Keats sat back in the booth, wiping the weariness from his eyes. It had been a long day. A long week, actually. Things in New York were starting to settle down a bit after Dexter's explosive arrival. The local thugs who'd moved in were almost entirely wiped out and operations had only recently started to run smoothly. Keats had kept busy, barely ever visiting the small, spare apartment he'd been renting. When he wasn't at the Bestia Della Morte HQ assisting PaulHeyman, he was out on the streets as much as he was able. He'd essentially made this booth in a small Irish pub in midtown his office. Stretching, he straightened his tie and polished off his drink. As he glided past the bar, he smiled at a couple women sitting in a table near the window and slid his empty glass back to Mike, the bartender. They laughed and one of them motioned for him to come join them. Pointing at his watch, he then dramatically placed a hand over his heart and winked. Unfortunately, he was in a rush. Nice to know he still had it, though. Someday, he'd have to stop flirting with women half his age.  He was getting close to fifty, after all. Someday. Just not yet.

He stepped out of the pub onto the bustling streets of New York. There was no city in the world quite like it. He'd lived in Detroit and Chicago for years, visited Boston, Philly, LA, Vegas- but there was something special about New York- a vibrancy. Perhaps Paris or London or Rome had this electricity in the air, but he had never had the pleasure of crossing the Atlantic. Someday. Just not yet. For now, there was a whole universe here in New York. Enough for a lifetime- perhaps even more than one.  Walking along the busy streets, Keats remembered his life decades before. He grew up in an orphanage in this city; he'd ran away in this city, snatched his first purse, stole his first suit, and opened up a whole new life. If he'd known back then what would happen... he had gained the riches he dreamed of, the power- but he'd also lost so many friends- and so much of himself. Via, Luciana, Maria, Cerise- all gone. So many of his other friends dead: Will, Ewiv, Brigid, Hiems, Henri. He was so accustomed to death now that it was hard to keep track. Hell, he'd just gone to Peralta's funeral yesterday. A man cut down in his prime. As Keats raised a hand to hail a cab he noticed the scars on it. Old wounds, never entirely healed. He sighed as he climbed into the cab and murmured directions to the driver. 

Strange how your whole life can sometimes hinge on one decision. What would that other young man had done- the man who never stole that purse? Where would he be now? Married? With a house? A family? Children who loved him? He said a silent prayer for Katherine, even as he cursed the life that introduced him to his daughter when she was twenty years old and not twenty seconds. No point in thinking about the past, of other roads. He'd chosen his road, and it was one with close friends, honor, wealth, women, and power. It was a good life.

As Keats emerged from the cab he nodded to Dexter's bodyguards, standing outside the Angeli della Morte HQ in Brooklyn. Maria had introduced him to Dexter... felt like a million years ago, actually. He respected the man and was happy to work for him. That's all most people want in the life. The chance to be a part of something bigger than yourself. To submerge yourself in a tribe that you believe in. Some used religion, sports teams, or a thousand other ways to accomplish this. Keats had found his tribe- and he was happy to be a part of it. As he entered Dexter's office, he shook his Godfather's hand, as well as PaulHeyman's, and dropped into the chair across the desk. 

"You wanted to see me, sir? Paul- something goin' on?"

PaulHeyman grinned as Dexter leaned forward. The Godfather, pushing some papers on his desk aside, spoke to Keats.

"You have been a loyal, dedicated man who has served Maria, myself, and PaulHeyman well. Your loyalty is appreciated and today, it's time to bring you even more into the upper ranks to help build up the city of New York. It's time for you to run a crew of your own, my friend."

Rising with an easy smile, Keats shakes Dexter's hand, then PaulHeyman's.

"As always, I will serve however I can. It is a great honor to lead a crew in this great city and I thank you for the opportunity. You won't regret it"

Keats looked out the window toward the city skyline.

"My crew will be called The Nightingales. We will work in the dark to create something beautiful together, to inspire those around us."

Keats turned to one of Dexter's bodyguards at the door.

"Get the word out to the streets, if you please. We're open for business. Tonight."

Congrats on your promotion and opportunity.

Shall the nightingales strive among the best.

A grin curled up Kizzy's face when she heard the news, and she immediately dug in her purse for a postcard that she'd pilfered on impulse from a drugstore. She never stole something she didn't wind up needing. Swiftly, she penned out a congratulatory message to her friend.

Congrats, hon! I hope The Nightingales soar for many years. 

John, I remember when we first met. You hit me with a car somewhere in Philly, if I recall rightly.

It may be that I lost some sense that day and have just been blindly following your progress ever since, or you have genuinely approached this world with ambition, passion and pride, that is worth recognition. You walk these streets with an air of satisfaction, that you are being all you can be, and achieving everything it is physically within your ability to achieve, while also eagerly seeking the next challenge or chance to better yourself.

Now, we're two aging mobsters still unsure if we have found our place in this world, or maybe that's just me, because you look pretty damn fine in that new suit, paisano.

Congratulazioni, John Keats. 

Upon hearing the rise of The Nightingales under the tutelage of Mr. Keats, Firefly visited the group's HQ. She brought congratulatory gifts such as wine barrels, ammo crates, and jewelries.

"Congratulations, Sir Keats! May the Nightingales soar high in the pedestal of power and achieve great feats in our world. To a hundred years!"

Firefly exclaimed and poured wine to several glasses, celebrating the Nightingales' formation.

~

Chicken bones came running up to  Brigid, she  had chosen this street rat as a companion because he was a street rat. No one knew better the code of silence than those who grew up in the streets ,it was a  matter of survival. She looked almost like a rag doll as she  sat haphazardly in the wooden rocking chair on her front porch relaxing for a change as she  plunked away on the banjo in her lap. She connected with the  negro boy  easily enough , she was a minority is these parts as well with her native blood. Only difference is that the society called her people The Problem.  She tried to get  past this , but she could hear the whispers and snickers about her kind behind her as she passed people on the street.  One reason Chicken bones did all her less dangerous tasks for her, the  other was because she was The Wolf always present in the shadows, watching and learning to better her skills of traumatic persuasion of facts.

 Always in a rush when he had information for her he stumbled on to the porch of her small house. She hardly had time to lay the banjo down before reaching out an arm to help steady the gangly boy. Several years had passed since she first employed the boy, twelve years old  now he was still scrawny and tall with spindly arms and legs.  "Brigid "... he paused catching his breath with short rapid intakes of breath. "Calm Chicken bones I  sure what ever it can wait you breath child."  She hated  that she  had not mastered the language of these people yet. For this reason she chose to only speak on rare occasions, when the compulsion moved her to do so. No reason for frivolous speech. He took the few moments graciously as he steadied his breathing. His chest heaving slowing and his nose flaring with each intake and exhale of breath. " I was in the streets and over heard people talking about one of your mother's old work partners." She raised an eyebrow at the child  in question and coaxing for him to continue. She knew not many were left of her mother's old family, she only had contact with a couple when she first arrived in the valley several years ago, and only briefly. " Which?" She questioned the child, cutting his next words short. He flustered a moment knowing she wanted to be told the information  straight no embellishment. he opened his mouth as if to say something , paused and took another breath. " Keats was given his own crew."

She did not know Keats directly, he greeted her  briefly at the funeral of her mother with kind words , but that was last she had seen of him. She knew more of him from her mothers correspondences to her before her passing. She wrote her about a young man who had  issues with killing, yet lived in an environment which almost demanded a cold uncaring heart for life. About how he loved the apple shine she brewed. She mentioned how he had an integrity within himself that she had not seen in many men,let alone people in general. Due to the respect her mother for  Keats she felt compelled again to speak. " Get me a pad and pen Chicken bones. I have a message I need you to deliver."

The boy arrived back at her side and handed her the writing materials. " Now go get one of those jars in the cellar." She told the child as began to scroll her note.

Dear Mr. Keats,

You do not know me. Knew my mother. She wrote me about you. you one few people she had respect for. She not give that lightly.

So I send Congratulations from her spirit to you.

Cordially,

The Wolf

Just as she finished the note Chicken bones arrived with a dust covered bottle of apple shine. She took the jar from him simultaneously handing the note. She polished the jar with the bottom corner of her peasants blouse. Handing the jar back to the boy she gave him his directions.

"Deliver to  Mr.. Keats."

With his usual haste he bolted off to the do the task. As she returned to plunking away on her banjo.