman and the child.

Bright eyed and well rested, Rusalka makes her way from the docks to the train station. All those heartfelt hello and goodbyes were enough to lift anyone's mood or give hope. Allowing herself a moment to be wistful before she looked up at those bustling around her. Men and women with luggage, many women having their luggage carried for them by people Rusalka could only imagine picked up a quick job.

Her eyes darted back and forth until they rested on one of the officers that hung out around here. She was sure he was there to make sure that contraband did not enter or leave the city. How foolish the police around here were. Most were on the take and those that weren't were quickly outsmarted by the gangsters in the city.

She imagined this officer's name was Sam. Something old fashion sounding. He looked like he could be a constant in church on Sunday mornings. Probably had the normal amount of kids and a white picket fence. No doubt his children were regaled with stories that made him look like an every day hero even though all he did was stand in the station for hours.

Rusalka wondered for a moment if he was on the take but gently shook her head. Too naive. Too something that made him think he could save the city from those unsavoury individuals.

Not being able to resist, she chuckled and looked for another story.

Darkness had fallen and the stars were not shining so brightly tonight. Perhaps it was the smog starting to form around the city or perhaps the drink was getting to Rusalka, either way it seemed darker than it had in days. Still she skipped along her merry way down one of the city alleys she had learned so much from. Her heels clicking with every step.

The air held very little breeze and she could pick up sounds along the way. She could hear nearby places with their domestic arguments. You know the kind, since they were all too common. A BANG! sounded, followed by a shrill scream. Not much in a hurry, Rusalka took her time coming around the corner. It seemed instead of looking for a story about some random stranger, she was witnessing a pickpocketing gone wrong.

Looking down at the body and back up, she caught the silhouette of a young lady running down the street. Shaking her head, she muttered to herself as she silently said a prayer over the fallen. Stepping aside so her shoes wouldn't get dirty, she carried on her way. There was no way she wanted to be around when the police finally found the body. No, instead she would go pour out a drink for the unknown and carry on.

It had been a few days since Rusalka had managed to get a break and just settle somewhere unnoticed. Unseen by those around her as she perched herself on the bench at a busy train station. There was a young woman of about 17 that crossed her path. Dark, wavy hair and wearing a spring dress. Rusalka eyed her warily as anything that looked that innocent surely was a trap, but if it wasn't it made her a little envious to be so care free.

Rusalka caught herself imagining how this child's life had been vastly different from hers. While there was always hunger knocking on their door for  period after rent was paid, this girl looked as if she had not missed a meal in her life. While Rusalka's eyes narrowed automatically giving away her wariness, this girl had the eyes of a doe. Large, wide open and taking in the scenery. Tourist. That was what Rusalka had deemed  for her this day. A tourist that had no real idea of the horrors that were hidden in the night. The secrets the darkness kept hidden from the light of day.

Rusalka noticed a familiar sound, a voice she had once known. It dragged her thoughts from a story for the driver of a wealthy man. She had been engrossed on deciding what kind of jobs he did for his employer but that voice. It sent shivers down her spine, and her head jolted upwards. Scanning the crowd until she came across the source of the voice.

Her eyes widened in surprise as her mind asked her questions a mile a minute. The one that really stood out was How? She had been meticulous and careful. Sighing, she gathered her belongings and quickly slipped into a nearby alley. Her people watching would have to wait a little while.

Strolling around the streets on the day of her birth, Rusalka takes the time to do a little people watching. She managed to find some free time and instead of her usual haunts, she decided spending time in the sunny park might be a better way to relax and see new people. She grew tired of the smoke, the usual conductors and staff. It was time for a change.

Settling on a bench she watched a young mother with two children under the age of maybe 3. Toddlers. So full of life, young. The mother looked a little tired. Rusalka wondered what her home life was like. She doted on the children but she seemed a little jumpy. Perhaps just nervous, or maybe this was the first time she and her children could visit the park. Rusalka envisioned a home with a dying parent. Someone this woman cared for daily along with the children. Times were rough and elderly did need care. A loving home where only exhausted from caring or so many. Seemed idle and she let imagination drift o a scenario of warmth, love and safety. Whatever that looked like, Rusalka could only guess.

A busy weekend that was for sure. Work had made it impossible to watch anyone too closely. One minute, she was there the next running for an airport. Traveling was always a headache for Rusalka. She loved being at home where she knew the ins and outs of the city. Dressed in black and having just left funerals she decided to watch the mourners.

Some were gleeful that their rivals were dead. Many distraught at the loss of their friends and families. She found the ones most gleeful a bit odd. As she watched them she wondered how they could be so callous at the end of human life? What made death just a celebration? Was it because they knew eventually it would be their turn? She considered this as she rose to leave. The last trickle of mourners were making their rounds, it was a good time to clear out.