A/N-Sorry I haven't updated in a while, or two weeks but whatever. My computer is insane and decided it hates me with a passion, but oh well, there's technology for you. Anyway, here's the next chapter, hope anybody who reads this is happy with it.
Disclaimer -I don't own the newsies...yaddyaydayada
Chapter Two
The sun glistened from the dirty water to reflect the sky of yesteryear and I trained my eyes away from the sparkling insanity, for such was the brightness I would soon become blind. The air was still and humid, lingering water in the atmosphere from last nights storm making my dark tresses stick to my forehead, mingling with trickling beads of perspiration. The weather almost knew of my unthinkable feat (or soon to be feat once I convince the newsies to let me join) and in parallel to the abnormal created this humid, sunny day with no relief. It was drawing to the end of October and autumn in New York should offer a pause from this unbearable heat.
I slipped from shadows and doorways, always my senses trained for trouble but they were particularly sharpened today, I was alert to everything moving. I could hear the bantering of those with barely a penny in their pocket and the bargaining with street vendors, could feel the crisp air around the wealthy when they walked as if they were better than the earth itself. Perhaps if I veered from my course slightly and stuck my foot across their path…the results could be catastrophic. The coppers were looking especially sinister today, twirling their bats, tipping their hats, and shining their buttons as if they were highly respectable. Maybe in a world other than my own, but here, on the streets, nobody wants the prejudices of the bulls.
I continued to keep close to the alley's but there was no real reason, just mere habit. My cat was cast low, shadowing my features and my hair was tucked inside so I could fully masquerade as a boy. Perhaps I wouldn't bother with such precautions, but the newsies would have no reason to admit me into their realms without instigation. I also knew the Delancey Brothers were their sworn enemies, had seen the clans rivalry progress, even more so than I was.
There were a cornucopia of idea in how I could win the newsies over, how I could enter their mysterious universe, but I needed an outlet for the tension trembling inside of me. Perhaps my fear, my insecurities, and my cold fury were unreasonable, the only threat to me was I might be killed if found out, and it was probably just because insomnia had stricken its course last night. I had not slept for more than a moment, and had not left the gang's clutch until late this morning, assuring that Caleb was well looked after…and maybe stalling, but only a little. Or maybe the anger and stress I was feeling was because of my last encounter with the Delancey's.
The word of a fight would spread to at least one newsies ears, and bring him (and possibly his comrades) to the scene to experience what it was to see the brothers beaten. Once I am victorious I will have gained their respect, especially after I reveal that I am a girl, and perhaps be admitted into their world without further hassle. Everything had to go my way.
I could nearly feel the brother's intense pulsing rage and mercilessness as I rounded the corner, their emotions radiating from them strongly, and in disgust I saw them plotting in hushed voices. I knew I was not the only one who felt it, because passerby's were staying to the opposite street, always watching the brothers from the corner of their eye. I would never understand how such brothers, brothers revealing their heart's to everybody, could have a reputation as highly acclaimed as theirs. The taller and elder whom I remember as being Morris had his back turned towards me, the other had stupidity written all over, so I didn't bother pumping the adrenaline for strength I knew I was lacking in muscle. I remember my last fight with them. I had been caught off guard then. This time I was the predator.
"Hey scabs!" I called out cheerily, my voice ringing in the clamor, and somehow they knew they had a challenger, that I was speaking to them, because the elder with the bowler hat turned slowly with a malicious grin. Their excitement and anticipation was revolting, and I didn't mind in the least soaking them. "Ya might wanna shave dat mustache. It makes ya look like a hairy ass."
"I'd watch me place if I'se was you'se, pipsqueak," he threatened and I glowered at the nickname I had heard before, my height being a measly five feet. His brother hooted in accomplishment, probably proud of his brother for speaking in more than grunts.
"Bettah den looking at you'se," I said serenely and pretended to look at my 'place', or where I was standing, but my eyes never left them. They stiffened at the comment, their nostrils smelling the whiff of a fight, and in their gleaming eyes they thought they would triumph in the fight. I was more than happy to introduce them to the grounds passion.
"Yer one ta tawk, not even showing us yer face," the younger, Oscar, piped up and seemed awed and ecstatic at his stroke of brilliance but his smirk faltered when my mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. Years of street fights had taught me how to strike fear, intimidation, and how to gain the upper hand before the true fight even began.
"Oh, you know who I am," I whispered dramatically, stepping closer to them. "And you'll know even bettah when I'se through soaking you'se."
"Wad makes ya so confident?" he challenged, edging towards me, and we were two lions competing for our kingdoms.
"Cause I ain't you'se," I remarked airily and Oscar nearly twitched in annoyance, impatient for the true fight to begin, while Morris calculated me through dull eyes before presuming I'd be no trouble at all.
"How bout ya stop tawkin," he suggested. "And we can see if yer fighting matches yer mouth."
"So eager to get soaked, one ta two. I'll only be happy to oblige," I retorted with a mock bow and he grinned viciously, only a few feet now separating us. While I waited his attack I tried to appear bored when I was squirming with anxiety. The day had been just like this when they left my bloody and broken body in a gutter to rot.
Too absorbed in my own pointless thoughts, I stumbled back as a sharp pain seared through my jaw and my eyes watered from the ferocity of it, but I didn't wait to regain my senses to retaliate. My fist shot out and Morris dodged it, but wasn't quick enough to escape its wrath entirely and it grazed his nose until I swung again and this time my fist found its target, bloody spurting from his smashed nose. Screaming vengeance Oscar entered the brawl and his punch missed me by inches, and I threw a true uppercut to his jaw, forcing him backwards. I lunged for him but Morris blocked my path and soon I did not know where I was throwing my punches, as long as I threw them, or where I kicked and scratched, as long as I did so and dodged retaliation. I wasn't quick enough to escape their punishment fully though and blood trickled from my nose when Oscar threw my slight frame against the brick of a building.
Sharply I gasped for the oxygen I had been denied, moaning in pain from the blow of the collision in my ribs and the breath that had been knocked from me. So audible was my gasping their sharp intake of breath nearly passed unacknowledged but I forced my moist eyes open to see their jaws dropping comically simultaneously. Something rubbed against the bare skin of my arm and I glanced towards the ground, wishing to see what insect was devouring my flesh, and with sickening dread saw the gray fabric of my hat just as I felt my hair cascading to mid-waist, where it ended its journey. Completely dead and unaware to all the trouble that it had just caused me.
"It's you!" Oscar cried in shock and outrage and I gave him a cold smile, daring him to come a step closer, but I knew the universe was beginning to turn against me. Morris was numb in his shock but memories of our last encounter surely were filtering through his mind because his confidence was returning, and he grinned smugly but even that smug smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I knew ya had ta be a goil. No respectable guy scratches and bites…"
"When ya gonna learn liddle goil, not ta mess wid us," Morris interrupted with the threat of a thousand words reverberating in his voice. I struggled to stand, preparing to fight, but before I ever had a chance he snatched me up and smashed my head into the wall, his steel grip holding me upright. Darkness veiled my vision and for those few seconds I feared unconsciousness would steal me, an unconsciousness so deep I might never wake. With specked vision I charged him, and tried to summon all the rage and hate bottled inside of me but it wouldn't resurface, I did not have the energy or the will power to do so. In the depths of my heart I knew this would be a loosing battle. The fear that registered at death was nothing compared to the relief at ending the pain. Death- so engraved in our mind to fear it we hardly see it in other terms of emotions. But there is beauty in death. The tragic drama and the release of pain in a bloody corpse.
I struggled in Morris' hold, my arms twisted painfully behind my back, the ligaments in my shoulders being torn, as Oscar searched in his pockets for a treasured item that I knew would not be a cigarette. With my heel I stepped upon Morris' foot and he yelped in surprise, but that only sparked his temper and he held me firmer and with a quick glance I saw the brass emerging from Oscar's pocket. My head snapped so quickly my neck snapped as I stared in horror at the object he was so lovingly putting on his fingers. Panic clogged my throat and I threw all my weight against Morris with such momentum he nearly stumbled back, but held his ground and cupped my face and with only one hand held my arms behind my back.
"Get off me!" I screeched, my voice breaking.
"Awww, Morris, I think she's gonna cry," Oscar taunted and by sheer will power did no tears leak- I would not permit myself to cry, especially in front of these two. "Maybe we'll have ta do her a favor and make her feel bettah, and wait ta aftah ta soak her."
My eyes were trained upon the finery of the brass knuckles as I saw them swing backwards, each crack and line explicit as I awaited my doom, terrified not of the knuckles but of what his threat implied. Oscar's arm swirled in the air and impatient for my own death, I shot a look of the purest daggers at him. Perhaps I should've heard the shouts, his face contorted in pure outrage, and the involuntary movements of his arm, the battle he fought within himself finally ending when his arm dropped limply to his side.
"Ya heah dem?" he queried, the fear in his voice unmistakable.
"Who's crying now?" I spat but my shock at their fear prevented me from acting.
"Why isn't dey in Queens?" Morris returned warily, ignoring me, and I followed his gaze scanning the perimeter but I found nothing neither ominous nor abnormal.
"Cause dey're watching us," Oscar hissed, paranoid, insanely searching from the corners of his eyes for their pursuers. "You. Girl. You know wad we'se talking about?"
"Da voices in yer head?" I asked innocently and no sound emitted from them, not even an indignant squawk. Like children left in the rain they nearly whimpered, and maybe beforehand I should've been terrified, wary of such creatures that could strike fear into the most ghastly of street thugs. But now the hair rose on the back of my neck. Frigid silver bolts of lightning struck the match in me, burning everything low. Immobilizing them and throwing me into the turbulence of the cold sea, submerged. Drenched. Drowning. All of this it felt and more as they looked like injured and frightened animals.
"Why would dey care if we'se soaking her?"
"Oscar! If I'se knew dat I wouldn't have gotten inta dis in da foist place, don't be stupid."
"Good luck wid dat," I murmured but they didn't seem to hear me, still nervously looking about. Suddenly Oscar's eyes registered wide with fear and in panic he stuffed his brass knuckles into his pocket, sending a sharp look to his brother. Morris dropped me and I fell uselessly to the ground like a rag doll, and it wasn't until the dust cleared did I realize they were gone.
I stared into the black hole of the city numbly, for they had disappeared without even their footprints as a reminder of what was. Magnetized to 'them'- them, who induced such fear to such thugs, and who were probably still around, circulating the buildings above my head. Watching. Phantoms lurking in the shadows or spirits of my imagination, I did not know which. But I beseeched myself to forget, because all I was doing was frightening myself. So I stared at the torn flesh of my hands where the jagged rocks had sliced them from my fall, acutely aware to their searing pain but as if it was in a completely different person, and I was watching far away from here, completely detached. Now, all I knew was the Delancey's were gone, I had lost, and still no newsies. Perhaps 'them' had frightened the newsboys away, but I doubted it. Wonderful. Jolly good. Blood spilt and bruises formed for nobody's entertainment but the simpleton brothers'. Another glorious stroke of luck from smashing that mirror a year ago.
"Excuse me miss," a sympathetic voice broke into my rambling under the breath cursing and I froze, a miracle my heart still beat. A foreboding feeling radiated from those three words, foreshadowing I would meet something much more enigmatic than the scabs of the city, and I would be helpless to their resolve. But I would not cower. With a steely determination, grotesque assassins in my mind's eye, I peered over my shoulder and expected to see some towering creature of the night. Framed against the brilliance of the sky stood a boy, staring down at me with a sickening concoction of pity and concern, and only then did I realize how awkward I must appear. Little I cared the minds of society, but I had no need to stay upon the ground, dirty and bloody. "You alright, miss?"
"Fine," I murmured, relief numbing my senses and the eyes slowly receded, until I was alone in the middle of this bustling New York autumn day. "In me spare time I lie on da ground beaten." I ignored the callused hand thrust before my face and rose on my own, wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling over like an uncoordinated toddler. "Wad do ya want?"
"Wad do ya mean wad do we want?" his companion cried indignantly and I had to struggle to suppress my wheezing laughter. The sunlight was reflecting off his golden hair, and with his handicap, a worn leather eye patch covering his left pale blue eye, he appeared the epitome of a knight in shining armor.
"I ain't gonna fall helplessly inta yer arms," I said stiffly, scanning the perimeter for my fallen comrade, my troublesome gray cap. As much as I was delighted by their gaping faces I had no need for them, only for my hat, and only for the broken stones that lined my foggy path.
"Wad makes ya think we'd catch ya," the third and final of their trio snorted.
Ignoring him, I scooped my cap up and admonished it softly, "Dis is all yer fault fer falling off me."
"Are ya tawkin ta yer hat?" the first asked incredulously and I strained to smile sweetly at him, absorbing his cinnamon skin and curls of unkempt hair, his entire depraved street urchin attire somehow suiting his persona, his character I knew nothing of. His eyes traced the scars engraved in my skin with such infuriating empathy I did not have the energy to fight it, and instead turned away from him, collecting myself, spontaneously overwhelmed with an unexplainable sorrow.
"No, I'se tawkin ta you'se," I retorted cheekily, regaining my senses, denying entrance to the emotions besieging me. "Ya see, ya were on me, but den ya fell off, and my head smashed in and my hair fell down. Does dat sound dirty ta anybody else?"
"Nah, but I don't mind," the golden haired lad smirked suggestively, much to the boisterous amusement of the others and for his sake I just hoped his teasing was meaningless. Yet just the tiniest shadow of a blush crept along my jaw line, and I cursed being so pale, cursed being a girl, and pitied any other girl they knew. Perhaps this was another reason I could've given Micah for my departure from his hooligans. I was just a girl living in a man's world, for in even the fantasy society of the street rats I was just a street girl, a hindrance, a curse. And save anybody who dared defy the codes of feminism.
"Hey, we didn't mean nothing by it," Cinnamon said apologetically, reaching a comforting arm out, but I jerked away from him.
"Wad do ya want?"
"We don't want anything," the third exhaled patiently, emerging into the spotlight and my only sense of comfort was he was shorter and scrawnier than his companions. I writhed under his steady gaze, because I knew of the motives in his dark eyes, for I had calculated many under the same penetrating stare. With one swift look calculating all of who they are and who they aren't, and whatever mannequin this boy created surely I would despise it. "We were just around kid, and heard of yer fighting da Delancey's. Dat ain't new but when we'se heard ya were a goil we came ta see da scene. Is dat so wrong?" he demanded in an injured tone I would have to be a scab to believe, and I caught his undertone, "And betting on it?"
"No, dat would be fine fer a saint or da messiah," I answered crisply, justly shattering their façade, because I was a street rat as I surmised they were and I knew how their minds ticked. "Ya jist wanted ta place yer bets and get da excitement of a fight, cause yer too cowardly ta fight yerselves."
"Dat ain't true!" Cinnamon protested like a tiny, injured animal.
"Yeah, we ain't cowards," the third, the Italian, laughed and Cinnamon cuffed him in the back of the head, but at least he had the audacity to admit up to it. It was the ways of the streets, the golden code that shaped every street kid's culture, and the reason I knew the newsies would come running at the first whisper of a fight. Not only the amusement of a spectator, but to size each of the opponents up and to see who would be rising as a challenge to hinder their own progresses, who would rise to the throne and who would be banished.
My dare was flickering before me like a taunting orb of light leading from a cave, always drawing nearer and only when the idea of freedom was clearest did it draw away again. In this mosaic city of individual stereotypes the newsies were scattered on every street or at least within a mile and for all my wanderings I had not seen one; the day I needed them they were nowhere to be found and every other day they were obnoxiously everywhere. If I were superstitious I would take this as an omen, a curse of bad luck. If I had one ounce of common sense I would abandon my dare, take this as the universe revealing the dangers of joining the newsies. Unfortunately I was engaged in a ceaseless battle with logic and had to spite it, and did not turn back like every sense in me told me I should. It was then, just as the last flame of hope was burning low, did I see the intricate inked lines of a newspaper calling me. Discarded at the truthful smartass' feet the few newspapers lay and it was amazing how brightly hope shined at that moment, from the remnants of dead trees supporting the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Those newspapers had their friends- more at Cinnamon's feet and lastly cradled in Blondie's arms. I nearly ran to those newspapers and skipped around with them but I doubted the asylum carried too many newsies, considering they'd break out of there in a few hours.
"Yer street rat…newsies?" I stammered, but everything was beginning to fall into place. Before me were three teenage boys all around my age, at most two years older, and roaming the streets on their own, dirt accumulated to them, and who knew the streets' code. Silently I berated myself for not realizing it before while the stood uncertainly, uncomfortable for I was sure all my emotions were revealed.
"Yes, miss," Mush replied nervously and I nearly pitied his anxiety while I wrestled with my expression, trying to hide the elation I felt.
"We're street rats too," the Italian boy added, smirking when I grinned in embarrassment.
"Sorry bout dat, didn't mean anything by it," I explained, feeling I owed it to them especially because of Blondie's face nearly twitching in annoyance. "I'se more of a street rat anyway."
"We can tell," Blondie chortled and I was surprised at the other two's agitated scowls.
"I would kick ya in da family jewels but I ain't sure ya have any. Wouldn't want ta embarrass ya in front of yer friends," I retorted and was delighted at their laughter, but even more ecstatic at Blondie's dark glare.
"Ya deserved dat one, Blink," Cinnamon conceded, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder and he seemed to agree, his smile signaling for a truce.
"Blink?" I asked confusedly, figuring it to be some newsie slang I had not yet heard of.
"It's me name," Blondie confessed and I reeled back in surprise, looking to the other two for their conformation. If his parents named him Blink there was no wonder why he was now a newsie.
"It's just a nickname, kid," Cinnamon insinuated, the only boy with the decency not to laugh. I blushed slightly for my stupidity but he smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry about it."
"It ain't obvious wid Blink like it is wid da rest of us. Cause if his folks were as stupid as him dey woulda named him dat," the Italian boy declared seriously and Blink playfully slapped him. "I'se Racetrack, dat's Mush, and dat's Kid Blink."
It would be unreasonable not to give them a name even though they did not demand one, but I had been too involved with finding the newsies to have created an alternate alias. It was foolish of me, and my mind reeled with all the names I had heard over the years, finally recalling something I had read in some book. "Me name's Lani."
"Well den Lani, you…Look out!" Mush bellowed but I only saw his lips move in the emptiness, as a sudden intolerable pain ripped through the back of my head. Like white hot iron branding me it scorched through my skull and the world sank through colored scarves, a silent scream searing my throat, ripping at every fiber. My knees buckled, but something more hypnotizing than a drug was tearing me from the pain, hiding me from the alarmed faces of the newsboys, and stealing me into the realms of unrecognizable dreams. His pounding footsteps receded into my dreams, the final steady strokes of a pendulum.
A/N- well, hope that was satisfactory. I'm not happy with it but I never am. Please review. Constructive critisizm is appreciated.