Hey everyone. Glad the title/summary caught your eye. This is my first Newsies fic, and I'm hoping that you all will like it. I am open to suggestions in reviews, as well as constructive criticism. Flame if you feel you must, but only if there's a legit reason why. "This story sux" is not legit. Also, I would like to point out that, while inspired by a song; this story is not a songfic. Though perhaps you'll catch a lyric or two from random songs, and if you do, you get a cookie ) The first chapter isn't incredibly newsie-oriented, but it's mostly a prologue. You will see more of our beloved newsies in the next chapter, but for now it's mostly about Vera, my OC. Major thanks to Morbidlyartistic for being my beta!

I'll have "Suggested Listening" for some of the chapters, hoping that certain music will help with the mood. If the music simply isn't your style, it's all good. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.

Suggested Listening: "Vera" - Pink Floyd (off of the album The Wall)

"Runaway" - P!nk (off of the album I'm Not Dead)

"Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?
Remember how she said that we would meet again,
Some sunny day
Vera… Vera…What has become of you?
Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?"

-Pink Floyd

They cleaned her up nicely. They put a tattered white ribbon in her hair (one of Sarah's old ones) and dressed her in a clean shirt and pants. Putting her in a dress would have been too expensive, and she wouldn't have liked it much. They even washed her short, normally wiry hair, usually the color of muddy sand, but you could now see that it was plain dark blonde. Her light gray cap lay next to her in the crude wooden box. It was her last day above ground; she should look nice for once in her life. Well, not really her life anymore.

Most say that a funeral is a celebration of someone's life once they died, but her life wasn't much to celebrate. Her life wasn't the best of them out there, but certainly not the worst. She liked it well enough. She always had a goal she worked towards each day, somehow thinking she got closer when in reality, all she did was push it farther away. Perhaps if she hadn't tried so hard, things might have been different. Not too different though. No matter how she had handled her goal, Vera Lynn Scott, better known as Dodger, would still be dead.

Young boys in ragged clothes and caps stood around the modest grave. It was simply a hole in the ground with a stone which read, "Dodger" scrawled in clumsy, boyish handwriting with old ink. It would wash off with the next storm, but that didn't mean it wasn't still there. She too would soon wash away, out of the memories of the boys she had spent her days with, yet that didn't mean she had never been there. Altogether, she was a forgettable girl. Not pretty like Sarah or smart like Medda. You may forget who Dodger was, but when she was there, you knew.

The one who knew the best was Spot. He was probably the only one who would remember her. He couldn't get rid of the girl, no matter how badly he wished to. He was stuck with her for as long as she stayed in Brooklyn and made it clear that she was latched on, no matter how hard he tried to shake her off. She was a thorn in his side, but he had a small lick of respect for her. Not because she was brave or smart.

She was honest.

"Mama is supper ready yet?" the young girl asked lazily sitting down at the kitchen table. The moment she sat down, her mother's voice deepened into an almost threatening tone.

"Don't trudge that street scum all over my clean floor." She said firmly. Obedient as always, the girl removed her leather boots and placed them outside the kitchen in the threshold. She repeated her question as she entered the fruit wall-papered room for a second time. The floor no longer in jeopardy, the pretty blonde woman of about thirty-four ignored her. She had picked up the newspaper on the table and began to skim the headlines. Her yellow curls bounced a bit as she turned to her husband as he entered the room. He kissed her cheek, nodding somewhat robotically to the young girl in the room.

"Felix, have you seen the headlines? Nothing ever happens in this town." She said almost pouting for the lack of gossip. The tall man sitting next to her looked at the paper as well and his expression went sour. The Scotts without something to gossip about with the neighbors, who admittedly didn't like them very much, were much like a carriage without a horse. One was dependent on the other to go forward.

"Hmmm…" Felix mused for a moment considering his next statement. He was the one in the family to think before speaking. His wife, Donna, was more the type to say anything to get people talking, be it true or not. From blatant lies to obscene observations about friends and neighbors, if it could be conceived as something to talk about, it would come out of Donna Scott's mouth, regardless of whom it may offend. While Felix considered, the young girl piped up once more.

"Mama," she said quietly. Felix inhaled sharply at one of the smaller, seemingly less important articles.

"The mayor is a moron." He said finally. He probably didn't know why he came to this decision. While Felix Scott gave the impression that he was a smart man, he hadn't finished school and was a factory worker. The life that he and his wife tried to live, that of an affluent, well-to-do family living in a quiet part of Brooklyn, was nothing more than a sham, put on by two people who were completely wrong for each other, who couldn't accept being working-class.

"Mama… supper?" the girl said once more. Donna looked at her sharply.

"Vera, I told you, there's soup on the stove." She responded her voice not even attempting to mask her irritation. The young girl sat facing the other side of the kitchen, not having seen the stove when she entered the room both times.

"No you didn't." she said. Donna rolled her eyes and continued searching for bits of hot talk in the paper, fiddling with a piece of unattractive gaudy jewelry around her neck.

This was the basic flow of life in the Scott household. It was a tiny little apartment with a draft in a middle-class neighborhood. Vera was the daughter of Felix and Donna, though one would usually not know it. She was next to invisible in their gossip-filled, plastic little lives. Like much of her mother's flashy jewelry, she was just for show.

Perhaps if she had been the perfect daughter they imagined she might be less translucent. Perhaps if she had been a pretty, filled-out, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed blonde like her mother, rather than a skinny girl with plain brown eyes, barely blonde hair that hung like limp twine and pale skin stretched over features which didn't particularly catch the eye, they would show her off a bit more. Perhaps if she didn't struggle so much in school, or even if she stayed the goggle-eyed, spacey girl she was and courted a well-off young man, Felix and Donna might realize she was there.

Vera sat at the table quietly sipping her soup. A small bit fell out of her spoon and dripped onto the floor. As soon as the hot liquid sizzled on the dirty tile of the kitchen, Donna rolled her eyes again before returning her glance to the paper that Vera could tell she was not actually reading. Many an evening had been spent this way. The Scott household had seen a thousand silent dinners with cold air playing about the room, despite the warm fire which crackled below the mantelpiece. After fourteen years of awkward silences that never ended, a small test was taken by the girl who seemed to be made of cellophane. After all, they probably would ignore her anyway.

"Ma, I know how much you like that blue dress, but you should know that it makes you look fat." Vera said randomly, sipping on her soup. Nothing. Vera laughed silently to herself. She tried again. "You know Mama; I think it might be nice to drown in the river. It's warm this time of year." Still nothing. Even someone as empty-headed as Donna would turn their head at the idea of the East River ever being warm. A true Brooklyn native would at least. About five minutes later, Donna turned to her daughter.
"What?" she said. Vera shook her head.

"Ma, I think all that crap on your face is making you go crazy. You're hearing things. Chemicals can do that you know." She said flatly. Donna stared at her blankly, her face contorting slightly at her daughter's statement. Felix looked at her oddly as well.

In her life, almost every conversation with her parents had gone this way. She kept telling herself that they loved her, and they did, but occasionally… well, more than just occasionally, they forgot. When she was younger, she would forget too. She had tried to run away before but always found herself returning, realizing that her parents hadn't noticed. She hoped this time they would.

Vera let out a quick sigh. "Love you Ma. You too Pop." She said quietly. She stood and pushed her bowl to the center of the table. She kissed both of her parents quickly on the cheek and disappeared into the next room. Donna and Felix simply looked at one another and returned to their hunt for anything interesting in the paper.

Vera grabbed the small jar she kept by her bed which had almost six dollars in it and shoved it into a rucksack along with the rubber band which had come wrapped around the Evening Edition, as well as a few other things from her tiny room. She opened her parents' closet not wanting to run away in her light green dress which had never fit right. The extra bits of fabric at the front sagged awkwardly, as she had nothing to fill them out with. She selected an old shift and a pair of gray pants of Felix's, as well as a gray cap. She removed two dollars from her savings jar and tucked them into the side of the cap. 'If I get robbed, at least they won't get all of it.' She thought to herself.

After quietly going back to the threshold to collect her boots, she left through the fire escape, being sure to loudly close the window. Her parents remained in the kitchen, oblivious to all that surrounded them. With one quick look back and a small twinge of possible sadness, or likely fear in her stomach, she climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the night.

Their apartment in Brooklyn resided on a street that was generally quiet, though they did have a few hooligans who would rile things up every now and again, but were stowed away for the moment on this particular night.

It was roughly eight o'clock in the evening, and being spring still in the twilight hours. Vera quietly crossed the yards of neighboring apartments absentmindedly knocking over a lawn jockey every now and then. She wandered about the streets losing track of time. True, she didn't know where she was going, but she was determined to get farther than she had before in previous attempts.

The farthest she had ever gotten was four blocks over to the sweetshop, but had returned home when a thunderstorm began. She was twelve then. After walking for about half an hour she found herself in a park she used to play in as a child. She sat down on a swing and took off her rucksack opening it in her lap. There was a quick gust of wind and she shivered a bit. Thankfully the season was warm; as Felix's thin yellow shift wasn't much protection from bad weather. She reached into the rucksack and pulled out a small pillow she had packed. Hugging it close she sighed. There was a rustle from a nearby bush and she turned sharply startled. It was an older gentleman dressed in black with white hair. He eyed her suspiciously before continuing on his way. She hugged the pillow closer. Dark was closing in on the small square Brooklyn Park and Vera would admit that she was a little scared. She had never gotten that far before on her own. Slowly she closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep on the swing.

Thwhack!

A loud thud echoed through Vera's head followed by an equally loud one which shook her body as she fell from the swing. Dizzy, she picked herself back up to see a small rubber ball at her feet.

"Over here!" rang a small voice from the other side of the tree from which the swing hung. A little boy with rust-colored hair waved for her to throw the ball back to him as she clutched the back of her head groggily. Most likely she would have a bump there soon. She bent down to pick up the ball, along with her gray cap where the two dollars were still safely tucked into the lining. She threw the ball back to the little boy, who caught it easily. A young woman of maybe twenty-five placed her hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Say 'thank you' Edward." She said encouragingly with a sweet smile. The little boy turned back to Vera.

"Thanks lady!" he said quickly before returning to the other little boy he had been playing with. Vera smiled back at Edward's mother before picking up her rucksack and replacing the pillow. She felt a pang of jealousy for Edward. His mother cared about his manners. His mother cared period. She pushed thoughts of Donna out of her throbbing head and slung the rucksack over her shoulder, now walking in the new daylight.

As she walked further into Brooklyn towards the docks she felt her stomach growling viciously. She spied an apple vendor a ways down the street and started towards him. About to approach the vendor, a loud voice rang in her ear.

"Extra, extra! Pornographic priestess in local church! Read all about it!" yelled a voice with a thick Brooklyn accent. The headline caught her attention and she turned to the direction of the voice. A tough-looking boy of maybe sixteen in a cap similar to her own held a large stack of newspapers. She waved him towards her and asked for a paper handing him a penny. He nodded in thanks and she did the same.

'Donna would eat this shit up.' She thought, turning to the page which supposedly had the story about the holy woman who had been letting her knickers down. She realized she had wasted a penny as she read the actual headline: "Pastor's Wife Lets Loose at Church Dance." Irritated at her own gullibility she continued towards the vendor. She picked up a shiny dark red apple and handed the vendor two bits. "Thank you sir." She said; the vendor grunted an incoherent response of some kind not smiling.

She bit into the apple, crisp and sweet. After spending a penny on the phony headline, as well as fifty cents on breakfast, she was left with three dollars and forty-nine cents in her rucksack, as well as the two dollars tucked into her cap.

Now all she had to do was make it last.

Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I'll have more soon, hopefully. Review and tell me what you thought, be it good or bad.

Peppermints and Powerchords,

Vertigo Showgirl