A Twisted Bit of Plot (Not to mention Characters...)

Plot and OC: Mine—Newsies: Disney's, perhaps. Not mine.

A/Ns: These are basically going to be little vignettes involving my original character, and what would have happened if she had forced the Brookies to go into the strike when first to think of it, we just would lose a fight scene. Whatever. I love her to freakin' death, and there needs to be a bit romance between a certain leading Newsie, verdad? Si. First person POV, by the way. On with the story.

Three boys, supposedly the Cowboy, Boots, and an unknown kid with a highbrow look about him, walked down the docks with obvious trepidation. Absorbed in searching for someone (with rumors flying, most likely Spot), they didn't notice the rangy figure that shadowed them from the rafters. Fortunately, the Brooklyn leader knew the construction site he called 'home' better than they nervous trio, and they were saved the trouble.

"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick."

Cowboy's identity established, he remained unaffected by the smaller boy's biting tone. Smart move.

"I see ya moved up in the world, Spot. Got a river view 'n everything."

Except for the intense glare and worn sling, the Brooklyn leader was just like any other Newsie out there—Brown vest, brown pants, brown boots. The two boys spit-shake, and Spot nodded in younger kid's direction. As the boy in blue was a newcomer, with a highbrow look no less, he wasn't entitled to a greeting.

"Heya Boots, How's it rollin'?"

Ah. Definitely Boots. But the third boy, who stepped into to light to get a better look at the notorious Brookie, retained the cultured look—azure silk-cotton vest, starched shirt, woven breeches. Odd for this part of town—Well, for any part of town being accompanied by two Newsies.

"So, Jacky-boy, I've been hearing things from little birds. Things from Harlem, Queens, all over. They been chirpin' in my ear. Jacky-boy's Newsies is playing like they're going on strike."

Once again, Jack remained cool, never taking the bait of Spot's mocking tone.

"Well, we are goin' on strike."

Cool, until the blue boy stepped in. Not smart. His tone was defiant, defensive

"We're not playing, we are going on strike."

Which made one hope, for his sake, that he had a defense. Spot took him up on his audacity, turning on the aggression. Which meant he was either amused or preparing to get very, very angry if the boy in blue came out without answers.

"Yeah? What is this Jacky-boy, some kinda walkin' mouth?"

"Yeah, he's a mouth. A mouth with a brain, and if you got 'alf of one, you'll listen to what he's got to say."

The momentarily panicked look gave the impression that whatever Blueboy was about to say was a bit unrehearsed.

"Well, we started the strike, but we can't do it alone. So, we're talking to Newsies all around the city."

"Yeah, that's what they told me. But what'd they tell you?"

"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon is doing, you're the key. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous Newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else. And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they join and we'll be unstoppable. So you gotta join, I mean…well, you gotta!"

Well, unrehearsed perhaps, but the kid certainly had a talent for improv. Especially flattery, must've taken a note outta Jack's book. And from Jack's smug look, he had, and believed he had the Brookie Newsie in his pocket.

Spot may be a kid, but he's proud enough that you never, ever assume. Or perhaps he just has a thick head. Either way, assumption is unwise…

"You're right Jacky-boy, brains. But I got brains too, and more than just half of one. How do I know you punks won't run the first time some goon comes at ya with a club? How do I know you got what it takes to win?"

The stricken look on Blueboy's face, and the determined, frustrated one on Jack's was saddening. But the proud, conceited look on Spot's was simply infuriating.

Swinging down from the rafters, I landed in between the trio and Spot, facing the Brookie.

"Spot Conlin, now is not tha time to be a dull-witted, pompous lil' sewabrat! Have ya even thought 'bout tha consequences if ya'll win? Or rather, if ya don't join and they win? If ya had that half a brain you're so high-n-mighty 'bout, you'd join the strike. Or else…"

I smiled sweetly, showing as many teeth as possible.

"Ah'll make them."

So, there you go. Introducing my girl in the next chapter, either Davey's POV or third person. If you read this, please, please review. It keeps me going. If you have plot, scene, or character ideas, do not review with them. EMAIL them to me: Thanks ya'll!

-Kestrel