A/N: Hey everybody this is my first actual fanfiction, but Ive posted a lot on fiction Press whih has worked out really well for me! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as The plot bunnies of doom have enjoyed using my hands to write this!

Disclaimer: I dont own newsies, and only bad could come of me owning newsies...:D

Thanks to My Beautifull Beta: xxKristeen

"Gretta! Hey, Gretta! Hello?"

A boy's irritating voice broke the reverie that was going through my tipsy head, ending the painful flashbacks that always set in around my third whiskey. "Gretta!"

"What?" I finally responded. "What do you want, ya scabba?" I hadn't even turned around to look at the offending voice box yet.

"I want youse ta look at me when Ise is speaking." Oh the nerve. I'll show him speaking. By the time I'm done with him, it won't be pretty.

"And why would I do that? On what grounds should I grace youse eyes with my presence? Hm? Didn't ya modda eva teach ya to leave a drunk goil alone?" That should show him. I waited for his answer as I motioned Medda's barkeep for another round-by mornin' I would feel none o' this pain. But before I could put a hand on my new whiskey, a gold-tipped cane smashed the glass, sending the amber liquid and glass shards everywhere. But that wasn't important...

Only one newsie carried a cane, and after what he said I'm sure his royal pants were royally pissed.

"I told ya ta look at me Gretta." Spot Conlon's voice was dangerously low and the hand that reached out to grasp my shoulder was gripping just a little too hard. "Youse are aware of the fact that I'm still talkin' to ya loverly shoulda, yes?" And with that my world spun and didn't stop until I was facing the most notorious neswie of them all.

"Oh Spot, ya charm and ya good looks make me eyes wata' whenever they be forced to rest upon ya face." I was pushing it, but it really didn't matter to me anymore. I was drunk, and all I wanted to do is relive my horrid past.

"Ya drunk Gretta, and ise is thinkin'."

"Oh, God, Spot, please for tha sake o' me delicate ears, no thinking." Spot shot me a dirty look at that.

"Ise was thinking that it's time for a nice goil like you ta get back to her bunk befores anything... unlucky happens. In fact I'ma escort youse back inta Kloppman's patient care."

"Ise don't want ta leave ya dunce, can't ya see I'm only two in?" I was protesting loudly at this point and on the verge of making a scene but before I could continue, Spot pulled me off my bar stool and hauled my ass outside. He kept me going at a rapid pace for a few blocks then slowed.

"Gretta Coopa,' youse a lousy drunk and youse and ise both know it. Why'da have to get drunk tanight?" he didn't sound pissed anymore, only sad.

"Why ya need ta know, Conlon? Did they interrupt ya poker game when they wanted me out? Or your newest-" He stopped dead in that middle of the street and once again grabbed my shoulder and spun me towards him.

"Gretta, if we didn't have history, and youse wasn't a girl, I'd knock ya flat right here. Youse knows that I don't mind bein' interrupted for ya, but ise would rather be interrupted by youse, not Tom, Medda's barkeep, telling me youse is cryin' inta ya whiskey. It's unhealthy, goil."

"Yeas Spot I knows how youse feel bout bein'... interrupted... didn't means ta have the second one, but the first wasn't cuttin' the pain." I was hoping spot wasn't going to ask what happened even, though I knew he would.

"Youse gonna tell me what happened?" Of course he asked.

Now I had two choices, I could tell him, and let him look down on me for bein' weak, or I could continue to hold it in… Hm. Only one choice there.

"Over me dead and rotten carcass, Conlon."