Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies. All I own is Stage. Lady owns Slingshot/ToT.
Opening Comments: I recently became a Newsies fan…3 days ago, actually. Whe~, thanks Lady! Anyways, I bought myself the DVD, I already write fanfiction for other stuff so, why not?
Title: Immigrants
Authors: Stage and ToT (partners in fic-writing crime!)
****
"Oi, do we really have to do this?" A teenage girl asked, looking at the newsboy cap in her hand. Her dark brown hair was twisted up upon her head and she wore the usual dress of a paper-seller. A thick accent hung in her voice of German portrayal. [AN: Pst, in other words, she has a German accent!]
"Don't complain, ToT." Another girl said, struggling to gather her short and light brown back into a pigtail. Finally satisfied, she tugged a cap onto her head. Her voice held a slightly different European intonation. This one was plainly Italian. "At least we found good work…"
ToT shot her an indignant look. "Being forced to conceal our gender does not strike me as 'good work'."
The other shrugged as began a search for her shoes around the incredibly small apartment. She was halfway under the bed before ToT came up with a new complaint about their situation.
"And what about this place we're staying in, huh?" She asked, throwing up her arms. "Isn't it a bit small for us?"
"Being an orphaned immigrant doesn't exactly hand you the best credit." Came the muffled reply. "Where are my shoes?"
"Next to the door. There's only one bed!"
"So we'll switch off."
"This is not what I expected the 'land of opportunity' to be." ToT grumbled, plopping down on the bed. "What makes you think they'll treat us like one of their own?"
"Guess we'll have to adapt a New York accent." The girl replied, coming back with her shoes in hand. "The glass is half full."
"Half empty, Stage. We're not going to be able to pull off a New York accent." ToT replied, sternly. Stage sighed in defeat.
"Guess you're right…at least you're better off than I am. Loads of people think the Italians are worthless parasites who drive honest-working people out of work. At least the German people can do stuff."
"'Stuff'. You astound me with your words." ToT replied with a laugh. Stage whacked her across the head. "Hey, watch it. It took me forever to get my hair up like this!"
"Prende il suo obiettivo su, perra." Stage replied, tying up her shoes. ToT grinned at the insult and pulled her shoes on as well. The two left the small apartment and headed to pick up their newspapers.
"Suppose they see through our disguise?" Stage asked, nudging ToT in the ribs. She pause for a moment in thought.
"Then we run like hell."
"Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because I'm the brain of this operation."
"What, and I'm the brawns? Hardly."
"Look, there's the boys from the boarding house." ToT said as a large group of boys walked up to the newspaper gate. "Well, here goes nothing, eh?"
"I don't know about nothing…"
"Just go inside, idiot."
****
"Hey, Jack," Racetrack said, hitting the taller teen in the back. "It looks like we have a couple of new Newsies around here."
Jack turned to look where Racetrack had indicated. Sure enough, two strange boys were approaching. Short ones, too. The taller one wasn't even halfway up to being six feet. Jack hopped off the platform and approached the two.
"New here?" He asked them. The two exchanged glances that clearly stated "Idiot". Jack waited patiently for the answer. "Do you not know if you're new?"
"You the leader?" One asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I guess you could call me that. Why?"
"Where's the papes?" The other demanded.
"Not from around these parts, are you?"
"Naw!" They chorused in an awful Brooklyn accent.
"Right this way." Jack said with a sweep of his arm. He led the way up the ramp and towards the grate of the distribution office. "Weasel, a hundred papes each for these two."
"We can pay our own way, huere."
"Why don't you two tell me your names?"
"Yours first."
"All right, fair enough. The name's Jack Kelly."
"Stage." Stage said. Jack spit in his hand and held it out. Stage looked down at it for a moment, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "Lovely way to spread disease, Jack."
"Er…right…what about you, shortie?"
"Call me that again and I'll kill you."
"What's your name?"
"Forgot."
"Ok, Forgot."
"No, damn it!"
"'No damn it'?"
He looked ready to kill. Stage intervened quickly.
"His name is…uh…well, tell them."
"Slingshot, thank you."
"All right, Slingshot and Stage. This is Mush, Racetrack, Blink, Boots, Dave, Les, Dutchy, and Specs. You can get to know the rest later."
"Indeed?" Slingshot asked in a rather sarcastic tone. Stage was eyeing Specs oddly. Specs blinked a few times and glanced over at Dutchy. Dutchy shrugged his shoulders and Slingshot hit Stage in the stomach with his stack of papers. Stage cleared his throat, smiled, and juggled the papers into his arms.
"Sorry." He murmured to Slingshot.
"Ready for me to show you two the ropes?"
"What ropes?" Stage asked.
"I think we can manage, Jackie-boy." Slingshot said flatly. "Let's go, Stage."
"Bye y'all." Stage said with a malicious wink. The two hopped off the platform and headed out the gates.
"Those two are the strangest I've ever met." Jack muttered, turning to get his papers.
****
"'What ropes'?! Honestly, Stage. You just love to make a fool of yourself, don't you?" ToT scolded once they were out of earshot. "And the way you were oogling Dutchy."
"Specs." Stage corrected absentmindedly.
"Whatever. One of the ones with glasses." ToT said, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand. "Any good headlines?"
"Eh. Unless you want to spice up an oil spill in the Washington territory. Ruined all the fur trapper's pelts." Stage replied, her nose buried in the paper.
"Wonderful." ToT pointed to a crowd. "Let's spilt up in there."
"All right." Stage said. "Good luck."
****
Okay, the Italian phrase that Stage says basically means "Get your ass up, bitch." What Slingshot calls Jack is German for "Bitch". Don't try pronouncing it…quite difficult. Dirty-mouthed children these two are, eh?
Please review, this is our first Newsies fic.