As Eveline extend her hand to her newest client Spot Conolon was reaching into his pants to retrieve his tried and true slingshot. A marble was loaded and flew at Evie, connecting with her right temple.
"Ow! What the—!" Evie's hand shot up to her right temple as she grimaced in pain, "Seriously?"
Spot stood with another marble ready. His eye slanted in anger and mistrust, "Who are you?"
"I told you. My name is Eveline Snow, but you can call me Evie. I'm your fairy godmother. Apparently, you are in need of some assistance of the magical kind, meaning whatever is happening in your life right now is too much for you to handle and that's where I come in. I'm here to help you solve your problems…to get what you desire most."
"Bullshit," another marble flew at Evie, this time striking her in the chest.
"Really with the marbles!"
"I'm not stupid. I know the only fairytales that exist are in books. So I don't know what game you're playing or why you're here, but I don't have the patience to stand here and find out."
Evie reached into her back pocket grabbing a vial of fairy dust and broke it at Spot's feet, a slivery cloud engulfing him, "Then sit down."
A feeling of calm came over Spot, as if he had sunk into a hot bath. Eveline smiled, "Spot, I promise, I'm your fairy godmother." Spot sunk against the ledge of the roof, "Okay. Explain."
"The world you live in is not the only one. There are thousands of others. In the olden days fairy godmothers could only reach a certain number of these worlds, thusly we could only help a certain number of people. However, with continual advancements in magic and technology we've been able to branch out to a greater number of well, clientele."
"And me, I'm a client?"
"Yes, and I was assigned to help you…to watch over you."
Spot felt flashes of his life rush over him at this statement, and anger welled up within him, "Well where have you been then? I could of used you a long time ago."
"I'm sorry, I only recently was assigned to you. We're not like guardian angels we can't always be there, but we come when we can."
"I don't like it."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't like it," Spot stood up, his anger rising and the calm rapidly wearing off, "You can't just show up on my roof, invading my life, with all your I'm here to help crap and expect me to be like okay strange dust blowing girl I've never met before left me tell you all of my problems. I don't need your help. I don't want your help, so piss off."
"I have a one hundred percent success rate." This was a slight exaggeration, but rounding up made it sound a bit more impressive.
"I have a one hundred percent I don't care rate, and trust me I'm at my limit. I came up here to get away from people. You, you're probably not even real, just the cold and too much to drink playing tricks on me."
"That…that doesn't even make sense."
"Leave," the young leader picked his slingshot off the ground and aimed it at Eveline, "It's not a request." Evie's mouth fell open. The training the academy put each fairy godmother through was extensive. Frequently trainees had to face disbelieving children, interference from adults, separation anxiety, there were even classes in adolescent and child psychology. However, Evie hadn't really faced these challenges yet in her fieldwork. More often than not her clientele had been hoping for some kind of divine intervention and they were happy to take whatever turned up. However, the figure in front of her didn't seem to meet the normal criteria. He seemed to be caught in between his youth and a grim, much darker, reality, one without any room for the likes of her. Spot's hands tightened the band of the slingshot, determination covering his face. And as he released his marble it shot through a cloud of fairy dust where Evie was just standing.
Eveline arrived back at the academy and brushed past the on duty flight control. She was supposed to check in with them, but the night had made her exhausted and she didn't want to face Mistress Harper or writing any reports until morning. She walked into her room and began to peel off her clothing, first her jacket, and sweater, then she slipped out of the boots and form fitting pants. There was a pile of would-be laundry in the corner and she pulled out a pair of shorts from the top of it and pulled them over her pale legs. She felt trapped in the room and wanted to find James. His room was only a few minutes away and she didn't even bother finding slippers before she slipping through the hallways.
James never bothered locking his door anymore. Evie tended to be the only one to come through it, and since his third month of academy she had developed a penchant for spending the night. She had a history of nightmares, and rather than drug herself with fairy dust each night she preferred to curl up next to James.
"J," Evie whispered as she pushed open the door to reveal the sleeping form of her best friend. He let out muffled snores from his somewhat larger nose, broken twice before, and didn't move. She crept towards his bed and shook him slightly, "Jaaaames." A sleepy eye fluttered and stared at her, "Hey Ev," James slurred, and slid over to make room. Evie eagerly climbed under the covers with him, pressing her body to his in hopes of more heat, "I had the worse night."
It seemed difficult for James to focus as he tried to push Evie's hair out of his face, "What happened love?"
"Stupid client shot me with marbles." A sleepy smirk flowed over James' face, "Marbles? Really? I sort of figured you were able to handle things like that." Evie's elbow jutted backwards into his side, "Of course I can, I just…" she trailed off, "He didn't believe me, and he seemed to need help, so I don't know…" James wrapped her up in a bear hug, "Aw don't worry Ev, you always get the target."
"Yes well the target never struck back before."
"It's good for yah," he murmured, "I thought you were losing your edge."
"Not possible," Evie responded eyes still open. James yawned into the back of her head, "Sleepy time Evie. I promise it'll work out, better in the day light and all that." Eveline curled her hand inside of his, "Night J," she whispered still staring in the darkness looking for something.
Spot felt himself waking up, but buried his head into his pillow willing himself to go back to sleep. Years of waking up before dawn for the morning addition and the ever present need for money wouldn't let him fall back asleep. His head hummed from the night before and the knowledge that he drank a bit too much for his own good. Anytime a man conjures up rooftop illusions means he should slow down, even if he's the king of Brooklyn. That title seemed less than appealing today. The past few days had brought cold winds in over the harbor, and the air seemed to bite even more in the morning. He quickly got dressed and slid his cane through his belt loops. The other boys were just starting to wake up as he left the lodging house, but quiet moments for Spot were so few that he would spare the extra penny or two on an early cup of coffee and a chance to be alone. He liked being alone more and more lately. He felt older, like his shoes or shirt, or really anything he owned: worn down, over washed, faded, and with holes. Every day seemed to tell him he needed to find something new, a new job, a new place to sleep…something. And then there was Rebecca. He turned the corner towards the distribution office. He knew this building better than any building in the city, just like he new the smell of paper or how to tell lie. What would he do outside of this building? Sometimes, when Spot thought really hard about it, he felt like he'd built his whole life around being a newsboy without ever building a future. Spot loved the now, he loved fighting for the best corner, and having a pint, and poker, and cigarettes, and the power. But he wasn't like Jack or David, he never saw the future. He sunk down onto the steps of the distribution center, and the thing about it was things were changing. There was talk of labor laws for kids and education requirements.
Charles Brace opened the distribution window with a hello to Spot. He'd been working the Brooklyn distribution center for as long as Spot could remember. The boys had taken to calling him Army, a nickname based on his lack of a left arm. He had lost it in an accident at the docks, and was down on his luck for sometime until he had pulled a few strings for the distribution job.
"Morning Army," Spot leaned along the wooden frame of the building, "Good headline today?" Charles shrugged, "I don't read 'em Spot, and frankly I don't give two shits what the newspaper has to say about today." Spot laughed, he liked the gruffness of Army; he was better than that ass-kisser Weasel that Jacky dealt with. Spot hated bullshit, and the smell of the Brooklyn sewer, and the fact that his socks got wet through his shoes, and well he seemed to hate a lot more things than he liked these days. Boys had been filling up the distribution center, shoving each other, making bets, splitting breakfast. Some of the faces Spot didn't even recognize, but they look around eleven or twelve. "Just a hundred today," he pushed the sixty cents across the barrier separating the newsboys from the honest workers—well, a bit more honest. Army swung the stack of papers down on the counter with his good arm and pushed them towards Spot. 'TEMPERATURES TO REACH RECORD COLD' stretched across the headline. Fucking shit, thought Spot as he tipped his hat to Army and strolled down the steps, papers on his shoulders. Just fucking shit.