Title: For Our Own Amusement Only

Chapter: Chapter One—That Was Not A Cat

Rating: Better say PG-13 just to be safe.

Disclaimer: This fic is for Erin's, Leah's, and my amusement. If we're Mary-Sues, so be it. We don't know a lot of role-players for Newsies, which is how we would've preferred to do this story. If you don't want to read it, don't, like I said, it's for our amusement only. Also, we're not using real information, except for Spot's real name and pink suspenders and whatever else I remember from my research that doesn't conflict with Disney's version.

Erin, a tall thin girl of fourteen, waved goodbye to her mother as the silver Accord drove away. Sleepover bag in hand, she opened the door as if she lived there. Dropping her assortment of stuff onto the corner of the dining room, Erin made her way to where she knew she'd find her best friend, Rose. Sitting at a computer in a dimly lit office-like room, a girl the physical opposite of Erin browsed the web. Short and "pleasantly plump," Rose barely looked up as Erin dragged over a chair and sat down.

"Hey. What took you so long?" Erin glanced at the screen and picked up a book Rose had left on her (horribly messy) desk a while ago.

"I had to pack stuff, you know. Still looking at Newsies sites? You know there's a storm coming, don't you?" Erin grinned, knowing Rose didn't even turn off her computer when she went on vacation.

"Uh. Yeah, whatever." Rose sang as her favorite Newsies song restarted (for the second time since Erin had arrived… and knowing Rose, it had probably been on repeat since she'd woken up). "A pair of new shoes wit' matchin' laces…" Erin snapped to the beat and chimed in.

"A permanent box at Sheepshead races." They giggled as the both of them pantomimed Racetrack's little fist punch. "A porcelain tub wit' boilin' wata'."

"I've been working on my Brooklynese. My mom's getting so pissed at me, I swear." The girls chattered away, not straying in the least from their favorite topic—Disney's musical Newsies.

** * **

Meanwhile, one hundred and three and half years ago, in a restaurant called "Tibby's," a group of boys crowded around a newspaper, shouting and cheering at their picture on the front page.

"Wheah's me picha', wheah's me picha?!" They jostled around their leader, a boy they called Jack Kelly. He admired his picture and as one of the boys, Skittery, began to wave away the importance of having your picture in the "papes," a loud protest rang out. One of Jack's close friends known under the nickname "Racetrack" scolded and yelled.

"Ya get yer picha' in da papes, yer famous. Yer famous, ya get anythin' ya want. An' that's what's so great about New Yawk!" Racetrack moved around the table to his friend Mush, who began to muse on the advantages of being famous.

"A pair of new shoes with matchin' laces…" Mush sat in his seat backwards, and Racetrack punched his fist into his palm.

"A permanent box at Sheepshead races…" Punching his fist again, another boy strolled up behind them, smirking and holding a glass of root beer.

"A porcelain tub wit' boilin' wata'…" said Spot Conlon dreamily. The three turned around as another of their friends jumped onto a table. He had a patch on his left eye, which earned him the nickname Kid Blink.

"A Saturday night wit' da maya's daudda!" Everyone chuckled and Racetrack jumped onto a different table, holding up that prized pape… and disappeared. Shocked, Jack stood up and ran to where Race was.

"What happened, guys? Mush, he was right in fronna' ya… Mush?" A quick count proved to show no less than four of their crew had vanished into thin air—Racetrack, Mush, Spot, and Kid Blink.

** * **

A hundred and three and a half years into the future, lightning flashed and thunder caused Rose to jump out of her seat. "What?! My computer!" Her most prized possession (next to her Newsies DVD) had a dark screen and no little green lights… or red lights… or orange lights… come to think of it, the entire HOUSE had lost its power. Leave it to Rose to think only of her computer. Erin peeked out of the curtain.

"It's only us. The rest of the houses still have lights. That's odd. Got a flashlight?"

"No, but I've got some embroidery thread…" Rose ducked as Erin tried to fwap her. "What really disappoints me is we didn't even get past the first verse from King of New York!" Erin rolled her eyes, but inwardly agreed. A loud creak of springs came from the opposite end of the house, as if a large… thing… had landed on Rose's bed.

"Uh… did you hear that, Rose?"

"… Probably just the cat?"

"Yeah, sure, because your cat weighs FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS!" Like you should never do in a horror movie, the two teens… went to investigate. As the two crept down the hall, the lights came back on and revealed a sight to Rose she had only dreamed of.

"Oh. My. Spot." Erin cast a sideways glance at Rose, who was standing in her doorway, blocking Erin's view.

"Don't you mean oh my god?" Rose stepped so that Erin could see inside the bedroom.

"No. I mean… Oh. My. Spot." Erin gaped and stepped to the side so Rose wouldn't land on her when she fainted. Stepping over her semi-unconscious friend, she peered at the four boys in a heap on Rose's wine colored sheets and comforter. They untangled themselves and stared at the strange surroundings. Glossy photos were tacked to pink and green walls, along with odd posters and drawings. Race, with an eye for anything round and shiny, grabbed at a quarter on the ground and inspected it.

"Counterfeit," he decided. Spot was the first to notice Erin standing in the middle of the room. He swiped off his cap and smacked Mush on the back of head. Mush, on cue, took off his own cap, as did Blink and Racetrack. Before the boys or Erin could ask any questions, a murmur came from the lump on the floor. The lump that was Rose.

"Ahgmphgh… Spot?" Grabbing Erin's hand for help up, Rose nearly fell over again in her excitement. "Are you real live NEWSIES!?" Spot raised an eyebrow and exchanged bewildered glances with the others as Erin fwapped Rose.

"Of course not. They're just people dressed in hundred year old clothes-"

"A hundred and three and a half years."

"-...Whatever. Details, details. They're just people in weird clothes who… um… climbed in your window…"

"There's BARS on the window, Erin."

"I KNOW THERE IS A LOGICAL EXPLANATION FOR THIS!!!" Erin went into hysterics and started theorizing. Rose steered Mush away from her pink CD player and pulled up on his shirt.

"You really DO have nice muscles." Mush blushed immensely.

"What ARE ya? Wheah are we? What's that an' that an' that…?" Rose sighed and fwapped Erin, who came back to her senses to explain.

"I'm Erin, that's Rose. Rose, leave Mush alone. Racetrack, put the quarter down. Blink… the sheets are not that soft. You're at Rose's house, I think in the future for you, sorry it's such a mess, it's not my fault. That is a CD player, that is an alarm clock, and THAT is Rose. Before you mention it, we don't know how you got here, but I have a theory. You see, Rose's house got hit by lightning and we were listening to music- Newsies' music- on her computer (I'll explain what that is later)… and just as it finished a verse where… wow, it was you four… that's when it got hit by lightning and you appeared. So it was the lightning." Erin looked quite blue in the face.

"Breathe, Erin, breathe." Rose giggled. "You think too much."

"How… how do ya two know ouh names?" Blink spoke up for the first time. "Ya ain't newsies or even from New Yawk. An' ya' talked about da' fucha'?"

"Didn't I just explain this? ROSE!" Erin pulled Rose off of a very disturbed Spot. "I know it's your bed, and I know they're in it, but this is NOT ROCKY HORROR!" Rose pouted and crossed her arms to sulk. Spot, wide-eyed, waved his cane.

"I'm da frikin'... 'scuse me language, ladies... da frikin' leada' of Brooklyn. Ya' can't jus'... can't jus' keep me heah an' leave da entire Brooklyn newsies alone and I jus' noticed ya' both are weahing boys' clothes." Erin looked down at her outfit and Rose looked at her closet.

"Uh. I told you we were in the future, right? Well, people, er, wear a lot less... in the future. And girls wear pants, so don't, um, mention that to anyone." Erin blushed and scratched her head, saying quickly and low, "Some boys wear skirts, too, but... we don't like to talk about that."

"Jai makes a good girl."

"DON'T SCARE THE NEWSIES!"

"Let's call Leah!"

"Okay."