Authors notes:
Hi, everyone! Thank you for feigning interest and clicking here! This is my first long (or at least planned to be long) fanfiction, so I'm not promising you a masterpiece. The main pairing of this fiction is AmeBela, but side pairings include GerIta and PruHun.
Please R&R so I can take in advice for my later chapters! I love hearing advice and comments from readers. Anyways, thank you once again and I hope you enjoy Room 604! My main source of information is Wikipedia on the American Prohibition, but I will try to get this as accurate as I can. Thank you! I apologize in advance for the very short first chapter.
Rated M for smut and possibly offensive language and situations in later chapters.
A haze. It coated the blue skies giving the city a dreary look. It was fitting. Despite all the neon lights, and the cluttered buildings with the noisy streets scattered with people; it was not the colorful and clear picture she had imagined. This couldn't have been what the 'American Dream' was about. No way. Everyone was tired or overworked; their eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, or there were bags under them. No alcohol. There hadn't been any since 1920. Once it was all gone you soon came to realize what the city, like many other cities really ran on. Yes, dumped in the sewers. The intoxicating beverage that many people now had started to call the drink of the devil. It almost seemed ridiculous in her mind. The crime, the gangs, the gambling and the hats which shaded a suspicious man's eyes; obviously, men. The men that had become scum so quickly when something so precious had been taken away from them. Of course, there was always a way around the law. There was always, and always would be some way to drink.
The foreign woman tucked her ivory-colored hair behind her ear. The weather had been so subtle; she hadn't been used to it. Just like many others, she had come to the big city from a town on the outskirts of Russia. The setting… was nothing alike. Surprisingly enough though, it didn't take her that long to get used to the murky skies and the polluted air, and the many people walking the streets with different hopes and dreams, or bad intents.
She looked around to the buildings: tenants, whose lousily-sealed brick walls seemed like they toppled over one another. She lived close by. It wasn't at all a nice place, but it held a roof over her head, and it was better than sitting outside in the cold like a homeless man with shattered hopes. No, her hopes were high… as high as they could be for a woman with her disposition. She had gotten the job as an amateur model, and she couldn't help but feel that this was only a start. She wanted the blinking neon lights; she wanted the flamboyant clothes with the feathery, white boas and the high cut dresses. She wanted everything she could get. She wanted everything that she wasn't. Natalia Arlovskaya. She wanted to be everything that a young Russian girl from a rural, snowy town now living in the big city could be. The woman faltered and took the crumpled paper out of her pocket to remind her of her number. That was right. 604. It was room 604 on the second floor, the bottom of the building was a bar that had been shut down not too long ago. She remembered when they had rolled the kegs out onto the street to be done away with. Poured into the sewers for the rats. Must have been painful for all the drunkards to watch.
When she arrived upon her door after walking up an old, rusty flight of stairs she got out her keys and then twisted the doorknob open. Ah, home. Home sweet, temporary, dingy and falling apart tenant home.