Author: ToT

Title: Sudden Phobia

Disclaimer: Usual. I don't own the newsies.

Opening Comments: Uh, well, this was *supposed* to be serious, but it turned into a comedy. ^^;; Oh well. I've more than made up for it with my Hallowe'en fic that'll hopefully be finished by Hallowe'en, but no guarantees. ^_^ So, yeah. I apologize to those of you who are, apparently, having a hard time understanding the New Yawk dialect. Here's a basic overview: I don't tend to put in the 'h' sound. Ise=I; Sose=so; Wese=we; and everything else should be self-explanatory. T'anks!

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Chapter One: "Mud, Muck, and a Paperball Fight"

Lightning flashed and thunder closely followed. The people in the streets quickly fled as the rain poured down in sheets. Little children cried and street corner performers cursed. Everyone left the streets and they were deserted. Except for a lone group of newsies, who didn't seem to mind the rain much at all. They balled up their unsold, wet papers and threw them at each other like snowballs while some slid through mud. (Whether or not it was really mud didn't much matter--it was fun to play in.)

The select octave or so of newsies also were oblivious to what was going on around the,. In fact, they had no time to react when

Pardon me. That's for later.

I should probably set the stage for you before I begin, eh? The newsies that were running rampant in the streets while they slowly progressed to the Lodging House were as follows:

Jack. Of course the dreamer was there. The fearless cowboy was, you know, the ringleader of most (or all, some would argue) newsies advancements during the strike. How could he not be in this story?

Spot. The Brooklyn leader was on a visit. He is the small, tough-guy--but all-round puppy dog--of the hereafter mentioned. What is a story without this one?

Kid Blink. The lady-loving charmer (and our real fearless leader). Good looks, charisma, wit, and an eyepatch. Not to mention voice. Pretty… Erm, yes. This sandy-haired cutie is an essential.

Mush. Ah, the innocent one… Only in looks, however. The deceiving mind of this sweetheart is sure to catch any girl. (And Blink--just kidding!) Can't you just see him frolicking through meadows of sweetly perfumed flowers? One would never suspect that he, too, is involved in all of Blink's scams. They're like a lock and key--you can't use one without the other.

Racetrack. What more to say? Gambles, cracks jokes, and loves horses (even if just to bet on them). Only naturally he has to be in here! It's a comedy, right?

Specs. The--more or less--rational head of them all. His level-headedness and slight education are a few reasons for the others to poke fun at. Comedy… What a wonderful word. He's here to be "mother hen". Or father--as the case may be.

Dutchy. Another lock:key analogy. Without Dutchy, Specs really doesn't have much of a purpose (as Stage has so lovingly taught us). The blonde, spectacled newsie is here for one reason and one reason only: It wouldn't be much of a comic story--if a story at all--without him!

Skittery. Last, but very far from being the least. This sullen character is here to somber up the story--we all need it sometime. Think of him as…well, Ritalin for Dutchy and the rest of the comedians. He has his purpose.

These are the eight that are playing in the rain on a cobblestone street in the square.

Now I think that I need to start the story over--don't you? And this time, I'll finish without any interruptions. I promise.

It was unexpected in the sense that it came out of nowhere. The sudden attack, pelting you and soaking you to the bone. The bright flashes threatened to strike rooftops and trees and loud exclamations of thunder repeated to rejoice in the screams of children. The streets were quickly cleared of all life--even the ally cats and stray dogs raced to find shelter under crates, trees, or on doorsteps. Horses were sheeted and fireplaces were lit.

All was silent except for the rhythmic pounding of rain and the occasional outburst of thunder. All was so, that is, until the boys came gallivanting out of random sections of the square. Mush, who had been skipping and flipping, lost his footing and slid into the gutter. Blink joined him. Dutchy rolled up a newspaper and threw it at the back of Specs' head. The curly-haired brunette's fedora flew forward into a puddle and the newsies turned around. He was about to scold his friend when he got another paper smack in the face. He then decided it was best to screw over the disciplinary speech and retaliate. Thus the paperball fight began.

"Didn' Ise tell youse dat it was gonna rain?" Skittery asked, walking up to where Jack, Spot, and Racetrack were talking.

"Yea, whatevah, Skit," Race said, nodding and paying the taller newsie the two bits he'd bet him. "Two ta one Dutchy beats Specs!"

"Bum odds," Spot and Jack said in unison.

Specs overheard this. "Hey! Eat dis, ya bums!" he hollered, throwing wet papers at the group by the statue.

"Dis is war, Specs!" Spot yelled, taking aim.

Fairly soon, all eight--this, obviously, includes Skittery--were muddy, paperball-throwing monsters. By the time they decided to head into the Lodging House, the rain had stopped and each boy was dripping from head to toe and drenched to the bones. Shivering, they walked in clumps and the sun came out from behind the dark clouds. The mud began to cake and dry in their hair and on their skin and clothes. The mud that wasn't mud began to reek and the boys realized what they had been playing half the time.

"Great. Now wese all smell like 'orses," Skittery mumbled.

Racetrack took a grand whiff in. "An' ain't it a great smell?" In response, he got more wet papers thrown at him.

Mush and Blink looked at each other with devious, twin grins. "Wese'll beatcha all dere!" they yelled, barreling through the six in front of them. The others quickly followed in hot pursuit. However, they weren't watching when they rounded the corner just ten feet away from their sanctuary. The carriage couldn't stop fast enough. The two pairs of horses reared and skidded to a halt while the carriage itself fishtailed and sung around, knocking all of the newsies to the ground; some getting trapped underneath, some just hitting their heads on the cobblestones.

The dust cleared and the driver, who had jumped off before the carriage tipped over, frantically raced over to where the fallen newsies lay. None of them were moving.

*****

Closing Comments: Bwaha!! Cliffhanger!! I know, I know. You're probably asking, "Where's the comedy in this?!" Well, my friends, the best is yet to come. I assure you, the best is yet to come… grins evilly ~ToT