Ah, the second fic attempted! A few notes: being that this takes place in Victorian Britain, I've changed some names. Beast Boy goes by his real name, Garfield or just Gar. Starfire has become Star O'Flannigan. Raven and Robin get to keep their names, because they actually work. Cyborg also gets his real name, Vincent or Vince. Now onwards, me friends, to that loverly, coal-encrusted London of times past…

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"Apples, fresh apples! Fresh from the country, getchor apples 'ere!"

"'Allo miss, wot's it today, trout?"

"Flower sir? A rose for the lovely laydie?"

"Twenty pence! That's not roight, that ain't."

Gar stretched. Blinking and yawning, he scurried out of his nest of blankets, fumbling in the darkness of the coal cellar for his battered top hat. With the desired item finally atop his head (or more realistically, falling down around his ears), he poked a grimy face out into the misty morning air. With a deep, satisfied breath of the smoky air, Gar set out into the welcoming throng of the marketplace.

"Good mornin', London town. It's lookin' to be a foine day."

"Piss off!" Of course, some parts weren't so welcoming. Gar whistled his way past the livid stallkeeper, and waited until just out of sight to eat the orange he'd just stolen. It was good luck for this morning. Usually oranges were hard to get, and Gar took his sweet time peeling this one and carefully splitting the sections apart. He gobbled one right away, then put the rest in his pocket.

"Oi'll make a deal with yew," he murmured to himself, lightly eyeing the pockets of passeryby. "Every toime yew get summat, Oi'll give yew a bit of this delicious orange. Deal? Roight." Gar sealed the pact, shaking hands with himself. After spending a few minutes curiously attempting to complete this action without turning one hand upside-down, he gave up, spat in both hands and clapped them together.

"There," he nodded in satisfaction. "That'll do."

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"Good mornin', Miss Flannigan, what can I do for you today?"

"Good mornin'!" Star O'Flannigan, widely regarded as one of the most stunning maids among the market's regular society, smiled and brushed her long red hair to the side. "There's a big order today, John. The master's 'avin' a dinner party tonoight."

"Oi'll make sure to get twice as much as usual, Miss Flannigan." The butcher set about his art, neatly cleaving chunks of meat and swiping them into quick little paper packages. "'Ow's Lord Gray doin'? Oi've 'eard 'e's not on good terms wiv young Master Gray lately."

Star blushed. "Oh, Master Gray's well enough, well enough, I suppose. The two of them argue somethin' 'orful, though. Too similar to each other to see wot's goin' on."

"Let's 'ope they ain't too much alike." Leaning forward to present her with the complete bundle of meats, the butcher whispered confidentially, "Oi'm just waitin' for ol' Lord Gray to kick the bucket. Things ain't been to good since 'e's been around, you know moi meanin'."

With a worried nod, Star set off about the rest of her errands. Master Gray… She sighed wistfully as the morning light caught the golden red of her hair, which sent a number of nearby young men running to find a secluded corner of the market to calm down in. Star continued obliviously along, sighing more than ever in her thoughts of the young lord. Perhaps one day as she served dinner he would look up from beneath that dark, dark hair, and invite her to come and sit and eat beside him. They would fall in love, elope, run off to America, have children… Sigh. Star expertly blocked out all the noise of the market and sailed forth with a blank and happy look on her face. It could happen, of course it could. Perhaps. Mmm, anythin' could 'appen…As long as Oi wosn't the kitchen girl Oi am. The now bitter thoughts produced another sigh.

"Chroist, lady, will ya stop doin' that? Yore droivin' me bloody insane ova' 'ere!"

Star gave a little jump, surprised to find a boy not much younger (but a fair bit shorter) than herself standing just feet away. The horribly grimy boy poked his top hat up a bit so he could see and took a bite of an orange slice, scowling in irritation the whole time.

"Well Oi'm terribly sorry Oi disturbed yore delicate thoughts, assumin' yew even 'ave any," Star snapped, herself irritated at the interruption.

"That's good yore sorry, 'coz yew should be. An 'ole market full 'o food, an' all yew can do is daydream. It's a cryin' shame, it, is."

"Oi'll 'ave yew know that-"

"'An Oi do 'ave thoughts, even if they ain't delicate."

"Well Oi'll just leave yew to them then, won't Oi?" Star stormed off, the dreamy reverie of the morning broken. Oddly, she heard the boy calling in the distance as she left.

"Thanks for breakfast, laydie!"

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Woo, chapter one! I make an extra-special request for reviews because this is weird and experimental. Tell me if the accents hurt or help, and other such things that come to mind. Many thanks!