Title: Gambling Practially

Author: Erin (The Elfmaniac)

Rating: K+. Will go up.

Pairings: Racetrack/OC

Summary: The mayor's daughter gambles in a newsie.

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or the characters.

Notes: Probably will...uh, be chaptered. Only if you like it.

Special Thanks: none.

"Ouch!"

She rubbed her hand indignantly; that was the fourth time today her piano instructor had decided on hitting her knuckles.

"Play it right, and I won't have to do that," he said curtly, pointing at the page in the book. She whined something incoherent, straightening out a little. She cleared her throat and flexed her fingers.

"From the top."

She narrowed her eyes a little, deciding that she loathed. Handel. As it was nearing the Christmas season, she was to play Christmas music. At the moment, she was attempting to play 'The Messiah', stumbling over all the notes.

Oh, the sixtee--

"OUCH!" she squeaked, pulling her hands back yet again. "I played it right!"
"Not with the right rhythms, young lady."

Brenna McLaughlan rubbed her hands again, sighing and looking up at him. "Would you rather play 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen?'" he asked after a few moments, quirking an eyebrow at her.
"No, sir. If I may, I would like to go home."

He looked thoughtful for a few moments, then sighed, rubbing his eyes a bit. He finally gathered up all of her music, handing it to her. "Practice, as I do not think your parents will be pleased with your inability to grasp things."
"Yes, sir," she said with a curt nod, moving towards the door. Brenna carefully shifted her music so she was able to get her coat on. It was really her favorite coat, a straight 'navy fit'. Dark blue, of course, with shiny buttons up the fabric—she kept them open, for now, as it wasn't particularly cold out.

Just very, very snowy.

"Also, I will not be able to see you next Tuesday—come in on Thursday, perhaps," he said as she slipped her gloves on, looking back at him.
"Alright, sir. Have a pleasant day."
"You too."

She turned the knob, stepping out into the swirling wonderland, immediately hit by the rushing of the wind. It hadn't been quite so breezy earlier, and Brenna was ill-prepared for something like this, really.

Wiry, blonde curls whipped about her face, displacing from behind her ears. She hadn't brought a hat, of course, because of the earlier pleasantness to the air hadn't really been as threatening as it seemed, now.

Bright grey eye blinked wearily against the snow whipping across her face, flushed pink with the cold.

Brenna hunched her shoulders, bending her thin frame against the wind. To protect herself as much as possible, of course. Or, to protect her papers, but.

The light blue part of her dress was blown straight against her legs, making it look like she was wearing trousers rather than the dainty gown she was

Brenna was able to take one more step, onto an unseen icepatch. "Ee!" she squeaked, legs flying beneath her.

With an 'oof', she hit the ground on her back, papers beginning to blow away with the wind.
"Oh! No! Come back!" she pleaded, rolling over, scrambling to her feet. Brenna only succeeded in slipping again, onto her stomach, coughing a bit.

"Extra, Oh extra!" a shaking voice called out over the wind a little down the way, " Brooklyn man breeds two-headed goat!"

Oh, it was a lie. It was a plain, flat-out lie. There was no story about a Brooklyn man breeding a two-headed goat. Why would a man in Brooklyn even have a goat? But the papers simply weren't selling. The weather was bitterly cold, and anyone who could afford a paper didn't seem to want to come out in it.
The newsie cursed under his breath, jumping up and down on the spot a few times to try and warm himself up. His bets hadn't proved prosperous lately, and he hadn't been able to afford anything suitable for winter.The stupid horses hadn't pulled through for the youth, who earned all his extra cash (which wasn't much) better on races. That was also how he earned the nickname, Racetrack. His real name? That, my friend, has been lost to the ancients.

He looked down when he felt something contact and stick to his leg. A sheet of... music? He picked it up, then noticed several other sheets scattered about and blowing by. When he looked down the sidewalk, he noticed a girl who had, apparently, slipped.
Feeling a burst of chivalry, he gathered up as many papers as he could and walked down to her, offering her his hand.

"Y'alright, miss?" he inquired with a good-natured smile.

And end the bad.
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