Chapter one:
I woke and got out of the bed that I share with Spot. We been together for six months now. It's great.
"Gidge?" Spot muttered, turning over in the bed. He was reacting to the empty space beside him. I had my back to him, with my shirt off.
"Oh, I hadn't noticed you was awake," I said, really trying to pick up the New York accent. If the general public knew I was British, they's think I was a snob or something.
"Well, I's am," he said with a groan sitting up. I slipped a shirt on over my shoulders and buttoned it just enough to cover all things that didn't need to be seen. Yes, you're thinking that female newsies wear dresses and the like, well, that just isn't my style. It's half the reason I left 'jolly old England'.
I mean, have you EVER had to wear a corset? Those things are the most uncomfortable articles of clothing you can own. I miss bras, though, as I am slightly over sized in that area.
"How'd ya sleep?" I'm getting better, really.
"Jus' fine, sweetie, you?" He smiled his dopey smile that makes him look like a frog. 'He's so cute when he just wakes up' I thought to myself.
"Poifect. Do ya want me ta leave you be as you git ready?" I said I was better, not perfect. He just shook his head. "I'll leave ya anyways."
"What eva, lovey dovey baby," he said, quoting the song from Medda's last show. I grabbed my hat, a plain black newsie cap, and left the room. Two minutes later I heard the water in the bathroom running and in another three, Spot was out.
He slipped his arm around my waist, a well practiced gesture, and pulled me towards the door. We left and walked out for our papes. We probably looked odd, as my hair was under my hat and I resembled a very pretty boy. No one says anything anymore.
"So, how many ya be takin' taday?" Spot asked as we approached the distribution window. Manhattan's is much nicer, Brooklyn's is just a hole in the wall with bars on it.
"I'm thinkin' fifty taday," I replied after a moment to read the headlines. They weren't that bad today. Weren't that good, but not bad. We walked up, Spot threw some coins at the cage, and he picked up our papers. "You gotta stop buyin' me papes, you gonna break yaself one day."
"Nah, 'tis my pleasure to buy the lovely lady her papes." I hate it when he mocks my British accent. I got enough of that on the boat coming from Ireland. That was when I was 14, the youngest girl on the boat. I know I said I was from England, but getting to America is harder than credit is given.
"I thought I told ya not ta do that, especially in public," I whispered, giving his hand a not-so-tender squeeze. I had met Spot right as I got here. He was selling on the docks and immediately started making fun of my accent. He followed me around for some reason, until he realized I didn't have a place to stay.
He took me to his lodging house, "for the night", and I'm still staying there. He's asked me before why I left home, and I'm never sure what to say. It's not like I'm running from anyone, or the good life, or anything like that. I guess I was sick of it, so I left. I swear I was drunk when I got on the boat. I planned on going home again, but Spot's keeping me here. And I don't mind.
"Au, but yer accent is so cute," he pointed out. Whatever. "An' why should you git ta imitate my accent, an' I can't yours?"
"Because, I say so." The simple answer. He's heard it before. But I only slip back to English talk when I'm mad, so only he knows. And I like it that way.
We spent a whole two hours screaming the headlines. I guess they weren't as good as I thought.
I'd heard allot of rumors about Spot and his girls. About how he's a father several times over. I can't believe it, he's always so respectful of me. Not how I'd expect an over-sexed ass-hole to act. But I've seen him talking to girls with babies, and suddenly I believe it. Only, not one of those girls has warned me about him.
"So, tell me again why you left England?" Spot asked. It's a score subject, and he knows that.
"We been ova dis before, I was visetin' friends in Ireland an' I got drunk. By the time I was sober enough to know what had happened, I was halfway here." Same story. He's heard it before, but he never believes me. I think that he thinks that I think that he can't handle the truth. But that is the truth.
"You tell me dat every time, an' every time you sound as if you's leavin' somethin' out." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard that before.
"But that's the truth, you're jus' gonna have ta except that. I've told you everything I know. If I'm not tellin' you somethin', I'm not telling myself somethin'." He still didn't believe me, I could see it in his eyes. That's what I love about him, his whole life can be told through his eyes.
"Let's go see Jacky Boy," he said, defeated and having given up. I don't think so. Ever since Jack lost Sarah, he's been dead set on me. She died of scarlet fever, along with poor little Les, the only one of the two I'll miss. That was four months ago. Spot hadn't noticed Jack's tendency to act as a wedge.
"No, why don't we go visit the Harlem boys." I have friends in that neck of the city. I knew Spot wouldn't agree, his eyes tell all.
"Well, I's sorta havin' problems with Stare." See, I told ya.
"In that case, why don't we jus' head back to the LH?"
"That idea I like." He slipped his arm around my wais and kissed me. Then we went to spend the rest of the morning at the LH.
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________
OK, this is really different then my other Fanfic, 'A time In The Past'. I'm bored and have a bit of a writer's block. Add that to the inspiration of a new newsie character, and you get this story. Please review and tell me what you think.
PS: This is NOT a Mary Sue story. She is from England, but doesn't have any real reason to have left. I guess she was just bored.
I woke and got out of the bed that I share with Spot. We been together for six months now. It's great.
"Gidge?" Spot muttered, turning over in the bed. He was reacting to the empty space beside him. I had my back to him, with my shirt off.
"Oh, I hadn't noticed you was awake," I said, really trying to pick up the New York accent. If the general public knew I was British, they's think I was a snob or something.
"Well, I's am," he said with a groan sitting up. I slipped a shirt on over my shoulders and buttoned it just enough to cover all things that didn't need to be seen. Yes, you're thinking that female newsies wear dresses and the like, well, that just isn't my style. It's half the reason I left 'jolly old England'.
I mean, have you EVER had to wear a corset? Those things are the most uncomfortable articles of clothing you can own. I miss bras, though, as I am slightly over sized in that area.
"How'd ya sleep?" I'm getting better, really.
"Jus' fine, sweetie, you?" He smiled his dopey smile that makes him look like a frog. 'He's so cute when he just wakes up' I thought to myself.
"Poifect. Do ya want me ta leave you be as you git ready?" I said I was better, not perfect. He just shook his head. "I'll leave ya anyways."
"What eva, lovey dovey baby," he said, quoting the song from Medda's last show. I grabbed my hat, a plain black newsie cap, and left the room. Two minutes later I heard the water in the bathroom running and in another three, Spot was out.
He slipped his arm around my waist, a well practiced gesture, and pulled me towards the door. We left and walked out for our papes. We probably looked odd, as my hair was under my hat and I resembled a very pretty boy. No one says anything anymore.
"So, how many ya be takin' taday?" Spot asked as we approached the distribution window. Manhattan's is much nicer, Brooklyn's is just a hole in the wall with bars on it.
"I'm thinkin' fifty taday," I replied after a moment to read the headlines. They weren't that bad today. Weren't that good, but not bad. We walked up, Spot threw some coins at the cage, and he picked up our papers. "You gotta stop buyin' me papes, you gonna break yaself one day."
"Nah, 'tis my pleasure to buy the lovely lady her papes." I hate it when he mocks my British accent. I got enough of that on the boat coming from Ireland. That was when I was 14, the youngest girl on the boat. I know I said I was from England, but getting to America is harder than credit is given.
"I thought I told ya not ta do that, especially in public," I whispered, giving his hand a not-so-tender squeeze. I had met Spot right as I got here. He was selling on the docks and immediately started making fun of my accent. He followed me around for some reason, until he realized I didn't have a place to stay.
He took me to his lodging house, "for the night", and I'm still staying there. He's asked me before why I left home, and I'm never sure what to say. It's not like I'm running from anyone, or the good life, or anything like that. I guess I was sick of it, so I left. I swear I was drunk when I got on the boat. I planned on going home again, but Spot's keeping me here. And I don't mind.
"Au, but yer accent is so cute," he pointed out. Whatever. "An' why should you git ta imitate my accent, an' I can't yours?"
"Because, I say so." The simple answer. He's heard it before. But I only slip back to English talk when I'm mad, so only he knows. And I like it that way.
We spent a whole two hours screaming the headlines. I guess they weren't as good as I thought.
I'd heard allot of rumors about Spot and his girls. About how he's a father several times over. I can't believe it, he's always so respectful of me. Not how I'd expect an over-sexed ass-hole to act. But I've seen him talking to girls with babies, and suddenly I believe it. Only, not one of those girls has warned me about him.
"So, tell me again why you left England?" Spot asked. It's a score subject, and he knows that.
"We been ova dis before, I was visetin' friends in Ireland an' I got drunk. By the time I was sober enough to know what had happened, I was halfway here." Same story. He's heard it before, but he never believes me. I think that he thinks that I think that he can't handle the truth. But that is the truth.
"You tell me dat every time, an' every time you sound as if you's leavin' somethin' out." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard that before.
"But that's the truth, you're jus' gonna have ta except that. I've told you everything I know. If I'm not tellin' you somethin', I'm not telling myself somethin'." He still didn't believe me, I could see it in his eyes. That's what I love about him, his whole life can be told through his eyes.
"Let's go see Jacky Boy," he said, defeated and having given up. I don't think so. Ever since Jack lost Sarah, he's been dead set on me. She died of scarlet fever, along with poor little Les, the only one of the two I'll miss. That was four months ago. Spot hadn't noticed Jack's tendency to act as a wedge.
"No, why don't we go visit the Harlem boys." I have friends in that neck of the city. I knew Spot wouldn't agree, his eyes tell all.
"Well, I's sorta havin' problems with Stare." See, I told ya.
"In that case, why don't we jus' head back to the LH?"
"That idea I like." He slipped his arm around my wais and kissed me. Then we went to spend the rest of the morning at the LH.
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________
OK, this is really different then my other Fanfic, 'A time In The Past'. I'm bored and have a bit of a writer's block. Add that to the inspiration of a new newsie character, and you get this story. Please review and tell me what you think.
PS: This is NOT a Mary Sue story. She is from England, but doesn't have any real reason to have left. I guess she was just bored.