A/N: Ok, so this one should be better than the last one *wink*. Let me
know what you think!!
"Spot Conlon, you want them ta think we'se sleepin' tageddah!" I yelled, very angrily, and very accusingly. But I was so right- the episode downstairs had been enough to prove that. It was late at night a few days later, a little after 11:00.
"Now why da hell is youse goin' around accusin' me a sumthin' like dat?" he yelled back. His temper flared up very quickly- I was beginning to notice this. Then again, so did mine.
"Because it's fuckin' true and you know it!" I was still shouting. "All dem guys downstairs can't even *look* at me wid'out shootin' a noivous glance at you foist." It was surprising how easily I slipped into a New York accent. It was practically second nature already- especially when I was pissed. And boy was I pissed.
"So what if I do?" Spot shot back, much quieter, which got my attention.
"What?!" I yelled.
"So I want dem ta think we'se sleepin' taggeddah, you'se already accused me of it, now you'se got a problem wid' me admittin' it?!"
"So what if I accused ya of it I still din't expect ya ta admit it!"
"Why da hell not?"
"Could we *please* try and stay on topic here?" I was quickly going from mad to annoyed. "Why da hell would ya want dem thinkin' such a thing in da foist place? We can't even fuckin' stand each other fer cryin' out loud!"
"I did it fer yer own good so why can't ya just shut up about it?!" he yelled.
I moved past him and sat on the bed. I was sick of standing and shouting- it's all I had been doing all day. "How da hell is lyin' about me sex life fer me own good?" I asked him.
He rolled his eyes, as if it should have been obvious. I had a good idea of what was coming, the 'innocent little girl' speech, but I figured I'd listen anyway in case he had a better excuse. "Listen, awlright? Brooklyn ain't da safest place in da woild. Dere's plenty a boys playin' men out dere just dyin' ta get dere hands on a pretty little goil. An' some a dem is me newsies. I'se got their respect but you shoah as hell don't," (I glared at him for this) "an' unless I'se got some sort a claim on ya you'se gonna be in a helluva lotta trouble." I sighed, knowing for all his egotistical, jack-ass qualities he did have the right intention, even if he hadn't gone about it in the best way possible.
"Fine, I'll play along wid' yer little.dream-woild fantasy," I told him, knowing it would piss him off.
"Who da hell says it's a fantasy?" He retorted.
"Dat's awl it is," I informed him. "C'mon Spot, ya know ya only want what ya can't have," I said, messing with his mind.
"Oh really? An' what is it dat I can't have?"
"Me," I said simply.
"Says who? An' who says I can't anyway?"
"I do."
"Y'know, I could if I really wanted to," he said, menacingly.
And I hated him because it scared me. "You wouldn't," I told him, honestly scared for about two seconds.
"Nah, I probably wouldn't," he grinned. "But I could. An' it scares da crap outta ya." He seemed to find that conclusion very amusing.
"Oh, honestly!" I said, quickly going back from annoyed to very pissed off, and embarrassed. I hate it when people can sense my feelings, because I'm usually good at hiding them. I grabbed my bag and went to the window, which (conveniently) had a fire escape that led up to the roof.
It was the first time in all the time I'd been there that I'd been able to listen to my cd player, and I was grateful for it. I didn't even mind the cold. My life was usually centered around music.I sang practically every day and I constantly had the radio on or a cd playing. No music was starting to drive me crazy.
I'd already listened to one of my mix cd's (burners are awesome) and was starting on a second when I heard footsteps. I shoved my cd player into my bag quickly, because regardless of who it was it would not have been a good idea to expose them to the 21st century. Too much for me to handle in one night.
I was half-expecting it to be Spot, so I was a little surprised when the figure turned out to be Aces. "Heya Treble," he said coming to sit down next to me. He was one of the nicer Brooklyn newsies, and it seemed to me like he'd fit in better with the Manhattan crew than he did here. He did have a rep as a tough guy though, which I didn't understand at all and didn't try to. I was grateful for the company.
"Hey," I replied.
"So, you an' Spot have a fight 'er somethin'? We'se could heah shoutin' from downstairs but none a us wanted ta risk eavesdroppin'." I laughed. They certainly did have more respect for Spot's temper than I did.
"Let's not even go there," I told him, exasperated.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not tanight. I'se oughta be headin' back down dere before he comes up heah. Me brain can't handle any more smart-ass remarks tanight," I said, half-laughing.
"Well, tamorrow den," he said. He seemed convinced.
"Shoah," I told him. I wouldn't have minded talking to him at all- he could almost rival Spot as far as looks, and was miles ahead of him in personality.
"But not heah?" he half-asked. "I don't wanna risk." he trailed off and I nodded in understanding. "Da bridge. Midnight awlright?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Awlright. I'll see ya dere then," he said and left. I followed him down the ladder a minute later, going into Spot's window. I succeeded in tripping over the windowsill on the way in, hitting my head, and falling on the ground.
"Ow," I said simply, and a few seconds later the light was turned on, revealing a very amused, very shirtless Spot. "Don't say a woid," I threatened as he stood there, silently laughing. "Now could ya please turn da light back off so I'se could get changed?" I was cranky I'll admit it. I make an idiot out of myself entirely too often for my own liking. I'm surprised my nickname wasn't related to the fact that I am incredibly accident-prone.
I changed quickly and crawled into bed, mumbling "g'night" as I did so. I fell asleep quickly, ignoring the person next to me. Tomorrow was another day, but the routine was getting old fast.
"Spot Conlon, you want them ta think we'se sleepin' tageddah!" I yelled, very angrily, and very accusingly. But I was so right- the episode downstairs had been enough to prove that. It was late at night a few days later, a little after 11:00.
"Now why da hell is youse goin' around accusin' me a sumthin' like dat?" he yelled back. His temper flared up very quickly- I was beginning to notice this. Then again, so did mine.
"Because it's fuckin' true and you know it!" I was still shouting. "All dem guys downstairs can't even *look* at me wid'out shootin' a noivous glance at you foist." It was surprising how easily I slipped into a New York accent. It was practically second nature already- especially when I was pissed. And boy was I pissed.
"So what if I do?" Spot shot back, much quieter, which got my attention.
"What?!" I yelled.
"So I want dem ta think we'se sleepin' taggeddah, you'se already accused me of it, now you'se got a problem wid' me admittin' it?!"
"So what if I accused ya of it I still din't expect ya ta admit it!"
"Why da hell not?"
"Could we *please* try and stay on topic here?" I was quickly going from mad to annoyed. "Why da hell would ya want dem thinkin' such a thing in da foist place? We can't even fuckin' stand each other fer cryin' out loud!"
"I did it fer yer own good so why can't ya just shut up about it?!" he yelled.
I moved past him and sat on the bed. I was sick of standing and shouting- it's all I had been doing all day. "How da hell is lyin' about me sex life fer me own good?" I asked him.
He rolled his eyes, as if it should have been obvious. I had a good idea of what was coming, the 'innocent little girl' speech, but I figured I'd listen anyway in case he had a better excuse. "Listen, awlright? Brooklyn ain't da safest place in da woild. Dere's plenty a boys playin' men out dere just dyin' ta get dere hands on a pretty little goil. An' some a dem is me newsies. I'se got their respect but you shoah as hell don't," (I glared at him for this) "an' unless I'se got some sort a claim on ya you'se gonna be in a helluva lotta trouble." I sighed, knowing for all his egotistical, jack-ass qualities he did have the right intention, even if he hadn't gone about it in the best way possible.
"Fine, I'll play along wid' yer little.dream-woild fantasy," I told him, knowing it would piss him off.
"Who da hell says it's a fantasy?" He retorted.
"Dat's awl it is," I informed him. "C'mon Spot, ya know ya only want what ya can't have," I said, messing with his mind.
"Oh really? An' what is it dat I can't have?"
"Me," I said simply.
"Says who? An' who says I can't anyway?"
"I do."
"Y'know, I could if I really wanted to," he said, menacingly.
And I hated him because it scared me. "You wouldn't," I told him, honestly scared for about two seconds.
"Nah, I probably wouldn't," he grinned. "But I could. An' it scares da crap outta ya." He seemed to find that conclusion very amusing.
"Oh, honestly!" I said, quickly going back from annoyed to very pissed off, and embarrassed. I hate it when people can sense my feelings, because I'm usually good at hiding them. I grabbed my bag and went to the window, which (conveniently) had a fire escape that led up to the roof.
It was the first time in all the time I'd been there that I'd been able to listen to my cd player, and I was grateful for it. I didn't even mind the cold. My life was usually centered around music.I sang practically every day and I constantly had the radio on or a cd playing. No music was starting to drive me crazy.
I'd already listened to one of my mix cd's (burners are awesome) and was starting on a second when I heard footsteps. I shoved my cd player into my bag quickly, because regardless of who it was it would not have been a good idea to expose them to the 21st century. Too much for me to handle in one night.
I was half-expecting it to be Spot, so I was a little surprised when the figure turned out to be Aces. "Heya Treble," he said coming to sit down next to me. He was one of the nicer Brooklyn newsies, and it seemed to me like he'd fit in better with the Manhattan crew than he did here. He did have a rep as a tough guy though, which I didn't understand at all and didn't try to. I was grateful for the company.
"Hey," I replied.
"So, you an' Spot have a fight 'er somethin'? We'se could heah shoutin' from downstairs but none a us wanted ta risk eavesdroppin'." I laughed. They certainly did have more respect for Spot's temper than I did.
"Let's not even go there," I told him, exasperated.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not tanight. I'se oughta be headin' back down dere before he comes up heah. Me brain can't handle any more smart-ass remarks tanight," I said, half-laughing.
"Well, tamorrow den," he said. He seemed convinced.
"Shoah," I told him. I wouldn't have minded talking to him at all- he could almost rival Spot as far as looks, and was miles ahead of him in personality.
"But not heah?" he half-asked. "I don't wanna risk." he trailed off and I nodded in understanding. "Da bridge. Midnight awlright?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Awlright. I'll see ya dere then," he said and left. I followed him down the ladder a minute later, going into Spot's window. I succeeded in tripping over the windowsill on the way in, hitting my head, and falling on the ground.
"Ow," I said simply, and a few seconds later the light was turned on, revealing a very amused, very shirtless Spot. "Don't say a woid," I threatened as he stood there, silently laughing. "Now could ya please turn da light back off so I'se could get changed?" I was cranky I'll admit it. I make an idiot out of myself entirely too often for my own liking. I'm surprised my nickname wasn't related to the fact that I am incredibly accident-prone.
I changed quickly and crawled into bed, mumbling "g'night" as I did so. I fell asleep quickly, ignoring the person next to me. Tomorrow was another day, but the routine was getting old fast.