Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Or Spot. If I did he'd live in my closet.
*Hugs Spot* Anyhoo.I do own Maddie (aww the cuteness!! *hugs Maddie too*)
and Spots boots. They're really random. *Hugs Spot's boots* OK it's getting
mighty crowded in here. Read, my children, read!
Swedish. They told him his boots were Swedish. The gray-mustached man at the counter proclaimed them the "finest contribution to the world of footwear that could be imported at an unbelievably low price" as he straightened his vest with a smart little tweak. Not that any of that mattered. The rough cobblestones from the summer months scraped away at the seams, and now the snow's icy wetness seeped through the shredded holes. His feet were cold, and he was kicking snow up onto his pant legs as he walked. He hugged the brown, threadbare jacket closer to his body as he hunched his shoulders against the wind. Everything seemed darker in the winter. Lights burned low in the lampposts as he shuffled closer toward the place he called home. It was only at times like these, when he was alone, that he let his mind wander to the gaping emptiness inside him. Never around 'his boys' would he allow himself to become distracted or show weakness in any way. It was slowly becoming harder and harder to keep up the façade of a carefree, rough-and-tumble leader; to throw the doubts of the people who questioned his authority back into their faces. It was that feeling, knowing that he couldn't have control over everything he felt, that scared him more than anything. Control was not something he sacrificed freely. This vast longing for an unknown panacea was affecting his ability to think straight. When there was a lull in the activity, anywhere, anytime, a sudden sadness would tighten in his chest. Weakness, the thing that he hated most, was becoming part of him.
He sighed and hoped the raging turmoil would pass as quickly as it had come. Glancing up into the heavens, he noticed that the clear blue sky was obscured by the never-ending journey of snow to the grimy cobblestones. Shadows of people, contented in their warm houses, moved back and forth in the dimming gaslight. Back down on the ground, he skirted around a broken crate frozen in a snowdrift. Upon exhaling, he watched as the now-visible tentacles of his breath intertwined with the cold night air. Cold. He was cold inside and out. Inwardly furious with himself for allowing weakness to strike him again, he scowled into the blackened night.
"Pl-please.excuse me sir," squeaked an anxious voice behind him.
Spot Conlon whirled around, daring the intruder upon his thoughts to speak again. It was a girl, who looked no older than six or seven. What did she think she was doing, interrupting someone's walk home? It was late and she should be asleep somewhere. Anywhere, he didn't care, as long as it was away from him
"What?" he snapped irritably.
The girl took several terrified steps backwards, looking horrified at the very sight of him. 'I.that is to say.I need to." her speech ended in a terrified squeak and she jumped back a few inches.
Spots lips tightened. He didn't have patience for silly little girls. As he turned to walk away, the unbearable sadness once again clenched his heart in an unbearable death grip. He growled submissively and rounded on the girl. She was still standing where he had left her, looking as though she was frozen. A strange sensation was vibrating through him as he watched her shaking in her ugly brown dress and loosely woven cap. The flaps, although pulled low over her ears, didn't seem to be keeping the penetrating cold from reaching her ears. Her boots looked very much like his, he noticed, but with copper-tipped toes.
Spot averted his gaze back to her very red cheeks. She looked as though she was holding her breath.
"What's your name, girl?" he asked, simply because he couldn't think of another thing to say, and it seemed necessary to make conversation.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Nearly out of patience, he ducked his head slightly. "Eh? Didn't catch that." His tight-lipped frown from earlier was creeping onto his face.
"M-M-Maddie" she whispered in a barley audible voice. "I.would you.I." Her voice trailed off and she held up a handful of buttons that looked very much as though they has been torn off of her coat, which Spot noticed was flapping open in the wind. She shivered, looking terrified.
Something about the way she looked at him struck Spot unexpectedly. Her eyes, maybe? Even though her red cheeks puffed out from breathing in the icy air, her big brown eyes seemed.warm, almost. Stranger still, the cold vice that the emptiness had fastened around his heart seemed lessened somehow.
"Spot Conlon" he said suddenly, surprising the girl after his long silence. Come to think of it, he surprised himself.
From the way her eyes widened, he could tell that she had heard of him. An irrational pride welled up inside him, as it always did when his name was recognized. His reputation was very important to him, but the euphoria in knowing that he was a household name was short lived. She looked nothing short of terrified.
Sighing again, Spot reached into his pocked and pulled out a nickel. It was a lot, but.she didn't look as if she had a penny to her name. She was selling her buttons, for heaven's sake. He made up his mind and handed her the nickel before he backed out.
"Here" he said gruffly, "Keep the button."
Her windblown face lit up with a sudden joy that contrasted oddly with the dark, dreary Brooklyn streets. She seemed unable to put her thanks into words, but Spot suddenly found himself not needing to hear it. The sadness seemed to have been lessened slightly. Maybe...just maybe...this girl's unexpected intrusion was the cure to the unknown problem that he'd been struggling with for so long.
"Take care of yourself, you hear?" he mumbled, turning on his heel to continue his journey back to the lodging house.
The girl stood in the snow, silently elated, watching the figure disappear into the wintry shadows. The very boy who's name struck fear into the hearts of the toughest people she knew had just given her more money than she'd ever made in two days worth of selling. She smiled at the nickel in her frozen palm.
"Spot Conlon" she whispered.
A/N: awww! Spots such a cool dude!!! Oh and about his lack of accent.I have no idea how to type it, so I just left it plain. You seem like a creative bunch, just imagine it while you're reading. I'm thinking about adding a second chapter.tell me what you think. *Jumps up and down next to the review button waving pom poms* "Review! Review! And I'll love you! *Thinks for a moment* And Spot will too! Ok it's a lousy rhyme. Sue me. Actually don't, I have no money. You'd be wasting your time. Time that could be spent.oh...I don't know.reviewing?? tee hee
Swedish. They told him his boots were Swedish. The gray-mustached man at the counter proclaimed them the "finest contribution to the world of footwear that could be imported at an unbelievably low price" as he straightened his vest with a smart little tweak. Not that any of that mattered. The rough cobblestones from the summer months scraped away at the seams, and now the snow's icy wetness seeped through the shredded holes. His feet were cold, and he was kicking snow up onto his pant legs as he walked. He hugged the brown, threadbare jacket closer to his body as he hunched his shoulders against the wind. Everything seemed darker in the winter. Lights burned low in the lampposts as he shuffled closer toward the place he called home. It was only at times like these, when he was alone, that he let his mind wander to the gaping emptiness inside him. Never around 'his boys' would he allow himself to become distracted or show weakness in any way. It was slowly becoming harder and harder to keep up the façade of a carefree, rough-and-tumble leader; to throw the doubts of the people who questioned his authority back into their faces. It was that feeling, knowing that he couldn't have control over everything he felt, that scared him more than anything. Control was not something he sacrificed freely. This vast longing for an unknown panacea was affecting his ability to think straight. When there was a lull in the activity, anywhere, anytime, a sudden sadness would tighten in his chest. Weakness, the thing that he hated most, was becoming part of him.
He sighed and hoped the raging turmoil would pass as quickly as it had come. Glancing up into the heavens, he noticed that the clear blue sky was obscured by the never-ending journey of snow to the grimy cobblestones. Shadows of people, contented in their warm houses, moved back and forth in the dimming gaslight. Back down on the ground, he skirted around a broken crate frozen in a snowdrift. Upon exhaling, he watched as the now-visible tentacles of his breath intertwined with the cold night air. Cold. He was cold inside and out. Inwardly furious with himself for allowing weakness to strike him again, he scowled into the blackened night.
"Pl-please.excuse me sir," squeaked an anxious voice behind him.
Spot Conlon whirled around, daring the intruder upon his thoughts to speak again. It was a girl, who looked no older than six or seven. What did she think she was doing, interrupting someone's walk home? It was late and she should be asleep somewhere. Anywhere, he didn't care, as long as it was away from him
"What?" he snapped irritably.
The girl took several terrified steps backwards, looking horrified at the very sight of him. 'I.that is to say.I need to." her speech ended in a terrified squeak and she jumped back a few inches.
Spots lips tightened. He didn't have patience for silly little girls. As he turned to walk away, the unbearable sadness once again clenched his heart in an unbearable death grip. He growled submissively and rounded on the girl. She was still standing where he had left her, looking as though she was frozen. A strange sensation was vibrating through him as he watched her shaking in her ugly brown dress and loosely woven cap. The flaps, although pulled low over her ears, didn't seem to be keeping the penetrating cold from reaching her ears. Her boots looked very much like his, he noticed, but with copper-tipped toes.
Spot averted his gaze back to her very red cheeks. She looked as though she was holding her breath.
"What's your name, girl?" he asked, simply because he couldn't think of another thing to say, and it seemed necessary to make conversation.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Nearly out of patience, he ducked his head slightly. "Eh? Didn't catch that." His tight-lipped frown from earlier was creeping onto his face.
"M-M-Maddie" she whispered in a barley audible voice. "I.would you.I." Her voice trailed off and she held up a handful of buttons that looked very much as though they has been torn off of her coat, which Spot noticed was flapping open in the wind. She shivered, looking terrified.
Something about the way she looked at him struck Spot unexpectedly. Her eyes, maybe? Even though her red cheeks puffed out from breathing in the icy air, her big brown eyes seemed.warm, almost. Stranger still, the cold vice that the emptiness had fastened around his heart seemed lessened somehow.
"Spot Conlon" he said suddenly, surprising the girl after his long silence. Come to think of it, he surprised himself.
From the way her eyes widened, he could tell that she had heard of him. An irrational pride welled up inside him, as it always did when his name was recognized. His reputation was very important to him, but the euphoria in knowing that he was a household name was short lived. She looked nothing short of terrified.
Sighing again, Spot reached into his pocked and pulled out a nickel. It was a lot, but.she didn't look as if she had a penny to her name. She was selling her buttons, for heaven's sake. He made up his mind and handed her the nickel before he backed out.
"Here" he said gruffly, "Keep the button."
Her windblown face lit up with a sudden joy that contrasted oddly with the dark, dreary Brooklyn streets. She seemed unable to put her thanks into words, but Spot suddenly found himself not needing to hear it. The sadness seemed to have been lessened slightly. Maybe...just maybe...this girl's unexpected intrusion was the cure to the unknown problem that he'd been struggling with for so long.
"Take care of yourself, you hear?" he mumbled, turning on his heel to continue his journey back to the lodging house.
The girl stood in the snow, silently elated, watching the figure disappear into the wintry shadows. The very boy who's name struck fear into the hearts of the toughest people she knew had just given her more money than she'd ever made in two days worth of selling. She smiled at the nickel in her frozen palm.
"Spot Conlon" she whispered.
A/N: awww! Spots such a cool dude!!! Oh and about his lack of accent.I have no idea how to type it, so I just left it plain. You seem like a creative bunch, just imagine it while you're reading. I'm thinking about adding a second chapter.tell me what you think. *Jumps up and down next to the review button waving pom poms* "Review! Review! And I'll love you! *Thinks for a moment* And Spot will too! Ok it's a lousy rhyme. Sue me. Actually don't, I have no money. You'd be wasting your time. Time that could be spent.oh...I don't know.reviewing?? tee hee