Disclaimer: Disney owns all the characters (except for Floaty, Lily, Floaty's father, and Trench, who all belong to DimensionalTraveller). I own nothing.

(A/N: Hi everyone, I'm writing this as a gift for my friend, DimensionalTraveller. She helped me out after my cousin's passing and I really wanted to find a way to say thanks, so here it is. :-) This is a prologue to her story, "Tears from the Moon." I'm not sure how well I got the newsies down (I've seen the movie once and have depended on fanfictions and quote pages after that, LOL.) So, here is the prologue to tears from the moon. I've also added in some historical information (listed below). So here is chapter 1.)

(Real Life Facts in this chapter: Joseph Pulitzer helped to raise funds to finish the construction of the Statue of Liberty; Brooklyn was considered to be part of Kings County until 1898.)

Life was filled with good times and bad times – as the age-old-wisdom stated, wherever there is light, darkness will soon follow. That's a true statement, take it from me, I know. My life has been filled with ups and downs, goods and bads, lies and truths. The best time of my life was when I had Spot and I's daughter, Katrina. She's such a beautiful baby, hearing her cry now I wish I could go to her. But I can't, my body feels so heavy and my head hurts from where Oscar hit me. The wooden floor is cold beneath me; my vision begins to fade and my life flashes before my very eyes….

My very first memory takes place in the small fishing town of Claddagh, Ireland. I'm staring down at my mother's stone grave marker: Isabella Antoni D.O.B. Unknown – June, 1883. Beloved wife and mother. That's all I know about my mother, other than the fact she was an Italian beauty who happened to be the younger sister of a powerful crime lord named Trench Antoni, (no one knows his real first name). Behind my mother's tombstone is a wall made of flat rocks of different shapes and sizes, but it's not the wall that had my attention back then, it was my heart broken father.

My father had always been a tall and proud man with bright red hair that curled in on itself, as mine does. He had beautiful sea green eyes and a face full of freckles. Many people confused him for a young Leprechaun. I remember him looking down at me, past his long nose that ended with a sharp point, "We're going back to America now, Honey….There is nothing left for us here now that your mother is in Heaven."

That is my only memory of Ireland, besides for when we were climbing onto a horse drawn cart with hay and straw on the bottom of it. I remember seeing an empty swing swaying back and forth in the gentle sea breeze. I also remember hearing my father say my mother was in her swing saying good bye to us. I remember very little of the boat ride; the only thing I can truly remember is a bad storm, and then seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time. I also remember hearing the captain of the ship say it was thanks to Joseph Pulitzer the statue was standing. At the time, I didn't know who Joseph Pulitzer was, but little did I know that many years later I would be in his employment until the day I died.

My childhood wasn't bad, but it wasn't the greatest either. My father was a good and kind man with a kind disposition and good sense of humor. Even though we moved around a lot to avoid my wicked uncle (as my father called Trench), he somehow managed to still smile and laugh. My father worked in a local furniture factory until I was eight, when he began working in a steel mill and was one of the men who helped tend to the fires under the giant basins of liquid steel. A year later, four men carried him through the apartment door, he was badly burned and a doctor had told the men my father's health was all in the Good Lord's hands.

I was terrified of losing the only family I had left. While my father spent the next few weeks sleeping, his body trying to heal from the deadly burns, I began working as a chimney sweep girl. I was a small child, a runt as my boss called me, so I was able to climb up the chimney-peak and clean all the way up. Each afternoon that I came home I would walk over to my father's sleeping form in terror he wouldn't wake up. To my relief, he would open his eyes.

"How was your day, my beautiful lass?" He would ask softly as he stroked his thumb down my cheek and pulled me into a feather light hug. I knew better than to lean on him too much, the burns hurt him terribly.

"It was good, father," I would always say. I never would tell him the truth. I would never tell him how my boss overworked all his chimney sweepers, and how the leader of the kids – Dusty – had gone missing, and his body was found in an alleyway. I never told him how I befriended a girl around my age named Sarah Jacobs. I never told him much of anything, I afraid he would feel guilty for not working, because he always would say, "It is the parents' place to work, not the child's."

Then, after about five months of working as a chimney sweep girl, my father's health began to get better and plummeted only a mere month later. Although his body was halfway healed, the apartment was constantly cold from poorly insulated walls and a chilly winter outside. Then, I returned home one afternoon and was greeted by my worst fear. My father had passed away while reclining on the couch. I didn't know what to do at the time; I ran over to Sarah's house and got her help. They sent their son, David, to the police station and a wagon came to get my father a few hours later. The Jacobs had offered to take me in, but only for a short amount of time since they had a baby on the way.

I stayed with them for about two months and during his time I changed my "career" from chimney sweep girl to newsie. I loved to read, and my father always said my voice was stubborn and commanding, a real attention-getter. I only bought twenty papers at a time though, although my voice was loud and caught a lot of attention, people found it unethical for a little girl to be doing a boy's job. After all, girls weren't supposed to work, we're supposed to cook, clean, sew, and take care of the chores.

During my third month as a newsie, I moved into the Manhattan Lodging House; the newsies were kind and were a tight knit family. They protected their own, although strangers were welcomed with open arms, they weren't considered "one of the group." You had to prove yourself for that. I worked as a newsie until I was 15, then one day I was running away from a man who accused me from stealing. I ran into Mr. Joseph Pulitzer and almost knocked him over.

"Why are you running?" He snapped at me, and then saw I was in trouble. I knew the newsies said he was a hoity toity tight wad, and I assumed what any logical street smart newsie would: He was going to hold me in place and wait for the man to arrive. Instead, he noticed how fast I ran and told me he would help me only if I was truthful with him and if I agreed to be his personal messenger girl for Manhattan and Brooklyn. I agreed very quickly and told him the truth; I had not stolen from the man. All I took was a penny.

Mr. Pulitzer hired me on the spot. The man who was chasing me was basically told to get lost by Mr. Pulitzer's carriage driver. And that is how I became Pulitzer's personal messenger. The best time of my life began in 1899, the day when the Manhattan Newsies went on strike…

17 year old Emmalyn McGongle flinched as her employer, Mr. Joseph Pulitzer, yelled at Sykes for telling his personal secretary, Agatha, to allow Cowboy Jack Kelly through the front door. The older man's face was beat red and his hands trembled as he pointed at Sykes.

"I'm running a newspaper, not an orphanage!"

"Sir, if I could please say a word," the middle aged man exclaimed, with his hands in front of him in surrender. "The boy was here to protest the new prices of the papers, and you always say for a man to run a successful business of any kind, one must listen to his employees. The newsies are your employees, and their fighting to be heard."

"You think I did not hear the singing, this 'World Will Know' and something about papers burning? They are a rowdy bunch of children, if they can't pull their acts together to sell newspapers, then we'll find children who can!"

Floaty flinched, Cowboy Jack Kelly was her friend, as were a lot of the newsies, and hearing her employer speak about them in this context angered her. The newsies were like any other person, fighting to survive in a harsh world. The only difference was the fact the newsies were children of all ages, ranging from 5 and up. There were even a few adults selling newspapers.

Pulitzer turned to her, "Emmalyn, the messages are my desk, take them to the Brooklyn Distribution Center, I expect you back here by mid-afternoon, no sooner and no later."

"Yes, sir….But, if I could-"

Sykes suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder and led over towards Pulitzer's desk, grabbed the messages, shoved them into her leather messenger bag, and began shoving her towards the door.

"Emmalyn, you and I both know his temper. He doesn't like anyone, especially not a woman, questioning him. Mind your place in society and be lucky he still feels comfortable about giving a girl, now a lady, a boy's job. Remember to be back at this building early this evening. Mr. Pulitzer has a business proposition for the other newspaper tycoons, and he wants you to serve the drinks and appetizers."

Floaty nodded, "Yes, Mr. Sykes….But Mr. Pulitzer needs to be kinder to the new…"

"What's she saying?" Pulitzer snapped from across the room.

"The newsies need to be more understanding of your position, sir." Sykes replied hurriedly as he shoved her out of the room and shut the door in her face.

Floaty bit her bottom lip in frustration as she glared at the wooden door, then turned and walked past Agatha's desk. The middle aged secretary glanced up at her and gave a small smile.

"It's noble of you to try to defend your friends, Emmalyn, but sometimes you have to know when to let go. You have a good job; don't waste it on that bunch of kids. They're not worth it. You have a lot of good things heading your way, Mr. Pulitzer sees you almost like a daughter, and there's a good chance you'll be his first female reporter if you continue to work hard and keep your nose out of this 'strike' gossip."

"I can't keep my nose out of this 'gossip,' they're my friends, Agatha. If Mrs. Conwell was in trouble and wanting the secretaries to go on strike, I know you would support her cause. You both are as close as sisters. The newsies are my brothers and sisters, and I stand by them."

Agatha sighed and gestured for Emmalyn to leave, "If you wish to flush your future down the drain, Emmalyn, go ahead and do so. Just remember, street rats won't be the one to stand by you when you need help; they'll scatter like cockroaches. Mr. Pulitzer is a powerful man and he'll stand by you, so for your well being, just pretend you don't care."

Emmalyn shrugged, "Fine," she muttered as she walked out of the World building. Anger caused her body to tremble and for a curtain of red to block her vision momentarily. She took a deep breath; she had to think logically. She was getting good money from Pulitzer, she was working hard, however she highly doubted he saw her as a daughter. He saw her as a kid who would work for him and bring him good press. 'Mr. Pulitzer Takes Street Girl Under His Wing,' that's all he wanted to see and hear. After all, the better the press, the better the sales.

"Well then," she muttered, "I'll keep in his good faith and I'll be the 'mole' and tell the newsies his every move. At least then I'm helping my friends." Floaty walked towards Tibby's, it was the cheapest restaurant around and they made good food. Plus, she had to admit, she wanted to see Jack and her friends again.

When she stepped through the threshold of the restaurant she found Jack sitting beside none other than David Jacobs. Floaty smiled, she was glad to see that David had listened to her advice about becoming a newsie last week. Though maybe I should have held my tongue for a while, David needs money….Maybe I can give his family some of the money I make this week to help tide them over until this whole strike business is settled?

"Hello, Jack," Floaty smiled as she walked over to his table and was surprised to see a well dressed businessman sitting beside Les.

"Hi Emmalyn," David greeted with a smile, "What a day, huh?"

"No kidding," Emmalyn muttered.

"Heya, Floats," Jack greeted with a large grin. "C'mon and sit down, Denton here is offerin' to write about the strike! We're gonna be in the papes!"

"You all will be in the papers," Emmalyn corrected, "Though…" She leaned forward and whispered, "I will give you information on what Pulitzer does, ok?" As she pulled away, Jack nodded with a smirk.

"What was that?" Denton asked, his notepad sitting on the table, his pencil in hand.

"Nothin', she was just tellin' me the favor she owed me was repaid," Jack shrugged. The three newsies, one reporter, and messenger girl all ate their lunches. Jack talked about the sudden raise of prices, his frustration, and he and his newsies uncertainty that they could afford to buy papers at these prices.

"We scramble as it is to sell dese papes, there's no headlines, they all stink. We have to lie about 'um, and we have to run for our lives half the time after getting a person's money. The jack-up in prices is makin' things impossible. Kloppman, the owner of our lodging house, would let us stay for free if he could, but da man's gotta make a livin' too!"

Denton nodded, "Well, I'm going to write this interview in the paper, see how the article does and how people respond to it. Where you all headed next?"

"Brooklyn," Jack replied, "Gotta see the newsie king."

"The…Newsie King?" Denton asked with a raised eyebrow.

"He's da royalty of newsies," Jack smirked, "Let's put it this way: If Brooklyn says no to the strike and we go against him, he'll either join us or soak us. He's da most feared and respected newsie for miles around, heck, newsies in Jersey know about him!"

"Sounds like a powerful kid. And you, young lady, what do you have to do with all this?"

Emmalyn paused, "I'm Mr. Pulitzer's messenger, I'm friends with the newsies and I'm offering them my support in any way possible….Though, I'd ask if you could keep that off the record. Maybe you could say I was delivering you a message? I can't afford to lose my job."

"None of us can," David said softly as he placed his napkin on his plate. "Les, you finished?"

"Yeah," the ten year old replied as he looked at his brother.

David's nose wrinkled, "It's yes, and clean your mouth, you know better than to leave a restaurant with a messy face."

"It's off the record then," Denton nodded.

"Thank you," Emmalyn smiled, "That's a huge favor, so let me know how I can repay it."

"Well," Denton paused, "There would be one way. I have a reporter friend in Brooklyn; he works for the Sun Distribution Center…"

"And you have a message for him, but don't want to pay a messenger boy to deliver it? Consider it done," she smiled as she held out her hand. He gave her the message, talked a little more to Jack and then left to go and type up his article.

"You goin' to Brooklyn, Floats?"

"Unfortunately," Floaty muttered. "I hate going there, I never got to meet Spot and from what I hear he doesn't take kindly to Pulitzer's personal employees 'invading his territory'."

Jack laughed, "Well, you're a different case, how about ya tag along? When does Joe want ya back?"

Floaty watched as David took Les over to Mush and Blink's booth and asked them to watch over his little brother.

"By mid-afternoon."

"Well then, come with us to meet Brooklyn."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I do, and as your friend, and your superior – cause I'm a leader and you ain't – I'm tellin' ya you're comin' with us."

Floaty laughed and held up her hands, "Alright, I know when I've lost a battle." She stood up, "Hey David, have you ever yelled over the Brooklyn Bridge's railing?"

David looked taken aback, "Why on Earth would anyone do that?"

Emmalyn laughed, "For fun."

"If you say so," her long time friend muttered as the small group of friends, now joined by Boots, exited the restaurant together.

As they crossed the bridge, Boots exclaimed, "Ya know, I spent a month there one night."

Jack, Boots, and Floaty all leaned over the bridge's railing and let out a loud yell, startling a few dock workers below them. They laughed.

"So is this Spot Conlon….Is he dangerous?" David asked timidly.

Jack and Boots both laughed, while Floaty shrugged.

"I hope not, because if he is I'm running the other way and I'm the fastest runner in all of New York, so there is no way he's catching my cowardly-self!" She laughed as she walked beside him.

"Wait till ya meet him," Jack laughed, "Just wait."

The streets of Brooklyn were crowded with people: Newsies, shoe shiners, black smiths, flower girls, hoity toitys, and more. However, Brooklyn was a tough place and had just become part of New York (some people said the thugs in Brooklyn were so dangerous because they felt left out for not being a part of New York for so long). Pulitzer had given Floaty a slingshot as a defense weapon, however he also enlisted the help of several of his employees in Brooklyn to keep an eye out on her when she was in their neck of the woods (however they did a terrible job) but one thing Floaty had that a lot of girls didn't was the fact she knew how to fight. Although she wasn't the world's greatest fighter, she could definitely hold her own. She had proved that countless times when her uncle's men chased her. Thankfully, her uncle had given up his chase and finally told her when she was ready to "return home" on her own, she could.

As the small group walked down the docks, Floaty tensed at the sight of the tough newsies. Some were as muscular as Mush, while others were thin and gangly. However, they all shared one trait in common: They looked tough enough to eat nails.

"Heya, Kelly," a newsboy sneered as he pulled himself out of the harbor and onto the dock.

Jack glared at him for a long moment and turned his attention to a short boy sitting atop a small step of the dock that resembled a bench. Floaty's father had always referred to small structures like that as 'Fishermen's rests' where fishermen could sit down while they fished. It was an excellent place to go when they were sick and couldn't be out on the boats.

"Whatcha doin' up there, ya royal highness?" Jack smirked in sarcasm.

"Well, well, if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick," the boy exclaimed with a smirk as he climbed halfway down from his chair and onto the dock.

"Heya Spot, I found some real good shooters for ya," Boots smiled as he held out a handful of marbles. Spot studied his hand for a moment and took the marbles and pocketed some, while leaving another in his hand. His icy blue gaze traveled over Jack, to Boots, to David, and finally Floaty. Floaty felt her stomach clench and her breath catch in her throat. His gaze remained settled on her for a long moment. I don't know whether to be intimidated or to try to keep myself from blushing. Why am I blushing? I should terrified of him, not attracted to him!

The newsie king's gaze finally left her, and he smirked at Jack. The two friends spat into their palms and shook each other's hands. David gave a little shudder of disgust.

"I've been hearing things from little birds. Things from Harlem, Queens, all over. They been chirpin' in my ear. Saying Jacky-boy's Newsies is playing like they're going on strike." He aimed his slingshot and let go of the band and sent the marble flying; it hit a nearby glass bottle that shattered above David's head. Startled, he stepped out of the way.

Jack shrugged, "Yeah, well we are."

"But we're not playing. We are going on strike," David exclaimed. Spot turned to face him and took a step closer to him and glared David in the eye. Floaty guessed Spot felt he was being challenged by someone lower than him, which only provided more proof that he was indeed (or at least in his mind) a king. David glanced over at Jack, then to her, the expression on his face seemed to scream the word, HELP!

"Oh yeah? Yeah? What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kind of walking mouth?" Spot followed David's glare and seemed intent on intimidating him.

"David was just stating a fact; he wasn't trying to step on your feet." Floaty exclaimed and inhaled a deep breath when Spot glared at her. Her stomach flipped and she glanced at David. He looked surprised and grateful to have Spot's icy gaze off him.

"Whose this, Jacky-boy?"

Floaty thought about taking a step backwards, but decided against it. Spot seemed to be a person who enjoyed seeing other peoples' discomfort. She would stand her ground, no matter how nervous she was of the newsie king.

Jack smiled, "Well, Spot, you've been askin' me who Pulitzer's messenger is for years, so I brought her. Spot Conlon, I want ya to meet Emmalyn 'Floaty' McGongle. Floaty, this here is Spot Conlon, da most powerful and respected newsie in New York."

Floaty nodded, "Hello."

"Pulitza's messenger is a girl?" Spot seemed surprised, and then he smirked as he circled her. Floaty suddenly felt like a piece of meat in a butcher shop's window.

"Yes, I am a girl, and if you don't circling me…"

Spot's face was suddenly shoved so close to her own that Floaty could see her reflection in his eyes. "If I don't stop circlin' you, you'll what? C'mon, say what ya wanna say."

Floaty glared at him, her mouth became as dry as sand. "If you don't stop circling me, I'm afraid we'll have to do a dance, since it's not proper for a man to be dancing by himself." She smirked at seeing his expression, it was one of shock. Obviously he had expected her to threaten him. No, she was smarter than that. One messenger girl against Spot Conlon and his newsies, the results of that train wreck were obvious.

"Well, Jack, ya didn't tell me Pulitza was smart when he hired this one," Spot smirked. "She's got moxie; I like dat in a girl."

"That's why we brought her," Jack replied and Floaty looked at him in surprise. He muttered to her, "Sorry, Floats, but in this case I needed all da backup I could get!"

Spot studied Floaty for a moment before he turned his attention back to the strike, "And the walkin' mouth?"

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

Spot shrugged and sat down, then crossed his arms, "Alright, you got me attention, I'm listenin'."

David swallowed nervously before starting his speech, "Well, we started the strike, but we can't do it alone. So, we're talking to Newsies all around the city."

"Yeah, dey told me….What did they tell you?" Spot leaned forward with interest written across his face. He reminded Floaty of a powerful leader waiting to hear which of his employees needed to be fired.

"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!"

Spot listened and after a minute a small smirk crossed his face. David had obviously fed Spot's ego, as the newsie leader stood the smirk left his face. He grabbed his cane and pointed it at Jack, then at David, "You're right Jacky-boy, brains. But I got brains too, and more than just half a 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?"

Jack's body language stiffened as he shrugged nervously, "Because I'm telling you, Spot."

Spot stared at Jack, David, and Boots for a long moment, "That's not good enough, Jacky-boy, ya gotta show me."

Jack opened his mouth to argue but Spot turned away. He gave a sigh, "Come on, you all, Floats-"

"Floaty stays with me," Spot ordered.

"I can't," Floaty exclaimed wide eyed, "I have messages to deliver! Paychecks to give out! If I'm not back to Manhattan by mid-afternoon then I'll lose my job!"

Spot looked at her, "Ya won't lose your job. I'll take ya to wherever you need to go."

Jack pulled Floaty aside, "I'll bring her back, Spot. Hey Boots, will ya take Davey and show him around the docks?"

"Sure thing," Boots nodded before he walked off. David occasionally glanced back at Jack and Floaty as he followed the younger newsboy.

"Floats, I'm sorry, but I had to do somethin'. The odds were against us and I had a feelin' Spot would like ya." Jack shrugged and placed his hands into his pockets, "I know I should of told ya the real reason I was bringin' ya."

"Yeah, you should have." Floaty grumbled, "I would have gone along with you."

"I wasn't sure, not after all the stories you've heard about Spot….And…" he glanced away.

"You were afraid if I left you all once, I'd do it again," Floaty finished for him. She turned and looked out at the harbor; when she had left the newsies lodging house, it had nothing to do with her friends. Pulitzer had had done more for her than the newsies knew. She and Jack had never told anyone, but when she lived in the lodging house the two had been a couple. Only months after Pulitzer had hired her she gave birth to her daughter, Lily. She and Jack had stopped their secret visitations with one another after their baby passed away a month after her birth. Pulitzer had paid for the coffin, funeral arrangements, and flowers; and to this day she was still paying back the bill.

"Yeah," Jack scuffed his foot along the wooden planks of the dock. "Look, Floats, Spot's a good guy. I used to tell ya a lot of untrue stories about him, cause I was mad at ya. You stopped seein' me all together after Lily….Well ya know….Then, last year, outta the blue you're talkin' to me again. I just….I thought after this ya'd run off again."

Floaty shook her head, "I'm done running. I learned the hard way that in life one can't run from their problems, they have to face them head on."

Jack nodded, "So you'll help try to win Spot ovah?"

She nodded, "I'll help you."

Jack beamed, "Thanks, Floats."

"Yeah, yeah, go catch up with your newsies."

A few minutes later, Floaty was walking to the Brooklyn World Distribution Center with Spot walking beside her. She hadn't said much to him, and he had remained silent as well. She wasn't sure what to make out of him. Spot Conlon was the most feared and respected newsboy in New York – and yet he was short, only an inch taller than herself. Yet, height had nothing to do with the reason why he was the newsie king, and that was obvious. His glare alone could scare the pants off any newsie daring to cross him. He was smart, tough, and ruled like a king.

"So you were Jacky-boy's mysterious girlfriend," he finally commented.

Floaty looked over at him, "How did you know that? Jack and I….We never told anyone! We were planning too..."

"I have little birds everywhere," he replied and paused as she handed a pile of envelopes to the elderly man behind the distribution center's gates. "I even knew about Lily, remember that bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots? Me newsies and I came together to buy that."

"That was the most beautiful part of her funeral," Floaty replied as her eyes glazed over. Losing a child was not something a parent easily recovered from; in fact there was no recovering from it. Lily had been he daughter, her child; she had been so beautiful with her chubby little cheeks, sparkling brown eyes, and her stringy blonde hair. When Lily had died, a piece of Floaty and Jack had died with her; Floaty knew it had been stupid, greedy, and downright stupid to stop seeing Jack after their daughter's death. But he reminded her so much of their dead daughter….Still, it was cowardly and inexcusable. No amount of apologies could ever make up for her actions.

"After the funeral, I took two of the flowers and pressed them into a book. Then, last year, I gave Jack one of the flowers and I keep the other in my locket. I feel like I'm telling Lily I'll never forget her."

"Well, you are," Spot replied, "I'm glad ya liked the flowers. Jack was real upset when ya stopped talkin' to him for a while there."

"I was being stupid."

Spot paused and dropped the subject as they walked to the Sun's distribution center. When they walked away Floaty cleared her throat.

"You know, Jack and his newsies are strong and their passionate about this strike. You should give them a chance."

Spot glanced at her and snorted, "Jacky-boy's newsies may be strong in some areas, but in others their weak. I've seen some of them take off running at the sight of a goon with club. Dey gotta prove themselves before I'll allow anyone to help them."

"They'll band together and they'll fight."

"I'll believe dat when I see it. So, tell me somethin', why did ya decide to work for old Joe Pulitza?" He drew her over to a bench and sat down. Floaty paused and eyed a church's clock tower, it was two in the afternoon and she needed to be back by three or three thirty at the latest.

Floaty paused, "At first it was by accident. I was selling a newspaper to some guy, and he accused me of stealing his money. So, I followed the instinct that I stupidly followed two years ago, I ran. I bumped into Pulitzer, literally, and he offered to give me a job as a messenger girl since I could run so fast. In return, he'd chase the guy off. Instead of using my noggin, I agreed. He gave me a job, I was about to quit after I had Lily. But when she passed and Pulitzer paid for the wedding I couldn't leave….Especially not after he told me I'd be paying him back for the funeral by staying employed to him."

"How much did it cost ole' Joe? I know it was expensive," Spot gazed towards her.

"Eighty dollars," Floaty replied, "The only reason he did it was for the headlines. He wanted people to see he was charitable…" She snorted, "He was charitable when he wants to be. So in return for Lily's funeral I have to stay employed to him until he says something different. But, to tell the truth, I've been saving up my money and when I earn enough I'm gonna give him half of whatever I have and quit. But that's not for years down the road."

"Why not for years?"

Floaty paused, "The only reason I'd quit is if I got married. After I got married, I would hope whoever I married didn't believe in 'woman should not be working' and he would help me with my job hunt when he had the time."

"Sounds like a plan," Spot smirked. "How about I walk ya back to Manhattan. Say, what time do ya start work in the mornin's?"

"When I start work? Usually around eight in the morning. Why?"

"Just askin'," he shrugged with a smirk. As the two walked back to Manhattan together and to the World building, he turned to her, "See ya tomorrow morning."

"See you…" Floaty paused, "Wait a moment here! Hey!" She shouted as Spot laughed, waved, and continued on his way back to Brooklyn.