March, 1902

Brooklyn, New York

As Katherine Moore sat at a crowded table in the back room of Sonny's—distractedly listening to one of the more absurd segments in the saga of 'Cards Mahoney versus the bulls'—she couldn't help allowing her eyes to wander toward Spot Conlon's tall, lean form by the bar for what must have been the hundredth time that evening.

A glass of whiskey casually in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, he made the act of socializing look completely effortless—almost regal—as he chuckled in response to something Grim Krause muttered to him.

But all it made Kate want to do was groan in frustration. More specifically because she felt a gnawing impulse to drag him into the darkened back hallway and kiss him stupid.

Or at least until he felt just as frantic as she currently did.

Perhaps the latter wasn't a bad idea after all. He'd more than likely be amenable to such a plan…

But all of that was well beside the point.

Dammit, what the hell was wrong with her tonight?

For some reason, her thoughts seemed to be infuriatingly consumed with the handsome, blue-eyed Brooklynite—to the point of utter distraction. Maybe even outright insanity.

Spot's voice, the feel of his arms wrapped around her body, his lips on her neck—it was all completely overwhelming to her senses. And it was more than likely because she was yet again struggling to understand him—his reasoning, his steadiness—

His seemingly infinite patience and understanding—regardless of whatever chaos she threw his way.

She shook her head, taking a heaving gulp from her pint before turning back toward the now laughing table of rowdy gents. Normally, she'd be adding her two cents to the fray—some incisive rhetoric or bawdy pun. But instead, her mind—navigating ever beyond her waning control—swiftly slipped into she and Spot's conversation from that morning.

Again.

"Alright. Pick one on me then…pick one of my scars—any one you want—and I'll tell you the whole story behind it."

"Why?"

"Because…..you matter to me, Kate."

Even hours after he had uttered these sentiments—subsequently following through with what he had proposed in good faith—Kate still found herself entirely befuddled.

By his words. His motivations and wants.

By him.

That whatever the hell this thing between them was turning into, it unfailingly maintained a shocking level of stability. That Spot Conlon—the dead-rabbit, womanizing King of Brooklyn himself—had decided he wanted her.

Only her.

So, really, something must be wrong with him then.

Kate had made this very point to Julia a week prior, when the younger girl had stopped by their flat after work. It had been partly as a means for Kate to add some of the extra money she had made to the girls' shared emergency jar, but also an habitual weekly dinner engagement that the two friends rarely, if ever, missed.

One Muggs Tracey had begun to show up for as well. Which of course had led Julia to inquire why Kate had yet to extend an invite to Spot.

And with that, the whole, uncomfortable discussion had commenced.

Even Muggs had tutted in disapproval from the kitchen as he'd thrown a pair of rotting onions into their waste bin. "Aw, c'mon, pussy Kat, don't hang a fella out to dry like that. Conlon ain't all bad."

Kate glowered at the large boy's smirking face before stating, "I've told you repeatedly not to call me that hideous epithet. If my words aren't resonating loudly enough though, I have no problem communicating my displeasure in a manner that'll leave you sterile and limping for the rest of your days."

Muggs laughed outright as he turned back to the pantry, seeming utterly kittled by her threat. But Julia merely rolled her eyes at the unbecoming banter, flipping to the next page of the pamphlet she was reading.

"Despite Matthew's poor execution, I do agree. You're being untenable, Katherine. And if I've managed to put up with you since birth, it's clearly not an impossible feat."

The pretty, blonde girl paused, shooting Kate a teasing smirk before she added, "Certainly infuriating. But not impossible….my, beautiful, wild, Irish rose."

Her friend's statements only caused a scowl to settle further on Kate's face. But before she could manage an impetuous quip in kind, Muggs' voice had broken through their discussion as he had called to Julia from the kitchen.

"Jules, it's fuckin' chaos in this goddamn pantry. Where the hell do you keep your salt? Who organized this shit?"

Julia sighed impatiently, her lips pursed before responding, "Matthew, it might just be easier to do something basic—like bread and butter. Or we can go out like I offered before you insisted on this course of action. Especially if you're going to bluster about the kitchen like a wild, rabid turkey."

"Yeah, it's me who's fuckin' unseemly," Muggs muttered crossly as his tattooed arms reached into the back of the breadbox, located precariously atop the stove. "Oh, great. More moldy fuckin' bread. How the hell have you two survived this long without knowin' how to cook a proper meal?"

In Kate's mind, it was a fair question. Neither she nor Julia had ever been particularly domesticated, even now that they were both at an age for such things to be habitual. Kate—having spent her formative years scrounging for food on the streets or snatching something from home when no one was looking—had never once ventured into the art of meal preparation. And considering Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne had always employed a full kitchen staff and cook, Julia was even more hopeless when it came to food. They usually subsisted on bread, butter, some cheese and a few fruits and vegetables from the market. But due to their busy schedules—and clear disinterest in such things—it was more than likely that they found something while out.

The fact that Muggs had demanded they stay in for a home-cooked meal for once—even offering to prepare it—had shocked Kate into uncharacteristic silence. It was a surprisingly thoughtful and unexpected gesture from him. Nevermind the comical idea that a ruffian like Muggs Tracey would know how to cook at all.

But beyond his intermittent cursing from the kitchen area, he'd seemed dedicated to seeing this job to fruition, even with their lack of edible resources. And Kate couldn't help the genuine smile that grew on her lips when she looked between the tall boy and her pretty friend.

The same friend who—despite her air of annoyance—seemed happier than Kate had seen her in a long time.

Truthfully, it had been hard for the younger girl to stay angry with the pair—even when considering the purposeful, months-long deception that Julia had affected against her. No—not when she saw the way her dear sister gazed upon the tall, nightmare of a boy—absolute adoration reflecting unabashedly in her bright blue eyes.

Once Kate had noted this telling detail, she had been more than convinced, even allowing herself to consider that perhaps they'd just have to keep this burny-blowing mad-man around for a quite while yet.

But Julia had not been finished with her commentary regarding Kate's initial assertations. She snapped the pamphlet before her closed, resting her arms on the table to stare intently toward the younger girl.

"Enlighten me as to why you seem so determined to ready this thing between you and Conlon for the stage. You're creating quite the overwrought Greek tragedy, sunshine—and it's a boring one at that."

"Jesus Christ, Julia," Kate snapped irritably. "That's a tad on the dramatic side, even for you. Not to mention that you're wholly disregarding who exactly we're talking about."

"I wholly disagree," Julia steadily responded. "Because the real crux of the matter has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the fact that you're terrified."

Kate scoffed at her friend, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Please. I'd take a merry leap off the Brooklyn Bridge before I'd be afraid of Spot Conlon. That's not to say he isn't a fearsome rabbit in all other respects—but he'd not raise a finger to me. I'd bet my life on that."

"He'd better fuckin' not."

Julia and Kate both turned toward the kitchen, surprised at Muggs' muttered threat. But as Kate raised her eyebrows in confusion toward the tall boy with his back to them, she couldn't help but note the struggle with which Julia attempted to hide her smile.

Yet her friend quickly recovered, refocusing on Kate's face with a look of practicality. "I'm clearly not insinuating that Spot would ever act in that manner toward you, Katherine. What I am saying is that you're likely feeling unsettled by the unknown. You're uncomfortable because you aren't used to being steady and safe—of allowing anyone besides me into your life. And, in my opinion, the best course of action is to lean into the discomfort. Start realizing that here in Brooklyn—amongst all these people who clearly care for you—is where you belong."

"These are your friends, Julia," Kate couldn't help but mumble, unable to meet her friend's sharp, discerning gaze. "This is your home. Not mine. They tolerate me because they don't want to lose you."

But when she felt a small warm hand grasp hers, she looked up into Julia's clouded blue eyes. "That's not true, Katherine—that's never been true."

Kate sighed, pulling her numbing fingers away to clench them uncomfortably within her lap, hearing Julia quietly continue, "After all these years, why are you still so convinced you mean nothing to people who consider you family?"

Kate shrugged, silently regretting starting this dialogue with Julia, realizing she should have expected her friend to the steer the conversation to something deeper and probing. Something Kate would rather evade than address.

And as a means of escape, the younger girl decided to veer their conversation to the original person of interest, unwilling to concede her point. "Well, regardless of all that, I still don't see how it's acting out of fear to anticipate reality. To assume that Spot—a person who only has cavalier relationships with women—will more than likely lapse into what's known and comfortable once more. I'd think you'd applaud the forethought I've given this."

"Forethought," Julia breathed with a laugh. "Is that the label you've settled on for this week's foolishness? Because I'm confident this is just another chapter in the same bloody book."

"And what book would that be?" Kate demanded with narrowed eyes.

Julia stared at her for a moment, a flash of something passing across her face so quickly that Kate was unable to catch the actual emotion behind it.

"Oh, it's an epic tale—a heartbreaking tragedy to be sure. I believe the title would go something like 'How A Beautiful, Smart Girl Ended Up Alone and Broken Because Her Monstrous Mother Convinced Her She Was Worthless'"

Kate felt her chest constrict as blood had drained from her face, her shoulders shaking in discomfort. But her voice had been surprisingly steady when she had growled, "Over the fucking line, Julia."

And it was then that she remembered Muggs' presence in the room, the sudden stillness in the kitchen causing her to turn and be met with a pair of surprised green eyes. Kate, however, had been too overwhelmed by Julia's callout to properly respond to either one of them.

So instead, she'd aggressively pushed herself away from the table, noting the worry flashing within Julia's gaze.

"Katherine, I only bring it up because we need to talk about—"

"Right," Kate cut in before Julia could finish her thought. "A walk would be brilliant right now—and a few cigarettes. Have a lovely evening. I'm afraid I've lost my appetite."

Julia had stood as well, attempting to move toward Kate, but the younger girl had pointed her finger in warning, saying, "I'm not talking about this shit again. Not tonight, Julia."

Julia's gaze was helpless when Kate turned toward the door, but just as she grasped the handle to leave, she heard Julia demand, "Swear on Vivie and Anna before you go."

Kate had closed her eyes at the layered statement, feeling torn by her worried friend's coded order—one that would require her to steer clear of any pipe dens for the night. Finally, she had grunted an affirmation before quickly maneuvering out the apartment.

"Color me fuckin' shocked that Katherine Moore has suddenly lost her tongue when revolution's on the table, gents."

Kate blinked rapidly, coming back to the present moment at Sonny's with an earth-shattering jolt. She jerked her head to the speaker, meeting Cards Mahoney's amiable smirk and glowing brown eyes, attempting to swiftly register the gist of his challenge.

But it didn't take long for her to grin in kind, commenting, "I'm afraid a few run ins with the bulls does not a revolution make, Mahoney. But if it soothes your disappointment, I'll applaud the sentiment."

At that, Cards received a few jabs and snickers from Lion and Fleet, quickly breaking into a good-natured chuckle himself before quipping, "We all gotta start somewhere, right, a chara? I bet you have quite a few dead rabbit tales of your own with the coppers."

"And if you'd be so kind," Lion added with a wink. "I know us lesser activists-in-training could learn a thing or two from your prior successes."

Kate couldn't help the hearty laugh that burst forth at his request. "I think I'd need quite a bit more whiskey before I start sharing any of those stories. Not to mention how Julia'd have my head—and every one of yours—for encouraging such low-bred reminiscence. I'm a changed woman—a lady who's not foolish enough to let slip any secrets of the rebel trade."

She paused, downing the rest of her pint before smacking the glass on the table and coolly adding, "For free, that is."

"Bloody hell, I believe m'lady's requesting more spirited sustenance," Fleet interpreted with a smirk. "Time for another round it seems. C'mon, Mahoney, Lion. Between the three of us bums we oughta have enough coin to secure a handful of these sacred tales."

And with a few more quips amongst themselves, the three boisterously rose and made their way toward the bar, leaving Kate and Shakespeare Lindy to shake their heads collectively at the boys' antics.

"They're brilliantly mad," Kate decided with a chuckle, even as her eyes traveled beyond where the boys stood to settle on Spot's form yet again.

"Haven't you figured out that most everyone's mad here—in one way or another," Shakespeare replied good-naturedly, his eyes following the same path that hers had a moment before.

"Truer words," she conceded as she snapped her gaze to thoughtfully stare at the empty glass in her hands.

But a smirk tugged at her lips when she added, "Even if an invisible cat said them first."

Shakespeare faced her, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "It seems you're familiar with more than just fringe philosophical texts, Ms. Moore. I'm assuming you've been formally educated in a similar manner as Julia?"

"I'm a bit more self-taught than Julia," Kate evasively responded, her grin strategically widening. "But as to your first statement, I find it curious that you'd not consider Alice's Adventures in Wonderland to be rebellious or philosophical. It's a fever dream, to be sure, but one with something to say. At least in my opinion."

A genuine smile appeared on Shakespeare's face as he considered her point. "I'd never thought of it that way before, but I'll be damned if you're not right."

"Stick with me, Lindy," Kate quipped, her eyes once again pulling in the direction of the blue-eyed boy across the room from them. "I'll not lead you astray."

If only you weren't a destructive, foolish girl, bringing trouble and misery to everyone around you.

The sudden disapproving voice echoing within Kate's head made her stomach clench harshly, the breath seemingly sucked from within her lungs. She felt her jaw tick, almost as an act of defiance toward the haunting intonation. But thankfully, only a few moments passed before she was again able to take control of herself—filling her chest with a fresh, deep inhale and shaking the panic-inducing thought into the oblivion from whence it came.

This reprieve, however, would not last for long. More alcohol was an immediate requisite—something to further distort her escalating thoughts into submission. To push them back into the outer recesses of her mind, a place they always seemed to linger, pulsing as some type of foreboding reminder—

That beyond her sharp-witted commentary and openly jovial disposition, Katherine Moore was anything but worthy.

Not of friendship, or love—recognition or praise.

And certainly not of leadership.

Maybe if you were leading them off a cliff.

Kate nearly choked on her own spit as the cruel thought passed uninhibited through her mind. Fucking hell, what was wrong with her tonight?

This was neither the time nor place for one of her God-forsaken spirals. Not here, in fucking Sonny's with a myriad of friends and acquaintances about. Not at the table of young men paying such close attention to her every move.

Friends of Spot's who—for reasons beyond her understanding—seemed strangely invested in what she had to say about any number of serious topics.

Not that Kate had ever hesitated to make her thoughts about such things known. In fact, she actively and indiscriminately jumped at the chance to have these kinds of dialogues with whomever appeared able. As far as she was concerned, philosophy, religion, literature, and a host of other "unladylike" subjects were fair game to anyone with a well-read opinion on the matter.

Kate herself had always been an avid scholar—devouring books, maps, and whatever else she could get her hands on. Having found no respite within her own home from a very young age, she had naturally sought refuge in the places where seemingly insurmountable collections of these things existed. Thus, a multitude of Manhattan libraries and used bookstores became her daily safe havens. And beyond a short, punishing stay at a Catholic finishing school—more of a conservative reformatory than anything—Kate had made quick work of supplementing her education with as many varying resources as were available to her.

Thus, in the successive years of Kate's adolescence, she began to understand two very distinctive things about herself. The first was that she appeared to be far more informed than many of her peers—her ability to comprehend complicated information matched only by her willingness to seek it out. But the second, and much more life-altering discovery was that she, Katherine Moore, had a voice.

A voice, she found, to be loud and unfailingly passionate—easily conveying demands for justice and promises of revolution.

One that people seemed to listen to with great interest.

One that utterly terrified Julia.

Though it wasn't that her closest friend disagreed with any of her insights. Not at all. In fact, Julia had been the very person to introduce Kate to most of the controversial topics over which she became so vocal.

The fight for women's suffrage and education, positive, informed sexuality, and the perpetual, though oft not discussed issue of violence against women.

But when it came to the more radical things that began to pique Kate's interest after finishing school, the older girl had quickly donned a dismissive, frustrated air. Especially concerning the manner in which Kate felt the need to support these ideals. Ever the pragmatist, Julia had often rolled her eyes at the intensity Kate felt and the fire she was never afraid to use when sharing her discernments with those around them.

"You'll make more enemies than friends with all that shouting and cursing. You forget your sex, Katherine. And there's nothing more off-putting to the men of this world than a woman that's not only clever, but also spits and caws that intellect in such a brutish manner. More headway would be made with a softer touch—a bit of honey if you will, my love."

Kate still felt like groaning at such a statement, even though Julia's point was more than valid. But the thought of having to suppress her true fervor to placate any surrounding men's fragile egos made her want to shout everything all the louder.

Though that had gotten her into quite the perilous situation in the past—one she had almost not survived.

But Kate quickly shook herself from her thoughts as a full glass of whiskey was placed before her, Fleet, Lion and then Cards taking their seats at the table once more.

She smiled good-naturedly in thanks at the boys, Cards swiftly raising his own glass to his lips and winking toward her before stating, "Alright then, a chara. We've provided the goods. How 'bout you start us off with a fitting toast."

To which Kate replied, "With pleasure, gents."

And with a flourish of her hand, she lifted her glass of spirits skyward, saying, "To brave beginnings and the hearty lads and ladies that pave the way. May the alcohol be plenty, the friends be true, and the victory be great."

Her toast was met with a hearty cheer from the table, and she couldn't help her amused chuckle before she downed the entirety of her drink.

And as the pleasant warmth of strong whiskey began to settle within her stomach, she found her eyes once again wandering back toward the bar.

Back toward Spot Conlon as if they knew of nowhere else to settle. As if there was nothing else to see.

"You're Conlon's ladybird, aren't you?"

Kate turned her surprised gaze to the boy sitting next to her, Shakespeare's two-colored stare curious and bright, his face genuinely interested in her response.

But she only shrugged, quickly glancing once more toward Spot, who noted her stare and sent her a charmingly brief grin in turn.

"I'm a bit put off at being compared to a wench like Juliet," Kate finally said, looking ponderously down at her now empty glass. "And Spot Conlon is hardly a convincing Romeo."

Shakespeare laughed a bit at that. "C'mon, don't be coy. We all see the way he is with you—the way he stares when you aren't looking. The way he smiles when you're around."

Kate raised her eyebrows, unconvinced, causing Shakespeare to chuckle before he added, "Trust me. There's no denying that look, Moore. He's entirely over the moon—completely lovestruck."

Kate shook her head at this addendum, unsure of how to respond. Never having been a fan of the doomed lovers trope, she tried not to be irritated by the reference. But she had a feeling her disquiet went deeper than just her disdain for Verona's most foolish adolescents. Or the idea that she could ever throw her life away over a hasty tryst with a man.

No, this was something much more personal.

The idea of Spot Conlon as lovestruck….and by her of all people?

She rubbed a hand down her face, deciding another drink was in order, offhandedly commenting to Shakespeare, "Well, here's hoping our ending's none too tragic then, right?"

"I'd say," he murmured back with a smirk and a wink. "No need for a tragedy or an ending if you've learned anything from that foolish wench, Juliet. So, maybe this bud of love between you and Conlon'll prove a beauteous flower when next we meet."

And all Kate could do was offer a tepid smile in kind, unsure of what he meant, but unwilling to dive further into the topic.

Yes, more alcohol was absolutely in order to survive the rest of this outing.

Maybe Shakespeare had been right in his initial assessment of the group as a whole—because with commentary like that, they bloody well had to be out of their goddamn minds.

And she supposed there was no better way to survive this kind of madness without priming herself first.

God help them all.