Author's Note: Not much to say really...I don't own newsies. Feel free to leave comments on your way out. :insert smile here:
Her shoulder's ached, her neck screeched for mercy and her legs wobbled under her as she tried to walk a straight line down the row. A coarse, flat strap gnawed at her neck with every motion. Weights hung from both ends of the strap, swinging back and forth to thump into her stomach with every step forward. On both sides, machines seemed to cheer for her misery with dull roars and metallic clanks.
Fifty paces. Fifty paces for being late. Aidan reached the end of the row and spun on her heel. Instantly, she regretted the action as the weight of her punishment spinning through the air pulled her off balance. She managed to stumble to a stop and avoided running into a little boy working at one of the thundering machines. The skin on her neck was scrapped raw, she knew, but she couldn't chance the overseer catching her moving the strap.
Fifteen minutes late and she'd been rewarded with weighting. The very thing she had worried about before walking to the docks with Emma. Damn Emma. Aidan cursed her friend every time the weights thudded against her stomach. It's all her fault, she repeated with every step.
It took her near close to seventy minutes to finish her fifty paces--a fact that Aidan attributed to the fact that the factory was impossibly long. After the overseer, Mr. Walsh, removed the weights and returned to his post, Aidan set to work. That wasted time put her behind schedule. They still charged her for the time she was there as though she used the machines so she had to work even faster to make more products in an attempt to not end up owing them money at the end of the day. The result: several more close calls, gashes and pricks.
"'ey. You. You. You!" Aidan glanced up, the side of her finger held to her mouth as she nursed a cut. "Yer bleedin'." She resisted the urge to send the boy an indignant stare. He lifted a small hand and pointed to his neck. Aidan mimicked him, feeling quite foolish as she blindly searched her neck, until she pulled her fingers away and saw a cherry film across the tips. "Figured you not wanna get it on it." He pointed to the fabric in her machine. Aidan nodded with an obliged smile and turned back to the whirring machine.
She turned in her products with nicked and burgundy striped hands but a satisfied relaxation. Mr. Walsh stored them with a grunt before shooing her away. She scampered outside, arms instantly wrapping around her body as the night air enveloped her. It wasn't cold but compared to the inside of the factory it felt as though she'd worked all the way into winter.
"Aidan." She turned around at her name and recognized a fellow worker, thirteen year old Eliza, resting against the corner of the building. Aidan walked over to her and took a space next to her. They stood in silence for a few minutes while Eliza worked in a cigarette. "Why was you late?" Aidan looked over at the girl.
"Stayed up late. Emma made me go to the docks with her," grumbled Aidan. Eliza amusement grew from a quiet giggle to raspy laughter.
"Make you, really? Dat don't sound like Emma." Eliza flicked the cigarette to the ground and brushed dirt over it with her foot. Aidan shifted, unwilling to acknowledge that she could've left, and instead shifted the conversation.
"When are you gonna get shoes? 'fore winter?" Dirt and grease blanketed the girl's feet. Eliza grinned.
"Yeah, me dad got a job--temp'rary--and he getting' money." With a shrug, she added, "So I gonna steal some to get shoes."
Aidan smiled faintly at the girl's good fortune. "What'll he be doin'?"
"Why would I know?" Eliza questioned blankly. After a few seconds of silence she continued, "Probably somethin' as a goon. He went 'bout findin' his bat, talkin' 'bout beatin' striker boys."
Aidan folded her arms, her brow furrowing, as she thought over the information. "The trolley strikers?" Eliza appeared to take it as a rhetorical question as she didn't respond. The two workers stood next to each other, lost in their own thoughts as the night crept on around them.
After a few minutes, Eliza rolled her eyes and said, slowly as if she spoke to a child, "Boy strikers. Boy. Boy. Boys. Striking. Come on, Aidan, you slow or what? The newsie strike." Aidan looked up abruptly, blinking. She had settled on the idea that the goons were pointed towards the trolley workers and hadn't bothered thinking any more of it, instead drifting to other topics (such as money and tomorrow's work).
Aidan stared at her in bewilderment. Questions bounced in her mind before she decided to say. "Why would you tell me?" Did she know that Aidan knew newsies? Did she want Aidan to warn them? What about her father's job--or pay?
"So, you can keep up in the conversation," Eliza replied. "Figured you not heard of it, bein' always workin' or sleepin'. An' for me to brag 'bout the job me dad got, you have to know what I talkin' 'bout." Aidan nodded, deciding not to say that she did know about the strike. Make me look stupid, she thought with dread. I need to tell 'em though… She let Eliza boast for a few minutes, nodding in agreement and letting her smile, before saying she was going to go home. Eliza nodded and waved as they parted ways.
Once around the corner, Aidan broke into a run--or what she could manage with her skirt and exhaustion. The only person she could think of was Emma. She had to have the answers. Reaching the bridge, she stopped, gasping and doubling over as her sides ached. She alternated between sprinting and hobbling across the Brooklyn Bridge until she reached the other end. She was definitely not in the best shape as she managed a weak jog towards her friend's work.
The windows of the shop were dark and--from what she could see through the lace window decorations--the place was deserted. She groaned loudly and stomped her foot in frustration before collapsing to the curb. Well, that was a giant was of time, she thought, propping her chin on her hand. Her mind flickered with nerves while her stomach pounded with painful tremors. She knew she needed to tell the newsies but the process of finding them was so long winded. Not to mention the fact that she had foolishly run in the opposite direction of their lodging house to find someone who probably wouldn't know the first thing about the place.
A short list of names repeated in her mind and each was followed by a reason to forget such a hope. She didn't know where Dots or Emma lived. If she knew where Racetrack, Blink or any of the other's lodged, she wouldn't even have a problem. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, wincing as it brushed past her neck. She took a steady breath and stretched, feeling her frame shake, before standing slowly to her feet. She swayed for a moment and closed her eyes to find focus.
She began to wander the streets with the feeble hope that she'd somehow find Emma or Dots outside, although why they would be out at this time of night eluded her. She was careful to memorize her turns and worked to keep the Brooklyn Bridge visible to at least some degree. Only drunkards and the homeless seemed out, though she didn't find trouble with either--to her surprise. She ended up at the docks, staring across the river to the faint silhouette of Manhattan.
"'ey, ya bum." Something rapped Aidan on the side. She shot awake with a gasp. The sky still held strongly to its smoky black color above her. She mumbled a response and turned to see two figures faintly outlined in front of her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to discern who had awoken her. The water sloshed around the support beams to remind her where she was and she jumped to her feet. She managed a small grin of accomplishment when she managed to not wobble on her feet and looked at the two people who had found her.
"S-sorry. Fell asleep," she muttered. The shape she figured to be a boy gave a sarcastic, short laugh.
"I can see that. Why are you here?" He questioned. Aidan frowned. Her mind had finally succumbed to the exhaustion and was unwilling to work now that it had gotten a taste of sleep. She looked down and stared at the boy's hand; it was holding a cane. The image, minus the girl he held to him, looked familiar to her, and she leaned forward, squinting at the young man's face. "What are you doin'?" Aidan immediately stopped and felt her face lighting up in embarrassment.
"Sorry." She stepped back. "Uh. Nothing. Nothing. Just, uh, tired." She ran her hand up and down her arm nervously while shifting on her feet. The boy's companion leaned against him and whispered something in his ear. As the fog in her mind cleared, something snapped in her. "Do you where Manhattan lodge is?" The boy didn't respond but shifted his head enough that Aidan could glimpse a smirk in the feeble light.
"Of course I do," he replied. "Why?"
"Can you do me where it is?" The female companion chuckled dryly at Aidan's eloquence.
"Nah." Aidan stared at him incredulously--or as incredulously as she could manage through her haze of fatigue.
"Why?" She whined.
"Why you needs to know?" She was far too tired to note the suggestive ring in his voice.
"'cause. Need tell what goons to do." Again the companion laughed. "To Race and Bush and Blink. Tomorrow." A heavy piece of debris knocked on of the support poles, causing the dock to jerk beneath them, and Aidan tripped. The young man reached out and tapped her with his cane, negating her movement and causing her to take a step away from the edge.
"I already know what's gonna happen tomorrow. What kinda Brooklyn would I be, if I didn't?" Aidan blinked at him. "So, go away. I'm busy." Aidan, still dazed, nodded quietly and left the couple at the docks.
Author's Note: I researched the forms of punishment for child workers back then. "Weighting" (what Aidan went through) was commonly used as a punishment for not reaching quotas or for being late to work. It was commonly used so the other children would see and "take example." The amount of time walking whiled "weighted" would vary but could last up to an hour and often caused serious injuries in the back and/or neck. There's a little bit o' 'istory for ya. :)