Web of Lives
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Disclaimer: Newsies and all characters and property of the Disney Corporation. All rights reserved. Writing is not intended for profit.
Rights: Though "Newsies" the film is not mine, the storyline and subsequent chapters are. Please do not plagarize.
NOTE: There is a story entitled 'Brooklyn's Secrets' by the author iheartron547. This is an old account of mine that I shared with a friend, and we coauthored a story. 'Brooklyn's Secrets' was mine alone, and this story is a revised version of such. Due to lack on login information, I was not able to delete 'Brooklyn's Secrets' before posting this story. IT IS NOT PLAGIARISM BECAUSE IT IS MY OLD WORK. Please understand.
CHAPTER ONE
If one were to rise early enough and stand atop the docks in Brooklyn in the early morning, a glorious sight would meet their eyes; the sun rising and shedding i's first rays of light upon the Brooklyn Bridge, reflecting light off the river beneath it.
Early mornings often found a certain blue-eyed newsie pensively gazing out over the river, his territory coming to life behind him with early morning bustle. Those who knew he spent time there left him alone; interruptions would only set him off, it was common knowledge that an angry Spot Conlon was not someone ideal to be spending time around. Indeed, that was true, as a certain Mr. Joseph Pulitzer now knew all to well, or without Brooklyn, the 'Hattan newsies would have never triumphed in the strike.
And that was why Spot took the early mornings for himself- to think in peace, none of which he got during the day, between running the Brooklynites, keeping the peace with other territories, and the occasional strike. Spot deserved his mornings and everybody knew it.
"Knew I'd find ya heah."
Except maybe the few brave souls who dared to butt in to his private time.
Spot jumped at the sound of the voice and his hand automatically went to his side, gripping the gold-tipped head of his cane.
"Damn yah, Bells! Wha' was dat foah?" Spot asked angrily. The girl named Bells smirked.
"Scared yah?" she guessed. "Oh, an' don' worry. I brought company, jus' like I knew yah would want."
Spot groaned as another girl's head peeped over the bulkhead of the dock.
"Mornin' Spot!" the newcomer greeted cheerfully.
"Twoils, yah to?" Spot let out an agitated huff of discontentment. "Damn yah twins."
"No' nice language," Bells scolded teasingly, for she was one to talk. "We'se ladies, after all."
Spot snorted.
"Yeah, dat's no way tah talk tah yoah sistas," Twirls added as she and Bells took a seat on either side of their brother.
"Don' remind meh," Spot grumbled. "I still sometimes wonda how we'se related."
"Well..." Twirls began, but Spot gave her a shove and she shut up.
Spot, though, had a point. To the eye, the three Conlons could not look any different. Spot's small, muscular form and dirty blond hair contrasted with his sister's dark brown locks and lanky, long limbs. Still, though, a closer inspection revealed the similarities that marked them as family: the pale Irish coloring and distinct blue eyes that pierced straight through whomever looked at them. As much as Spot complained about them, they were his sisters and he was fiercely protective.
He put an arm around each sister, pulling them close for a rare moment of brotherly affection.
"Whadda ya thinkin' 'bout?" Bells asked, looking up at her brother.
"Ah, jus' the trouble you an' Emma-goil are always causin' me," he said teasingly, mussing up Bells' hair as Twirls pouted and reprimanded, "Yah know I hate it when ya call me dat."
It was Spot who first called her Twirls. As a little girl, Emma Conlon would constantly spin and flit about like "the showgirls!" Spot would say. Bells came later, after she had been living in the boarding house for a few months. She'd been called Madison or various shortened versions of the name- Mads, Maddy, Mad Maddy, and so on. That changed when she accidentally tripped over a bell McCurdy-the lodging overseer- kept, waking the whole house. It then became her job to wake up the boys every morning since, a chore she greatly enjoyed.
Spot yawned, the rising sound of the factories along the water line whirring, getting ready for the day's work could be heard peppering the air. He turned to each twin and said, "Well, time foah anudda day," and held out a hand to pull the two up.
"Thank yah!" Bells said brightly. "Yoah to sweet."
Spot rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm charmming," he agreed. "Now let's go! We'se got a job tah do."
The twins took off, with Spot trailing behind them, running back to the boarding house, ducking through side alleys and cutting across the main square, earning yells from vendors who were beginning to set up shop for the day's market. The sun shone brightly overhead, a promising sign: if the headlines were decent, it would be an economically strong day for the Brooklynites.
Spot reached the steps of the boarding house, McCurdy greeting him with a tilt of his bowler hat, saying in his lick brogue, "The lassies are already up there, waking the lads. How's it lookin'?"
Spot shrugged. "Sun's out. If Hearst's line's is any good, should be good."
McCurdy nodded, adding, "Well, bring me back a paper," before waving Spot up the stairs. He took the steps two at a time, an amused grin spreading over his face as he pushed open the door to the bunk room and listened to the commotion occurring inside.
"Up, yah bummahs! You'se got papes to sell!"
Bells walked up and down the rows of bunks, yelling and ringing, shaking or shoving a newsie awake here and there. "UP!"
She, as usual, was met with a response of groans and ducked as a pillow flew by her head.
"Missed meh?" she called tauntingly, approaching a bunk, standing on tiptoe to talk to the boy sleeping in the top bed.
"Damn yah Bells."
"Spot already took care o' dat, Pockets," Bells replied to Brooklyn's second-in-command and notorious pickpocket, "but thanks foah da thought." This was a major perk of her job, she thought devilishly, smiling down at Pockets. The boys, in the summer heat especially, tended to sleep shirtless and from running around New York all day...the sight just caused her to smile.
"Find, screw yah den," Pockets retorted and pulled the thin blanket over his head. She placed down her bell and pulled herself up to his bunk, resting her feet on the bed below her.
"Shoah, anytime," Bells said flirtatiously, her face inches from his ear. "Yah know wheah tah find meh. In da meantime..." She yanked his covers off. "Up!"
"An' no screwin' edda." Twirls came up beside her sister. "We'se already got one Conlon messin' around."
Bells rolled her eyes. "It's just a bit o' harmless floatin'."
The pair walked to their bunk in the corner of the room, Bells collapsing down on her bottom bunk with a yawn. "Damn I'se tired. Why'd we get up again?"
"Yeah, well, you an' 'harmless floatin' neva work out well," Twirls replied, ignoring her sister's statement. She climbed up to the top and hung upside down over the edge, her hat and hair hanging down.
"Wha' is dat suppose tah mean?" Bells asked. "Are yah implying somethin'?"
Twirls raised an eyebrow. She loved her sister, but it sometimes tired her to always be the practical one. Than again, Bells was plenty reckless enough for the both of them.
"St. Patty's Day, dis year," she reminded dryly. "Do yah call that harmless?"
Bells bit her lip and tried to recollect the memory. Twirls held back a laugh.
"Would dat be the night involving me, Pockets, and-"
"-half da beer in Brooklyn?" Twirls finished, swinging herself upright. "Yeah, dat's da one."
"Okay, I see yoah point," Bells said. "But me and Pockets- it's just fun. Nuttin' would eva come outta dat."
"I'se still always right," Twirls said with an obnoxious grin.
"Eh now, don' get carried away," Bells said. "I have my moments."
Commotion rose from the center of the room and with a cry of "Laundry!" a bundle of fabric came flying towards the bunk. Twirls caught it and called, "Thanks, Suds!" to the washer newsboy.
"Hate these," she grumbled, picking up her skirt.
"So don't wear it tahday," Bells replied, looking down at her own ensemble; black trousers cut off at the knee, a white undershirt and a brown, loose collared shirt over top, tied in the center of her chest since there were no buttons. "I'm not."
"But I didn't yestaday," Twirls reminded, glancing down at her blue cutoffs, black buttondown and vest. "Kinda grimy."
"Oh yeah, 'cause there's so many people tah impress."
The sisters followed the horde of boys down the stairs, the raucous noise indicating the start of another day. Outside, the early morning air was bright and crisp, still cool, but warming as the sun continued to rise up over the city. It would be another warm, early summer day. Bells and Twirls ran to catch up with Pockets and his little brother, Brooklyn's young yet sneaky spy, Bat Ears.
"Mornin'!" Twirls greeted as she and Bells fell into step beside the brothers.
Pockets yawned and replied, "I should beh sleepin'. But no, the lass over heah had to go and ring that damn bell!"
Bells rolled her eyes.
"You Irish boys," she said with a laugh.
"Don' you go testin' me, lass," he retorted.
Pockets was born and had spent his early years in Ireland. Now seventeen, he'd been living on Brooklyn's streets long enough to develop the trademark accent, but his brogue still shone through, particularly strong when he was mad, or any time he was dealing with Bells, usually.
"Sorry," Bells said with a shrug. "Jus' doing my job."
Pockets grumbled something unintelligible.
"Sorry, wha' was dat?" Twirls asked. "Didn' catch it."
"Nuttin'," Pockets said hastily. "Absolutly nuttin'."
Bat Ears giggled, clearly catching his brother's retort. "It was some'in not so nice."
"Pockets, watch what yah say," Twirls warned. "Yah know Spot would soak yah if he hoid dat, since you were referring to his baby sista."
"Hoid what?"
Spot appeared in front of the four, jumping down from a statue base. The crowd of Brooklynites, who had been following the quartet, stopped, but Spot gave them permission to go on with a wave of his hand.
"Hoid what?" he repeated, turning to Pockets.
"Nuttin'," replied, shooting a look at his little brother. "Jus' me complainin' about yoah goilies ova heah."
"Um, that would be goily," Twirls corrected. "Yoah mad at Bells, not me. I didn' have anything tah do wit dis."
"Yoah still both a real pain," Pockets mumbled, so only Spot could hear, and possibly Bat Ears, who heard everything.
"Don' remind me," came the reply from Spot. "I've been dealin' wit 'em for how long now?"
After Spot had run away from home when he was ten, he tried to forget his past. He felt no remorse leaving home, with his alcoholic father and frail mother who overworked herself to provide for the family. He was glad to make his own way. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the guilt of leaving behind his sisters, to young at eight to have to care for themselves in such an environment.. And that was why when, four years later when he was the right hand man of Brooklyn's leader, in line to be the next king, he went back for them.
He had found the twelve year old twins living on the streets, homeless and alone after their father's disappearance and their mother's death to cholera. Instead of sending them to live under the care of the Queen of Queens- the safest place for working girls in the city- or to the orphanage, something inside of him caved and the arrangement was made for the twins to live with the Brooklynites. The boys in turn swore with blood to protect the only two girl newsies in the territory, and so now, four years later, the sixteen year old twins were still the only two girls, running around carrying the banner and revealing in their role as the "princesses" of Brooklyn.
"So, headlines any good tahday?" Pockets asked a passing Brooklynite as the group entered the distribution center. The newsie shrugged.
"Da usual," the boy replied. He was a little guy, maybe eleven, and went white when he saw Spot ."N-Nuttin' to bad, nuttin' to excitin' edda."
Pockets nodded curtly and the newsboy went on his way, looking warily back at Spot as he ran off. Pockets stalked off to go get his papes.
"Don' scare da kid!" Twirls said. "Yah could talk instead jus' standin' there like dat."
"Don' tell me wha' tah do," Spot said. "Yoah lucky I'm lettin' yah two even sell tahday. You'se especially, Bells. Did ya even sell yestaday, or were you an' Pockets to busy suckin' face?"
"Foah God's sake, nuttin' is goin' on between us!" Bells cried, throwing her hands up in the air and huffing for dramatic effect.
"I tried to keep track of 'er, but she ran off halfway through da day." Twirls held up her hands, declaring innocence. "Don' blame dis one on me."
"Thanks. Beh a good sista," Bells snapped back sarcastically. "I'm feelin' da love."
"A'right, enough. Twoils is right, Bells; use yoah head. And Twoils; stop bein' bitchy." He turned and then added, "An' Twoils, you'se with Pockets tahday."
Both girls groaned.
"Come on!" Bells whined. "We'se a team! Yah don' just break us apart!"
Twirls snorted. "Team alright. An' dat's no fair! What'd I do?"
"Nuttin', and dat's the point," Spot replied. "I know you'se won't do anything stupid wit him."
"Who, me?" Pockets asked, returning with a large stack of papes. He split the pile three ways and held out a hand.
"Pay up," he said, wiggling his fingers. Bells and Twirls handed his coins and shouldered two of the piles. Pockets, every day, bought the papes for the girls and they payed him back; he was the little gentleman.
"A'right!" Spot called loudly, drawing the attention of all of his boys. "Keep an eye out foah trouble an' be back at da docks by sundown. Now carry da banna!"
With a raucous cheer, the boys set out.
"Pockets, Twoils is going wit you tahday," Spot said. Both twins looked glum at the prospect, Twirls because she hated the boy and Bells because she loved him. Or rather, time with him. "Bells is stayin' wit me and Bat Ears."
Bells rolled her eyes.
"Yah suck, yah know dat?" Bells complained, moodily walking out of the center.
"Yah told meh dat already," Spot reminded, shouldering his papes and walking after her. "Memba?"
