It started as a simple statement. "Tibby's has the best sausages in the city." Jack wasn't even sure who had said it. But that simple statement had taken on a life of it's own. It had grown until it became an unquestioned truth, among newsies, common knowledge, even in far quarters.
"Tibby's has the best sausages in the city."
Only, did it? Once, it had been acceptable to simply agree with it. But as time went on, especially after the strike, when Jack began to question a lot of things he'd just taken for granted, he, among others, began to question the truth about sausages. Did other venders and venues have better sausages? Were they missing out on something secret and wonderful because they only ever went to Tibby's?
Thus began the quest, the Great Sausage Adventure. To taste and discover, once and for all, who had the city's best sausages, within the boundaries of their finances. Where would that title go? Who would be crowned with that meaty crown? Which sausage vender would be able to claim ultimate sausage greatness?
Not everyone cared about the sausages, of course. Jack's girlfriend, Sarah, for instance, didn't like sausages in general. It was one of her many flaws that Jack attempted to overlook. Several of the newsies, as well, didn't care for sausages. But most agreed that tube shaped meats were some of the finer bits on the menu of your average newsie, and knowing that you were getting the best was key.
It was for this illustrious cause that Jack, with several other newsies, found themselves on park benches and grass one fine fall afternoon, snacking on sausage sandwiches just purchased from a cart. The sausage was Italian, a fine specimen, with a good ratio of meat and spices. The casing had a pleasing snap to it, and the whole thing had been grilled just enough that the filling was squeezing out the ends.
With his mouth still full of sandwich, Jack was the first to offer a comment. "Good sand'ich."
"Italians always do it better." Was Race's smirking comment. It earned him an elbow in the ribs from his girlfriend, Goldie, who was sprawled next to him on the grass.
"I dunno. I don't think I like these seed things..." Skittery picked a bit of a brown seed out of his sausage and flicked it away.
"Fennel. It's called fennel, Skit." Blink shook his head, and finished his sandwich before adding, "And yeah, I second Jack. Good sandwich."
Goldie looked down sadly at the empty wrapper that had held her sandwich. "I kinda want another one. That's the problem with sausages."
"The problem with sausages is they go right to ya ass." Pipped up Imp, Blink's girl. Which wasn't to say she hadn't devoured hers, because she had. For a tiny girl, she could pack away food at an alarming rate.
Goldie, however, flushed. "Ya callin me fat, Imp?"
"No, I'm callin sausages fat." Imp laughed and stretched out a bit, and nearly knocked Crutchy, who was sitting on the bench next to her, off of the bench. "Ah! Sorry, Crutchy."
"It's ok, Imp. But I'm with Skittery on this one. I don't like this sausage as much as Tibby's." Crutchy got to his feet to hobble over to the nearest rubbish bin to throw away his wrapper.
Jack pulled his cowboy hat up to shield his eyes from the sun, which was slowly starting to dip into the skyline. "I didn't say I thought it was better. I just said it was good."
"I like a good Italian sausage better'n what they serve at Tibby's any day." Race's voice was pretty firm as he crumpled his wrapper up and tried to throw it into the rubbish bin, which was just far enough away that he missed. Swearing, he snagged Goldie's wrapper and tried again. Once again, he missed.
"Are ya gonna pick those up, Race?" Goldie demanded, before turning to Jack. "I'm with Race on this one. I love Italian sausage."
Jack managed not to smirk, but it was a close thing. Blink and Skittery, however, could not contain their snickering at that, and the only thing that spared Skittery the kick to the shins that Blink received from Imp was that he was too far away for her to reach to kick. Race, who had gone to pick up the two wrappers he'd failed to toss into the rubbish, just shook his head. For a smart girl, Goldie sure did say some air-headed things sometimes.
"But seriously, I'm still for Tibby's." Blink aimed, and threw his wrapper with much better luck then Race, landing the wrapper in the rubbish bin on the first try. He repeated the feat with Imp's wrapper, and preened a bit like a rooster, earning him a hair ruffling from Imp and a smack to the back of the head from Race.
"Tibby's, all the way." Skit agreed, and rather then attempt to throw anything, he just walked his wrapper to the rubbish.
"Yeah, Tibby's." Crutchy nodded, leaning on his crutch a bit.
"Tibby's." Imp and Jack chorused in unison.
Race just shook his head, slinging his arm around Goldie's waist when she stood, brushing grass off of her skirt. "Ya all don't know good sausages..."
"Ya've been out-voted, Race. Accept defeat." Imp smirked at him, shaking her head before turning to Jack. "Where're we goin tomorrow?"
"Well, the Birdsaw twins said somethin about a deli near their lodgin house, up in Midtown. Let's meet at the statue around noon, and head up there for lunch, so we have time to make it back a bit earlier then today?" Jack, ever the planner, did have a system more or less organized in his mind about how to approach the issue of which sausages to eat where, and when.
"Sounds good to me." Imp, took Blink's arm, dragging him to his feet. "C'mon, you." Blink allowed her to drag him, and then took her hand as they said their goodbyes and wandered off together, in the general direction of the lodging house.
"See ya all then." Crutchy hobbled off towards the other end of the park with the few newspapers he still hadn't sold, hoping to hawk them in the park.
"If it's another of those weird blood sausage deals, I'm not goin near it." Race warned Jack before he and Goldie moved off on their own as well.
"I hated the blood sausage worse then these weird Italian ones..." Skittery shrugged, and slipped off as well, leaving Jack alone on a park bench to ponder the vast variety of ground meat in casings while watching the sun slowly set over the city skyline.
Author's Note: Dun, dun, dun...a one shot, or the start of a saga of sausage? Or perhaps the start of a saga that has nothing to do with sausages, the sausages were just the hook to get you to read the rest of the story? Am I that clever? Probably not.
I love sausages.