So, as my name says, I heart Ron, which is true. But if you're a CYFTL reader, my other fanfic, you also know I heart Troy and the gang as well. But newsies, I love and my other accoun, newsgoils7, shared with my fellow newsgoils, is my newsie loving account, but I chose to post this fan fic under this name. Now this chapter is the starter, and any feedback is welcome. It is a Brooklyn Spot-based fic, but the Manhattan newsies will play an interesting role, two of them in particular...
So I hope you all enjoy and you will learn more about my two characters that my friend and I created as the story goes on. I hope you enjoy!
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If one were to rise early enough and stand atop the docks in Brooklyn in the early morning, a glorious sight would meet their eyes; the sun rising and shedding it's first rays of light upon the Brooklyn Bridge, reflecting light off the river beneath it.
Early mornings often found a certain blue-eyed newsie watching this sight, lost in thought and taking time alone. Those who knew he spent time there left him alone; it was common knowledge that an angery Spot Conlon was not someone ideal to spending time around. Indeed, that was true, as a certain Mr. Joseph Pulitzer now knew all to well, or without Brooklyn, the 'Hattan newsies would have never triumphed in the strike.
And that was why Spot took the early mornings for himself- to think in peace, none of which he got during the day, between running the Brooklynites, keeping the peace with other territories, and the ocassional strike. Spot deserved his mornings and everybody knew it. Except maybe...
"Knew I'd find ya heah."
Spot, how had been sitting on his usual perch, jumped at the voice and his hand automatically went to his side, gripping the gold tipped head of his cane.
"Damn yah, Bells! Wha' was dat foah?" Spot asked angerly. The girl named Bells smirked.
"Scared yah?" she guessed. "Oh, an' don' worry. I brought company, jus' like I knew yah would want."
Spot groaned as another girl's head peeped over the bulkhead of the dock.
"Mornin' Spot!" the newcomer greeted cheerfully.
"Twoils, yah to?" Spot let out an agitated huff of discontentment. "Damn yah twins."
"No' nice language," Bells scolded teasingly, for she was one to talk.
"Yeah, dat's no way tah talk tah yoah sistas," Twirls added as she and Bells took a seat on either side of their brother.
"Don' remind meh," Spot grumbled. "I still sometimes wonda how we'se related."
"Well..." Twirls began, but Spot gave her a shove and she shut up.
Spot, though, had a point. The three Conlons could not look any different. For one, while Spot's baby blues could pierce anyone, his sisters-though sharing his glare-has brown eyes, Bells, while Twirls' were hazel. Also in contrast was their hair: Twirls' hair was a chocolate brown, Spot's a dark, dirty blond and Bells blond. The twins were also tall and lanky, nearly taller than Spot, which he hated being reminded of.
The siblings sat in content silence as the sun came up, fully lighting New York City and starting the day's hustle and bustle.
Spot yawned, and as the rising sound of the factories along the water line whirring and getting ready for the days work could be heard, he turned to each twin and said, "Well, time foah anudda day," and held out a hand to pull the two up.
"Thank yah!" Bells said brightly. "Yoah to sweet."
Spot rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm chahming," he agreed. "Now let's go! Yah got a job tah do!"
The twins took off, with Spot trailing behind them, running back to the boarding house, for Spot was right. Bells did have a very importent job to do.
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Every newsie has name- not a nickname, or 'code' name, a name name. A newsie's name is their identity, naturally, but such a big part of themselves and it has meaning. It is not a random choice.
Take Twirls, for example. As a little girl, 'Emma Conlon' would constantly spin and flit about like "the showgirls!" she would say. It was Spot who first called her Twirls. Bells came later, after she had been living in the boarding house. She'd been called Madison or various shortened versions of the name- Mads, Maddy, Mad Maddy, and so on. That changed when she accidentily tripped over a bell McCurdy-the lodging overseer-kept, waking the whole house. It then became her job to wake up the boys, every morning. And she loved it.
"Up, yah bummahs! You'se got papes tah sell!"
Bells walked up and down the rows of bunks, yellling and ringing, shaking or shoving a newsie awake here and there. "UP!"
She, as usual, was met with a response of groans and ducked as a pillow flew by her head.
"Missed meh!" she called tauntingly.
"Damn yah Bells!"
"Spot already took care o' dat, Pockets!" Bells replied to Brooklyn's second-in-command and notorious pickpocket, "But thanks foah da thought." She walked towards his bunk and smirked. That was a major perk of her job. Newsies tended to sleep shirtless and from running around New York all day...the sight just caused her to smile.
"Find, screw yah den," Pockets retorted and pulled the thin blanket over his head.
"Shoah, anytime," Bells said flirtatiously. She knelt down beside him. "Yah know wheah tah find meh. In da meantime..." She yanked his covers off. "Up!"
"An' no screwin' edda." Twirls came up beside her sister. "We'se already got one Conlon messin' around."
Bells rolled her eyes. "It's just a bit o' harmless floitehn."
The pair walked to their bunk in the corner of the room, blocked from view bt a curtain.
"Yeah, well, you an' 'harmless floiten' neva work out well," Twirls replied. She sat down on the bottom bunk as Bells climbed up to the top and hung upside down over the edge, her hat and hair hanging down.
"Wha' is dat suppose tah mean?" Bells asked. "Are yah implying somethin'?"
Twirls bent over and picked up her sister's black wool cap, which had fallen off when she had leaned over, and raised an eyebrow.
"St. Patty's Day, did yearah," she reminded dryly. "Do yah call that harmless?"
Bells bit her lip and tried to recollect the memory. Twirls held back a laugh. She looked rediculous, haning upside down like that.
"Would dat beh the night involving meh, Pockets, and-"
"-half da beer in Brooklyn?" Twirls finished. "Yeah, dat's da one."
"Okay, I seh yoah point," Bells said, sitting back upright and jumping down to sit beside her sister.
"Seh? I'm always right," Twirls said with an obnoxious grin.
"Eh now, don' get carried away," Bells said, punching her lightly on the shoulder. Twirls returned it with a punch of her own.
"Owww!" Bells shrieked dramatically.
"Wimp," Twirls replied.
Commotion rose from the other side of the curtain and with a cry of "Laundry!" a bundle of fabric came flying over the divider. Twirls groaned but called, "Thanks, Suds!" to the washer newsboy.
"Hate these," she grumbled, leaning down and picking up her skirt.
"So don't wear it tahday," Bells replied, looking down at her own ensamble; black trousers cut off at the knee, a white undershirt anda brown, loose collared shirt over top, tied in the center of her chest since there were no buttons. "I'm not."
"But weh didn't yestaday," Twirls reminded, glancing down at her blue cutoffs, black buttondown and vest. "What if the bulls areh out ahgan?"
"Nuttin's gonna happen," Bells said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the issue. "Don' worry."
Twirls looked dubious, but shrugged.
"Fine."
The noise had decreased, going downstairs, meaning the newsies were done and ready to start another day. The sisters followed the horde of boys down the stairs.
Outside, the early morning air was bright and crisp, still cool, but warming as the sun continued to rise up over the city. It would be another warm, early summer day. Bells and Twirls ran to catch up with Pockets and his little brother, Brooklyn's young yet sneaky spy, Bat Ears.
"Mornin'!" Twirls greeted as she and Bells fell into step beside the brothers.
Pockets yawned and replied, "I should beh sleepin'. But no, the lass over heah had to go and ring that damn bell!"
Bells rolled her eyes.
"You Irish boys," she said with a laugh.
"Don' you go testin' me, lass," he retorted.
Pockets was born and had spent his early years in Ireland. Now sixteen, and from living on the streets as a newsie, he had developed the New York Brooklyn accent, but his brogue was still there are particularly strong when he was mad, or any time he was dealing with Bells, usually.
"Sorry," Bells said with a shrug. "Jus' doing my job."
Pockets grumbled something unintelligible.
"Sorry, wha' was dat?" Twirls asked. "Didn' catch it."
"Nuttin'," Pockets said hastily. "Absolutly nuttin'."
"He said some'in about goils doin' da wrong job," Bat Ears put in helpfully. The kid didn't miss a word, hence his name.
"Thank yah," Twirls said, toussiling his hair. "An' Pockets, watch what yah say. Yah know Spot would soak yah if he hoid dat, since you were referring to his baby sista."
"Hoid what?"
Spot appeared in front of the four, jumping down from a statue base. The crowd of Brooklynites, who had been following the quartet, stopped, but Spot gave them permission to go on with a wave of his hand.
"Hoid what?" he repeated, turning to Pockets.
"Nuttin'," replied, shooting a look at his little brother. "Jus' meh complainin' about yoah goilies ova heah."
"Um, that would be goily," Twirls corrected. "Yoah mad at Bells, not meh. I didn' have anything tah do wit dis."
"Yoah still both a real pain," Pockets mumbled, so only Spot could hear, and possibly Bat Ears, who heard everything.
"Don' remind meh," came the reply.
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I hope you all liked it! Any comments are welcome and please review! I'm really excited for this story and I already have the next three chapters written, so review review and I will post! Heart to you all!
-iheartron547