A/N: Heyo there! this is my first newsies fanfiction after watching the musical in NY about two months back — it's so sad, it was my first broadway musical, and just when I've found a new love, it closes on me :[ Long live the fandom though!
This plot bunny sprouted from my recent queer obsession with Mike Faist (even though he wasn't in the show when I watched) and also because there aren't enough stories about Morris :) Please R&R!
"What? No Oscar! Absolutely not!"
How Morris Delancey had even gotten into this argument with his brother was quite a tale. There was a strike, some fistfights, and he'd come out of them with new enemies, a new eye-bruise and a cut in his right bicep from the barrel that scum Jack threw at him. And now Oscar Delancey just agreed to —
"Become a newsie, Mo, it's brilliant! We can go undercover an' relay all 'em plans to Pulitzer!"
"It's stupid, Os!" cried Morris, aghast. "How could ya even think of such a thing?"
"I didn't. Wiesel did, the guy just wants to start crackin' heads again. You hafta admit, though, it's better than the beatin'-up-the-trolley-strikers idea."
"No, it's worse! Them newsies will break our necks if they finds us out!"
"Them newsies rarely take time to notice ya face," reasoned Oscar. "They don't know it enough to recognize ya if yer dirtied yourself a bit, took of 'em work clothes, ruffle up your hair, put on some trousers and a ratty lil' newsboy cap!"
"Still ain't gonna do it," Morris said adamantly, crossing his arms. "Ain't gonna do it for a million bucks."
"Ain't gonna do it for your brother?"
"No."
"Yes you will."
"No I won't."
"Yes you will."
"Why'da I even bother arguing with you?"
"Exactly! There is nothing to argue about, Mo!" cried Oscar. "Think about it, we'll be in Pulitzer's good books if we convince 'em newsies to end their lil' child's play! Lie down with dogs, and we wake up with a raise an' a promotion!"
Here Morris paused. He and Oscar had spent a year dealing with the newsies, and always having to keep those mean troublemakers in line was a chore. He had to admit, though he always kept up a brave front, he was sick of those good-for-nothing ragamuffins throwing insults at him. Maybe if he and Oscar managed to please Pulitzer by convincing the newsies to end their strike they'd get a promotion and be out of the stinking distribution center and far from the constant snaggy remarks.
"I..." Morris averted his gaze, feeling his brother's expectant stare upon him.
"For your brother? For our sakes?" prompted Oscar, knowing he'd gotten his brother on the edge of decision.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Morris looked up to meet Oscar's gaze. Slowly and hesitantly, he nodded.
"Fine. For our sakes."
