Title: On the Rise
Author: RedK_addict (Rags)
Rating: K+
Genre: Angst, Drama
Summary: A dark past, a formidable gang, a missing girl, and an estranged father. Yeah, you'd be glum and dumb too, if you were having such a bad day. The long-awaited sequel to Making a Living. Tells the tale of Louise, Anna, and Skittery, and how they're reunited.
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Disney does. I do, however, own Sparky, Boxer, Tip, Button, the Bowery Boys, Anna and Louise, the snobbish O'Connelly family, Jonathan O'Connelly, and Amanda Baker-O'Connelly. I worked long and hard on these characters, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't steal them. You may borrow them if you ask first, though...
Author's Note: So it's five a.m., and document manager just ate my ridiculously long author's note and disclaimer in which I mentioned the reviewers from Making a Living and explained the title and everything. I don't feel like typing it out again, so you'll have to wait for next chapter. Anyway, hope you like it. Please leave me a review, it would make my day so much better... I hate the internet right now... Actually, scratch that. I'm kinda specifically hating document manager right now...


Chapter 1: Upset the Status Quo

Anyone with half a brain
Can see that humankind has gone insane
To the point where I don't know
If I'll upset the status quo
If I throw poison in the water main

When it came to the Bowery boys, there were two things you just didn't do. One was to try to cross their territory with more than five cents in your pockets. The other was to try to cross their territory empty-handed. There was a five-cent toll to pass through the Bowery, and even Spot Conlon himself knew better than to refuse to pay. Most of the Manhattan newsies preferred to steer clear of the Bowery whenever possible. It was just easier on everyone involved to avoid the problem altogether.

The Bowery boys, of course, were pickpockets, some of the best in the city. But their band was extremely disorganized. They had no way of passing information, so even if you paid their toll to pass through, you had no guarantee that other members of the gang wouldn't take more off you. The only guarantee you had was that you'd get through safe, because if you tried passing through without paying, you'd be followed. And then you'd be taught a lesson. Even traveling in groups was no good. It just meant they'd follow longer until there were enough of them to overpower.

And there were always enough. Nobody knew how many there were, or even who was in the gang in the first place. They had a select few that ventured outside the boundary for larger game and reconnaissance, but most of them stuck to the Bowery, picking off of any poor, unsuspecting travelers that happened to wander past their borders. When they could be bothered with authority, the gang was mostly led by three large, intimidating boys – one of them originally from Brooklyn and two from Queens – but it wasn't often that they banded together for any particular reason other than soaking anyone who refused to pay passage.

Their favorite prey were the newsies who decided to take their chances selling in the Bowery. For some time, this had caused a lot of tension on the streets, but the Bowery boys finally settled on a system. For triple the price, a newsie could buy selling rights in the Bowery, which included protection from pickpockets for the day. Due to their lack of a communication system, they required these newsies to wear green to set them apart – it was a largely Irish community of boys. It wasn't a perfect arrangement, mostly because they didn't make it widely known, but it eased enough of the tension that the two groups were no longer at each other's throats all the time.

Mush Meyers was one of the few newsies bold enough to brave the Bowery on more than a few occasions a month. In fact, the Bowery was his primary selling spot. Business there was pretty good, seeing as how few newsies dared venture there in the first place, so to him it was well worth the risk and the extra cash – though some people began to wonder if he owned more than just the one green shirt.

On the day that the strike started, Mush offered to take the Bowery because he knew he could get in easy. As of a few weeks ago, a few of the Bowery Boys had got it into their head that selling papes was an easy way to make a few extra cents, otherwise he wouldn't have even bothered. He'd planned on asking Kid Blink to go with him – Blink often sold in the Bowery with him, armed with his green scarf for protection – but the one-eyed newsie had already claimed Harlem, so Mush was left with no choice but to go alone. Though, as he soon found out, it was a largely unnecessary action.

It might very well have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he'd seen a kid, about seven or eight years old, hanging around and watching the newsies as they planned their strike. As soon as they'd split up and scattered throughout New York to spread the news, Mush was pretty sure he'd seen the kid scurry off, almost as if he was afraid of being seen. But he couldn't be sure, and it didn't seem important at the time, so he went off in the direction of the Bowery, steeling himself for the confrontation he knew was bound to come.

As soon as he reached the border, he was informed that his visit was expected. This surprised him, first and foremost because it showed that the Bowery Boys were getting better at keeping up communications. Not to mention that the leaders were beginning to assert their authority more over the gang in general. A shiver ran down his spine as he was led to an abandoned warehouse somewhere in the middle of their territory, where he was sure the leaders were waiting for him.

Sure enough, as he entered the rundown old building, he saw the three large boys standing there, surrounded by about fifty others with clubs and other various weapons of a rather unsavory nature. One of the leaders, a red-head with a spitfire temper aptly named Sparky, stepped forward to greet him as he approached. "Mush," Sparky intoned with a grin. "Button here said you'd be comin'." He motioned over his shoulder to a kid dressed in ragged, oversized clothes and with a large hat shoved down over his eyes.

The same kid Mush had seen at the square.

One of the leaders from Queens, an older, burly boy known as Boxer, shuffled forward, towering over the newsie with a menacing glare in his eyes. Mush took an involuntary step backwards. "We ain't too happy 'bout dis strike thing," Boxer snarled. What the big bruiser lacked in brains, he more than made up for in brawn. Anyone who ventured into the Bowery knew better than to cross Boxer.

Just as dangerous was the intellect behind the whole operation – a boy of about sixteen named Tip. He was Boxer's younger brother, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. The two of them were about as different as pears and apples. Sparky may have been the head of the gang, but Tip was the one pulling the strings. With Boxer providing the muscle, the three of them made up a formidable force. They were the reason nobody went into the Bowery at night.

Tip, standing on the other side of Sparky, clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he shook his head. "Mushy-boy, we's mighty disappointed in ya," he said softly. "Here we thought you was smart enough to know better'n to come askin' us for help in your little game. Waste'a your time. Not to mention what precious little money ya got left."

"I didn't come lookin' for your help," Mush stated as calmly as he could. Boxer always made him nervous, standing there looking like he was ready to rip somebody's head off. "I came for da newsies ya got livin' here now. I know ya got some'a your boys sellin' for da World. Dey can't be happy 'bout dis any more'n we are."

"So what if dey ain't?" Sparky snapped, pausing a moment to spit contemptuously at the ground. "Ain't none'a your business, is it?"

"Frankly, Mush," Tip said, patiently interrupting Sparky's impending tirade, "it just ain't a smart move for us, dis whole strike thing. Now, you an' your boys can go an' have your fun, dallyin' around an' pretendin' to be all kinds'a important. But us, we gots a reputation here to uphold."

"Besides," Sparky went on, "I ain't doin' nuttin' 'til I see what Brooklyn's gonna do. Dat'll be da clincher, for sure. Ask any borough, dey'll tell ya da same."

"Sorry, Mushy." Tip shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. He'd always kinda liked Mush, if for no other reason than that he was a regular customer in their territory. "It's just too soon. Hey, how 'bout ya stick wit' us awhile, huh? Wait it out a bit, see how da pieces fall…"

Mush just sighed and shook his head. Jack wasn't going to be happy about this one bit. And he really hoped that Sparky was wrong, and that the others were having better luck in the other boroughs.