**Disclaimer… Just like my other nine stories, I *still* don't own the newsies. I don't know where my plan to kidnap them keeps going wrong… Hehe**
Thanks Misprint for reading this through for me beforehand. :D
A/N: Please keep in mind that when the story starts, it is ten years BEFORE the strike. Yes, yes. And I find Pirate and Parrot to be adorable. I think they're my fave characters in any of my newsies stories so far. They'll get their "real" newsie names in chapters 2 and 3 (I have them written, just not uploaded bwahahahahaha) and it is not hard at all to guess who they are. You probably already know. Damn you. ;D LOL.
Growth - Chapter 1
Summer, 1889
Parrot smiled at his best friend, Pirate. The two held swords up and touched them together, then a cry from the leader of the Manhattan newsies, Trickster, was issued: "GO!" At the sound, the two began clashing their wooden swords together.
"Eeeee-yi!" screamed Pirate, holding his sword behind his head with both hands and bringing it forward, straight at Parrot's head.
"Ahhhh!" Parrot screamed back, pretending to cut off Pirate's arm just in time.
"Owwww!" Pirate yelled, falling down to the ground and clutching his shoulder in pretend pain.
"Da winnah… PARROT!" shouted Trickster, holding Parrot's hand in the air. Parrot grinned.
"Would you shuddup?" California asked from his bunk, where he had been trying to sleep the last half an hour because of a headache.
"Aw, lighten up, Cali," said Trickster, who was a kind, happy leader. He leaned up and ruffled California's hair.
"I'se soak ya, Trick," warned California.
The six-year old Parrot, who, along with Pirate (also six), was the youngest newsie, dropped his sword on his bunk and ran over to where Trickster and California continued to pick at each other. "Don' fight!" he said desperately, looking from one boy to the other anxiously.
Trickster smiled and hugged the little boy to himself. "We's jus' playin', Parrot. Don' woirry."
Parrot still looked upset. "I'se don' like it when you'se fight, Tricksteh."
Trickster lightly cuffed the boy. "An' dat's why you'se one 'a me fav'rite newsies, Parrot."
Pirate ran over, his invisible wound forgotten. "Wha' abou' me?" he said, tugging at Trickster's trousers. "Is I one a' you'se fav'rites, too?"
Trickster smiled at how much these two idolized himself and the other older newsies. "Yeah, Pirate, you'se one a' me fav'rites, too. I got ya dat eye patch, didn' I?"
Pirate grinned. "Yeah," he remembered. There was nothing wrong with his left eye, but the patch made nice ladies think so, and they would give him extra money and call him "Little lamb."
Pirate had been at the Lodging House for nearly six months, but Parrot had only come three months ago. Pirate had gotten his name for the eye patch. Since his first day, Parrot had hung around Pirate and Pirate only, and had gotten his name for this fact: as Freckle had said when Parrot had been named, "Who eveh hoid a' a pirate who ain' got no parrot?" Also, Parrot had the habit of repeating things that were said, especially things he found funny, and often it was as if he truly were a parrot: all the boys had cleaned up their language considerably since Parrot's arrival, because anything that was said was liable to get re-mentioned later on, sometimes in circumstances that weren't admirable.
"Time fer bed," Mr. Kloppman, the man who ran the Lodging House, called up the stairs. "You'se gotta all sell ta-morra."
"Fin'lly," breathed California, rolling over in his bed. He was a tall, lanky youth, who at fifteen years stood half a foot taller than seventeen-year old Trickster. His feet stuck over the edge of the bed into the aisle.
Parrot carefully put his wooden sword—his prized possession—on the table next to the bed he slept in, and climbed under the covers. Pirate climbed in the other end. They were short enough that they could both fit comfortably.
"G'night, Pirate," Parrot said sleepily.
"G'night, Parrot," Pirate answered back.
All the older newsies climbed in their beds too, and Trickster waited until everyone was situated before blowing out the candles. Then a single voice rose into the darkness.
"Deah God, t'ank ya fer ta-day. I'se beat Pirate in da sword-fightin' contes'. Please bless California, an' get rid a' 'is headache, an' put 'im in a betteh mood." California, listening in his bunk, smiled at the earnestness in Parrot's voice. "An' t'ank ya fer Tricksteh, who looks out fer me. Keep Freckle safe, cuz he's in Brooklyn ta-night. Scales had a good sellin' day ta-day, so t'anks fer dat. T'ank ya dat Purity came home safe from dat visit he had in Harlem. An' please bless Blackie, an' Beast, an' Trail, an' Dafty, an' Chesteh, an' Tree, an' Rudolph, an' Potion, an' Tweedle, an' Terrain, an' Monstah, an' Chocolate, an' Callah, an' Snoddy, an' Chahlie." Every newsie in the Lodging House bunk room was listening intently to his prayer, as they did every night. "Please continue ta keep Spunky safe up dere in Heaven. Will ya tell 'im dat I miss 'im? An' please let ta-morra be a good sellin' day. An' mos' a' all, God, t'ank ya fer Pirate, who's me bes' friend in da woild. A-men."
"Amen," everyone murmured. This was their nighttime ritual, and even California couldn't fall asleep until Parrot's prayer was completed.
"Deah God, please bless Parrot. Amen," said Trickster.
"Amen," everyone said again. And the ritual was complete. The room, which had been silent during Parrot's and Trickster's prayers, now came alive again as everyone shifted to get comfortable.
Parrot pressed one of his bare feet onto one of Pirate's. A moment later, Pirate pushed his foot back. It was their secret signal that they were best friends. Then both fell asleep.
The next morning, Kloppman came upstairs. He first quietly shook awake Pirate and Parrot, who he held a soft spot for, and let them run into the washroom first. Then, smiling, he yelled at everyone else to wake up.
The newsies sleepily went into the washroom, where they occupied the sink space and toilet stalls quickly.
Trickster was the only one who had to shave, and he lathered up. Parrot stood next to him hopefully, looking up at the older boy with nothing but adoration in his eyes.
Finally, Trickster noticed him standing there grinning, and couldn't help but grin back. He knelt down so that he was the same height as the six-year old, and, using the little brush, dabbed some of the shaving cream onto Parrot's face. Pirate soon appeared next to Parrot, so Trickster put a little bit onto his face, too.
He reached onto the high counter and pulled down a single blade, and two thin slices of wood. He handed one of the wood pieces to each boy. Then, using the blade, he carefully shaved his own face. Pirate and Parrot watched him carefully and mimicked his movements exactly, scraping the soap off their faces with their wood pieces.
California, whose headache was gone, which meant he was in a much better mood, couldn't help but smile as he watched from where he was trying to wash some of yesterday's newspaper ink off his hands. Of course, none of it came off, but he didn't really mind.
Pirate and Parrot, who were now satisfied that they were "cleanly shaven", scampered back off into the bunk room to get dressed. Parrot pulled on his black pants, and discovered that there was now a hole in the knee. He took them back off and showed Pirate this in distress.
Pirate ran off to get Trickster, and when he got back, Parrot had pulled on his white shirt and a green shirt over that, but was in only his long-johns from the waist down, and was crying as he looked at his pants, which he clutched tightly in his fists.
"'S'okay, Parrot," Trickster said, taking the boy's pants. "Le's see wha' we kin do." Parrot tried to stop his tears as he looked up at Trickster. The leader smiled as he saw what he could do. He ripped from the tear on around the knee.
Parrot stared at Trickster, unsure of what was going on. Then Trickster ripped across the knee of the other leg, too. "Dere," he said, holding them up. "Dese'll be cooleh now dat's it's summah, anyway."
Parrot stood up and pulled on the pants, which now stopped just below his knee. He gave Trickster an unsure smile, then pulled on his black socks and brown boots. He slipped his sword in his suspenders.
Pirate finished pulling on his orange shirt and put on his light tan vest over it. He was now dressed. He grabbed his own sword and he and Parrot hurried out after all the other older boys, who were on their way down the stairs, joking and laughing.
"Heah, Pirate," said Terrain, a big, goofy newsie who, like all the others, thoroughly enjoyed watching the two littlest newsies. "I t'ink dis kerchief would go great wit' you'se outfit." He tied a dark blue kerchief around the boy's throat.
Parrot and Pirate admired each other's decidedly improved outfits on their way to the Distribution Center. Parrot decided that he rather liked feeling a breeze on his lower legs. Feeling a bit protective, Terrain walked a few steps behind them just to make sure they were safe.
"Tricksteh, whaddya got?" Parrot suddenly called out. He, Pirate, and Terrain stopped and looked over to where Trickster knelt on the far side of the street.
Trickster looked up. "C'mere," he called lightly.
"Wha' is it?" Parrot asked, running over first. He cautiously looked over Trickster's shoulder.
"It's a baby," Trickster answered. "I t'ink it's been aban'oned heah."
"Like da res' a' us?" Pirate asked. "Cuz we was all aban'oned too, right, Tricksteh?"
"Yeah, Pirate, we was all aban'oned," Trickster said.
"Den we'se gotta keep 'im, right?" asked Parrot.
Trickster looked into Parrot's big brown eyes, which were blinking innocently at him. "Yeah, Parrot. We's gotta keep 'im. On'y pro'lem is, I t'ink 'e's a goil."
"Ya heah dat, Pirate?" Parrot asked excitedly. "We's got us a liddle sistah!"
Terrain knew what Trickster was thinking—she'd have to be sent to the girls' orphanage down the street. Then he looked down at Pirate and Parrot, who were jumping around excitedly, and back up at Trickster. "We'se gotta keep 'im," Trickster repeated.
Terrain shook his head. "We can't."
Trickster shook his head, smiling at the younger boys. "We gotta, Terrain. We jus' gotta."
"Please, Terrain?" Pirate asked, smiling up at him. Parrot joined in, his smile large and naïve as only a child's can be.
"Well, I ain't da one who's gonna tell Kloppman, dat's fer sure," Terrain finally grunted. Pirate and Parrot yelled happily and jumped onto Terrain's arms, dangling off.
"How'd we eveh get duped, Terrain?" Trickster asked with a grin, standing up with the baby girl in his arms.
"Jus' look at 'em," Terrain answered, laughing as Parrot scrambled, like a monkey, onto his shoulders and sat there.
"Wha's 'er name gonna be?" Pirate asked, standing up on his tiptoes next to Trickster to get a good look at the girl.
"Lucy," answered Parrot immediately. "Right, Tricksteh?" He looked at Trickster for approval.
"Right, Parrot," Trickster smiled. "C'mon, le's take 'er back to da Lodgin' House."