Somebody (in British accent): 'Ello all!

Angel: British much?

Somebody (in British accent): Just a tad. Thank you to our reviewers: skitteryissexy, Ealasaid Una, and LucyConlon! Wait, LucyConlon reviewed our story? I think I can die happy now...

Angel: And thanks to everyone who read but didn't review!

The Unseen Borough-Chapter 6

Island Graves

Crescent jerked upright in her bed, hair dripping with sweat, and matted to her forehead. She panted, pressing her thumbs into her temples, trying to rid herself of the nightmare that was still flashing on the backs of her eyelids.

That hasn't happened since we came to Bannerman Island, she realized.

After a few minutes, she calmed down and began to dress, washing her face, neck and arms from a small pitcher of water they kept on a low table.

It was early; maybe three o'clock in the morning, yet she still walked around to each person's bunk, placed her hand over their mouth, and began whispering in their ears to wake up.

Each of them understood almost immediately, and quietly they prepared themselves for the day ahead.

Soon after, they tiptoed down the stairs, for the fire escape passed too close to the other boy's room for comfort.

They walked past the dead fire and out the door, closing it gently behind them. Out on the street, Verb allowed Cheshire to climb onto his back for a little more sleep and they proceeded to jog down in the direction of the piers.

They thought no one saw them.

But Spot Conlon saw them leave the lodging house that morning. He knew that no Brooklyn papers sold before dawn. Which meant, where in New York were they going?

The newsies began to quiet down as the rickety old rowboat, powered by Verb and Base, approached the island. The old dock stood there, charred and falling apart, but stalwart.

Crescent generously looped some rope around one of the less burnt posts and climbed out. Reaching in a hand, she plucked Cheshire from Books' outstretched hands and set her on her feet.

"Cheshire. Wake up," she whispered. The girl blinked her eyes a few times, then shook her head and scratched at her hair.

Verb stood, one foot braced against a rock and the other keeping the boat steady. He quickly helped the girls out of the boat, followed by Base.

Grasping Cheshire's small hand, Crescent turned to see the group gathered in a small semicircle facing her.

"Do we has everything?" she asked softly.

Verb and Base held up two shovels they had borrowed from a gardener who owed them a favor. Books opened her palms to reveal a small chisel and hammer, which came from her own personal effects. Shadow, Dragon, and Crescent cradled either canvas sacks or woven baskets. Belle carried a metal bucket and a flour sack filled with essentials for the task ahead.

Looking around, Crescent nodded her head at each one. "Move out."

They walked along a small path, past the slightly smoking ruins of the castle. Occasionally, they'd see a small fire that hadn't been put out completely yet, and Belle would fill her bucket with water and put it out.

Soon they reached the small grassy knoll that sat on the tip of the island. The pine trees that grew there had protected it from the fire.

Crescent turned to them again, "Verb, Base, please start digging. Books, look for da type of rock ya want. Shadow, Belle, Dragon, begin scavenging. Cheshire, go wid Belle please."

Somberly, they began their tasks.

Crescent aimlessly wandered through the castle ruins. She wasn't sure what she was looking for; she just needed to be alone. She began kicking a small rock along as she went, counting each of her steps. One. Two. Three. Kick. Four. She passed the half burned ladder that had led up to their tower. Eleven. Kick. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. She worried about her newsies. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Kick. Twenty-four. Why did things like this happen? Thirty-six. Kick. Thirty-sev-.

The rock clattered against something ahead and Crescent looked up. A patch of roof shingles had collapsed into a blackened pile. The rock had clanked against them and knocked a few over. Crescent looked closer and saw a flash of color. Peering into a hole in the pile, she reached in and grabbed hold of a piece of fabric. Pulling it out, she gasped and dropped it.

It was Pink's dusty pink newsboy cap, and it was perfectly intact. Without a single scorch mark. Crescent would even go so far to say it was pristine.

It was impossible. She had seen the cap burn herself. But there it was. And it was a sign.

But a sign of what? Crescent wasn't a seer or an oracle, so how was she supposed to know? But it was a sign. It had to be.

Grasping it gently between both her hands, she walked quickly back to the clearing. Base and Verb had finished digging and Books had completed the stones. They were gathered in a small circle with the rest of them, standing around an unknown object.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she approached the newsies. "Any... bodies?" she hesitated.

Dragon shook her head, "No... but we did find this." She held out a teddy bear, barely held together at the seams and stuffing falling out everywhere.

Crescent inhaled sharply. That had been…Bunny's absolute favorite thing in the world. It was the only thing she'd had from her other life, from before her parents were arrested for abuse.

Silently she held out Pink's hat and Books and Belle burst into tears. Cheshire soon followed, with Shadow and Dragon crying quietly. Even Base and Verb had a few tears running down their cheeks.

Together they placed the small tokens into the graves. Each one used their hands to shovel the dirt back in.

Crescent and Cheshire each heaved a large stone that Books had carved the epitaphs into and placed them at the head of the disturbed grass and dirt.

The one on the left read, "Alicia Moore, Or Pink - Leader of the Bannerman Island newsies. Mom, sister, friend."

Bunny's read, "Hope Lordoff, Or Bunny - Sister, fighter, protector."

"Should we'se have a moment of silence?" asked Base.

Shadow and Dragon shared a watery grin, "We'se been silent for quite a while, Base." they joked.

But they had their official moment of silence. Suddenly a loud crash came from the other side of the island, along with the sound of falling rocks.

Crescent and Base sprinted to the noise, and found a large pile of charred castle stones had collapsed into the ocean. A figure had collapsed on the ground a small distance from the destruction and was swearing profusely.

Crescent walked up to it and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? Did Spot Conlon try ta find out more about his newest newsies?"

Sprawled out on the ground, Spot stopped swearing long enough to glare and choke out an answer. "Ain't dat much obvious?"

"Well, start talking," Crescent ordered. Unaccustomed to being in a position of lower authority, Spot stared in confusion.

"What?"

Crescent rolled her eyes. "Oh please, you've got to be smarter than dat. Why were ya following us? How did you get here?" She eyed his wet clothes distastefully.

Spot smirked. "I grabbed onta da bottom of your boat. Clever, no?"

"No," Crescent muttered, annoyed.

"Very," Base whispered in her ear, "but I don't think we should tell him dat."

"So, what is dis place? And what's wid all the crying?" Spot looked at the sad faces around him.

"I'm da one asking the questions, got it?" Crescent glared.

"On da contrary, I seem to remember dat your little group is now part of my borough. So I'm da one in charge here, got it?" Spot mimicked.

Crescent felt her cheeks heat up. "Whatever you say, O Great and Mighty Leader." She spat out the words as if they were poison.

"You know, I like dat title. Maybe I'll have everyone call me that. It's almost better than King of Brooklyn," Spot's smirk widened.

"Shut up, you little-" Base clamped his hand over Crescent's mouth.

"Carry on den," he said pleasantly, ignoring Crescent's muffled yells. "Well, why are you here?"

"Follow me," Base began walking back to the headstones, Crescent scrambling to keep up.

"So that's why we're here," Base finished. After leading Spot to the clearing, he had proceeded to spill out their entire story. It was obvious that Crescent disapproved, but she kept quiet.

"So you've met Jack Kelly," Spot mused. "I didn't even know dis island existed."

"Well, you're standing on it," Crescent snapped. "Considah yourself enlightened."

"So...why didn't ya stay in 'Hattan?'" Spot asked.

Crescent and Base turned to Shadow and Dragon, "Heh heh...uh, funny story..." they laughed nervously.

"We all sold as scabbers in da different boroughs during da strike. So we aren't, uh, exactly welcome in them," Dragon began.

"As it toined out, Brooklyn was the only one we hadn't sold in. Derefore, we came to you. " Books finished.

"And because Shadow beat up Jack Kelly!" Belle burst out suddenly, cackling madly.

Spot turned to Shadow, whose face was paler than Snow White's. "You...soaked Jack Kelly? Cowboy? Leader of Manhattan?" he raised an eyebrow.

Her head jerked up and down in the blink of an eye.

"I guess I should probably quick you out for beatin' up a fellow newsie...but honestly, I'm kinda impressed."

When the group reached home, they ate dinner before joining the chaos in the common room. Everyone was in high spirits and would have kept laughing all night long, but soon enough some of the younger boys and Cheshire began yawning. Slowly, the room began to empty until only Spot and Crescent remained, both staring at the fire.

Crescent watched as blue flames fought to rise to the height of orange, as red grabbed yellow's hand and danced. In and out, up and down, around and around and around. Mesmerized, she followed every flicker and spit of the fire, each one different from the ones before. Spot looked over to see a slightly dreamy look on her face. Yet as he watched, the soft smile hardened into a scowl. Never taking her eyes off the flames, Crescent spoke so quietly that Spot had to lean in to hear her voice.

"It's strange dat we associate fire with death and demons and hell, and yet there's something beautiful in it if we'se would only look." Without warning, Crescent jumped up and violently stamped out the fire until all that was left was a steaming pile of ash. Rubbing a hand against her burnt shoe, she left the room without a second look.

Spot eyed the empty fireplace with dislike. He didn't have any matches. Clockwork was always carrying some, but he was asleep. The fire needed to be kept going all night, even if under a blanket of ashes, or the boys would come down to an icebox in the morning. Last night was a perfect example of that. Sighing, Spot pulled a tinderbox off the mantle and began the tiring task of relighting the fire.

Somebody: So, Angel came over last weekend and we watched Newsies...(finally)

Angel: It was amazing! Now I will have a better chance of not writing OOC characters.

Somebody: Me too...although I was more focused on the Spot Conlon scenes.

Angel: She squealed. A lot. Especially when he was on screen. So we looked up what other movies the actor who played Spot was in.

Somebody: He was the voice of Littlefoot. In the Land Before Time movie(s).

Angel: 'Nuff said.