Notes/Ramble: This is an experiment, to see if posting something now will motivate me to write more later. I began this fanfic a long time ago (June 2001), and let it die for a while, but now I have this urge to finish it. However, my cold and a terrible but hopefully temporary case of writer's block is keeping me from doing that (and keeping me from writing more on my other story... x_x). This might get removed in a day, though, when I'm off my cold meds and realize I am INSANE for posting this~~~~ :D O.o;; Please, don't mind the girl who's high on Nyquil.
Obligatory warning: And, if it matters, this is slash. Slash is good. Let us all do the dance of slash. ::dance of slash:: Again, don't mind the girl high on Nyquil.. Actually, this concerns all of Spot's life, and the slashy part is just that, a part of it, not the whole thing.
Disclaimer: Spot Conlon and Newsies aren't mine, but Speck and all other non-movie characters are. Yay them?
Holding Over Water
By LuLu
I was in love once, with someone beautiful. Yeah, I know it's soft of a newsie, especially a newsie like me, to talk about someone being beautiful and all that, but it's true. I was in love. Madly, deeply, insanely in love with the most beautiful person ever put on this earth.
And then it all fell apart. But we'll get to that later. The basics have to come first.
Jack Kelly and I met when we were both thirteen. I was a newsie in Manhattan back then. There wasn't any way I could have even set foot in Brooklyn when I was 13, I was that scrawny. Jack was just a smaller version of himself. But back then he was still Francis Sullivan, and not quite a Cowboy yet. We met on one of the corners on the cusp of spring and summer of 1895. I was selling with my partner at the time, an eight-year-old named Speck. Yeah, Spot and Speck. The other newsies got a kick out of it too. Speck was short and thin from living on the streets, like any newsie his age. He had freckles all about his body (we called them "specks", hence the name), big blue eyes, fiery red hair, and an ever-present smile on his face. The kid was born to carry the banner. Speck's demeanor could charm anyone into buying a pape. He had taken a brief break to try to bum an apple or two off a fruit vendor (like I said, he had the God-given charm), so I was alone, yelling out the headlines. Jack was running down the street. I didn't pay much attention to him - after all, there were usually people running 'round the streets all the time. I snapped to attention, though, when BAM! he ran straight into me and bowled both of us over. Papes flew everywhere.
"What the hell ya doin'!?" I yelled as the morning editions fell around us. I was down on my rear as he rose to a crouch, glancing around cautiously.
"Well, looks like I lost da bulls." He stood on his feet, dusted off his pants and looked at me. "Sorry 'bout that." I glared at him.
"Damn bastard, I oughta soak ya," I muttered. I was still on the ground, and he noticed. He held out his hand to help me up, but I smacked it away. "I don't take no charity," I informed him, and pushed myself off the sidewalk. Frowning at the mess on the ground, I started gathering up the papes. He bent down to help. "I told ya, I don't take no charity!"
"Just tryin' to help ya, jeez." He handed me a pape. I took it, trying to make my eyes like ice, hoping he'd take a hint. Suddenly, he laughed.
"What's so funny?" I asked. At that moment I was wishing I hadn't left my cane at the lodging house that morning. It would have been good to hit him with. But then I realized that the laugh wasn't mean-spirited - it was warm and friendly.
"I'se Francis Sullivan." He held out a hand to shake.
"Yeah, I can see what's so funny 'bout that," I said, cocking a smile and meeting his hand with my own. He had a strong grip, but he wiped his hand off on his pants after we shook. I guess he wasn't used to spit-shaking yet. "So, what were da bulls chasin' ya for?"
"Eh, the usual."
I nodded. That was enough to know.
"Youse a newsie?" he asked me.
"What do I look like, a milkmaid? Yeah, I'se a newsie. What about youse?"
"Ain't got a job for now."
As you can see, Francis Sullivan was a criminal. I never asked, but from what I know, he probably got it from his old man.
"Youse should be a newsie," I told him. "Carryin' da bannah is a fine life." I tossed him a pape. "Here, try it."
He skimmed over the front page.
"Dat's a pretty damn bad headline."
"Don't ya know nothin'?" I hit his cheek with the back of my hand in a friendly way. He looked at me, obviously a bit surprised. "Headlines don't sell papes. _Newsies_ sell papes."
"Well, whadda I do wit dis headline?"
"Do a dance, Sullivan." I rolled my eyes. "Whaddaya think yer supposed ta do!? Just improve da truth a little. Or look inside fer better stories."
Jack opened the pape and skimmed through the inside for a minutes. He folded it back up, held it in the air, and then yelled:
"Extrie, extrie! Woman gives birth to cow!"
It worked like a charm. A gullible-looking woman came up within seconds and gave him a penny.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said, nodding his head and tipping his hat. She smiled at him and walked away, opening up the pape, looking for the story. After she left, he looked over at me for approval. I was leaning against the building on the corner, arms crossed and grinning.
"Not bad, Sullivan, not bad. What page ya find dat on?"
"Twelve."
I took a paper from under my arm and opened it up. Woman's prize-winning cow gives birth to calf. He was definitely good at improving the truth, even then.
"Like I said, Sullivan," I said, shutting the paper, "not bad."
At that moment, I heard familiar yelling from down the street. Forgetting Jack (and throwing my papes on the ground), I ran in the direction of it. Sure enough, there was Speck with some tough-looking guy around sixteen.
"I said ta gimme dose!"
Speck was holding two apples protectively to his chest.
"Dey're mine! Leave me alone!"
The guy gripped Speck by the front of the shirt.
"D'ya want trouble, kid? 'Cause if ya do, I'll give it to ya."
He looked serious, and the last thing I wanted was Speck getting hurt. I took a small rock out of my pocket (it would have been more useful with my slightshot, which I hadn't come into possession of yet) and fired it at the guy. It hit him right in the side of the head. He yelled out and jumped back, throwing Speck to the ground as he looked at me.
"Youse must be short on brains to be pickin' on a kid," I said.
"Youse must be short on brains to be pickin' a fight with someone biggah than youse," the guy challenged me. He wasn't much bigger, but he definitely had more muscle than me.
"Howsabout a lit'l two-on-one?"
I turned my head. Standing directly behind me was Jack, meddling again. The guy looked him over, and then back at me, then studied both of us, realizing the fight wasn't in his favor. He spit on the ground in front of us.
"Eh, youse two ain't worth it," he said, turning around and walking away.
I smirked.
"He had bum odds," I commented.
"Damn straight," Jack said.
I went over to Speck and held out a hand to help him up. He took it and rose to his feet.
"Youse okay?" I asked him.
"Yeah, Spot!" He was grinning. Very typical of Speck. "Here, I got youse one, too!" He handed me one of the apples.
"Thanks, kid."
I shined it on my shirt and took a bite, then offered it to Jack.
"No thanks," he declined. "Spot."
He had a goofy grin on his face.
"Spot Conlon. Got a problem wit it?"
"No, no problem."
"Hey, Spot, whose yer friend?" Speck asked me.
"Oh, this is Fr - "
"Jack Kelly." He held out his hand. Speck did a spit-shake. "Ya know, I'se gotta learn dat betta," he said, wiping his hand on his pants again.
Speck and I laughed, but I had looked at him suspiciously when I heard the different name. He just grinned at me as if he could read my mind.
"Me mudder was confused when she gave birth ta me."
"I can tell. So which is it?"
"Fer now, Francis Sullivan. Circumstances ain't around where I'se gotta use Jack all da time yet."
Meaning, he hadn't been arrested yet. I nodded. Speck had been eating his apple and was watching us with wide eyes.
"Hey, Spot, is 'e a newsie?" he asked.
"Nope, but he did sell one of our papes for us." I stopped for a minute at the word 'pape.' "SHIT!" I exclaimed. "Da papes!"
I was about to sprint back to the corner, thinking someone had taken them and wasted a day 's worth of our work and, more importantly, pay, but Jack started laughing.
"Youse ain't got a very good eye, do ya, Spot?"
I hadn't even noticed that Jack had had the papers under his left arm the whole time.
"Youse lookin' ta be soaked?" I asked him, frowning.
"I'll take ya up on dat anudder day," Jack said, tossing me my stack of papes. I caught them expertly, of course. "I'se gotta be goin'. See ya 'round, Spot."
"See ya," I said as he sauntered off into the crowds.
My first day meeting Jack Kelly was no coincidence. It meant something (if you believe in it, the word would be fate). Even then, I was sure of it. I was hoping deep inside that his "See ya 'round" had implications to it. Even though he'd only left a minute ago, I had immediately wanted to see more of him. He let himself stay mysterious and contradictory, which initially drew me to him. But the noon sun was starting to pass over the city, and Speck and I still had a good chunk of our load to sell, so I had to abandon those thoughts for a while.
"C'mon, Speck," I said, handing the smaller boy ten or so papes. "We'se got woik ta finish."
"Extrie, extrie!" Speck yelled as he thrust a pape in the air. He stopped for a moment, unsure of a headline to use.
"Woman gives birth to cow!" I chimed in.
Speck just looked up at me with his freckled face and grinned.
Obligatory warning: And, if it matters, this is slash. Slash is good. Let us all do the dance of slash. ::dance of slash:: Again, don't mind the girl high on Nyquil.. Actually, this concerns all of Spot's life, and the slashy part is just that, a part of it, not the whole thing.
Disclaimer: Spot Conlon and Newsies aren't mine, but Speck and all other non-movie characters are. Yay them?
Holding Over Water
By LuLu
I was in love once, with someone beautiful. Yeah, I know it's soft of a newsie, especially a newsie like me, to talk about someone being beautiful and all that, but it's true. I was in love. Madly, deeply, insanely in love with the most beautiful person ever put on this earth.
And then it all fell apart. But we'll get to that later. The basics have to come first.
Jack Kelly and I met when we were both thirteen. I was a newsie in Manhattan back then. There wasn't any way I could have even set foot in Brooklyn when I was 13, I was that scrawny. Jack was just a smaller version of himself. But back then he was still Francis Sullivan, and not quite a Cowboy yet. We met on one of the corners on the cusp of spring and summer of 1895. I was selling with my partner at the time, an eight-year-old named Speck. Yeah, Spot and Speck. The other newsies got a kick out of it too. Speck was short and thin from living on the streets, like any newsie his age. He had freckles all about his body (we called them "specks", hence the name), big blue eyes, fiery red hair, and an ever-present smile on his face. The kid was born to carry the banner. Speck's demeanor could charm anyone into buying a pape. He had taken a brief break to try to bum an apple or two off a fruit vendor (like I said, he had the God-given charm), so I was alone, yelling out the headlines. Jack was running down the street. I didn't pay much attention to him - after all, there were usually people running 'round the streets all the time. I snapped to attention, though, when BAM! he ran straight into me and bowled both of us over. Papes flew everywhere.
"What the hell ya doin'!?" I yelled as the morning editions fell around us. I was down on my rear as he rose to a crouch, glancing around cautiously.
"Well, looks like I lost da bulls." He stood on his feet, dusted off his pants and looked at me. "Sorry 'bout that." I glared at him.
"Damn bastard, I oughta soak ya," I muttered. I was still on the ground, and he noticed. He held out his hand to help me up, but I smacked it away. "I don't take no charity," I informed him, and pushed myself off the sidewalk. Frowning at the mess on the ground, I started gathering up the papes. He bent down to help. "I told ya, I don't take no charity!"
"Just tryin' to help ya, jeez." He handed me a pape. I took it, trying to make my eyes like ice, hoping he'd take a hint. Suddenly, he laughed.
"What's so funny?" I asked. At that moment I was wishing I hadn't left my cane at the lodging house that morning. It would have been good to hit him with. But then I realized that the laugh wasn't mean-spirited - it was warm and friendly.
"I'se Francis Sullivan." He held out a hand to shake.
"Yeah, I can see what's so funny 'bout that," I said, cocking a smile and meeting his hand with my own. He had a strong grip, but he wiped his hand off on his pants after we shook. I guess he wasn't used to spit-shaking yet. "So, what were da bulls chasin' ya for?"
"Eh, the usual."
I nodded. That was enough to know.
"Youse a newsie?" he asked me.
"What do I look like, a milkmaid? Yeah, I'se a newsie. What about youse?"
"Ain't got a job for now."
As you can see, Francis Sullivan was a criminal. I never asked, but from what I know, he probably got it from his old man.
"Youse should be a newsie," I told him. "Carryin' da bannah is a fine life." I tossed him a pape. "Here, try it."
He skimmed over the front page.
"Dat's a pretty damn bad headline."
"Don't ya know nothin'?" I hit his cheek with the back of my hand in a friendly way. He looked at me, obviously a bit surprised. "Headlines don't sell papes. _Newsies_ sell papes."
"Well, whadda I do wit dis headline?"
"Do a dance, Sullivan." I rolled my eyes. "Whaddaya think yer supposed ta do!? Just improve da truth a little. Or look inside fer better stories."
Jack opened the pape and skimmed through the inside for a minutes. He folded it back up, held it in the air, and then yelled:
"Extrie, extrie! Woman gives birth to cow!"
It worked like a charm. A gullible-looking woman came up within seconds and gave him a penny.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said, nodding his head and tipping his hat. She smiled at him and walked away, opening up the pape, looking for the story. After she left, he looked over at me for approval. I was leaning against the building on the corner, arms crossed and grinning.
"Not bad, Sullivan, not bad. What page ya find dat on?"
"Twelve."
I took a paper from under my arm and opened it up. Woman's prize-winning cow gives birth to calf. He was definitely good at improving the truth, even then.
"Like I said, Sullivan," I said, shutting the paper, "not bad."
At that moment, I heard familiar yelling from down the street. Forgetting Jack (and throwing my papes on the ground), I ran in the direction of it. Sure enough, there was Speck with some tough-looking guy around sixteen.
"I said ta gimme dose!"
Speck was holding two apples protectively to his chest.
"Dey're mine! Leave me alone!"
The guy gripped Speck by the front of the shirt.
"D'ya want trouble, kid? 'Cause if ya do, I'll give it to ya."
He looked serious, and the last thing I wanted was Speck getting hurt. I took a small rock out of my pocket (it would have been more useful with my slightshot, which I hadn't come into possession of yet) and fired it at the guy. It hit him right in the side of the head. He yelled out and jumped back, throwing Speck to the ground as he looked at me.
"Youse must be short on brains to be pickin' on a kid," I said.
"Youse must be short on brains to be pickin' a fight with someone biggah than youse," the guy challenged me. He wasn't much bigger, but he definitely had more muscle than me.
"Howsabout a lit'l two-on-one?"
I turned my head. Standing directly behind me was Jack, meddling again. The guy looked him over, and then back at me, then studied both of us, realizing the fight wasn't in his favor. He spit on the ground in front of us.
"Eh, youse two ain't worth it," he said, turning around and walking away.
I smirked.
"He had bum odds," I commented.
"Damn straight," Jack said.
I went over to Speck and held out a hand to help him up. He took it and rose to his feet.
"Youse okay?" I asked him.
"Yeah, Spot!" He was grinning. Very typical of Speck. "Here, I got youse one, too!" He handed me one of the apples.
"Thanks, kid."
I shined it on my shirt and took a bite, then offered it to Jack.
"No thanks," he declined. "Spot."
He had a goofy grin on his face.
"Spot Conlon. Got a problem wit it?"
"No, no problem."
"Hey, Spot, whose yer friend?" Speck asked me.
"Oh, this is Fr - "
"Jack Kelly." He held out his hand. Speck did a spit-shake. "Ya know, I'se gotta learn dat betta," he said, wiping his hand on his pants again.
Speck and I laughed, but I had looked at him suspiciously when I heard the different name. He just grinned at me as if he could read my mind.
"Me mudder was confused when she gave birth ta me."
"I can tell. So which is it?"
"Fer now, Francis Sullivan. Circumstances ain't around where I'se gotta use Jack all da time yet."
Meaning, he hadn't been arrested yet. I nodded. Speck had been eating his apple and was watching us with wide eyes.
"Hey, Spot, is 'e a newsie?" he asked.
"Nope, but he did sell one of our papes for us." I stopped for a minute at the word 'pape.' "SHIT!" I exclaimed. "Da papes!"
I was about to sprint back to the corner, thinking someone had taken them and wasted a day 's worth of our work and, more importantly, pay, but Jack started laughing.
"Youse ain't got a very good eye, do ya, Spot?"
I hadn't even noticed that Jack had had the papers under his left arm the whole time.
"Youse lookin' ta be soaked?" I asked him, frowning.
"I'll take ya up on dat anudder day," Jack said, tossing me my stack of papes. I caught them expertly, of course. "I'se gotta be goin'. See ya 'round, Spot."
"See ya," I said as he sauntered off into the crowds.
My first day meeting Jack Kelly was no coincidence. It meant something (if you believe in it, the word would be fate). Even then, I was sure of it. I was hoping deep inside that his "See ya 'round" had implications to it. Even though he'd only left a minute ago, I had immediately wanted to see more of him. He let himself stay mysterious and contradictory, which initially drew me to him. But the noon sun was starting to pass over the city, and Speck and I still had a good chunk of our load to sell, so I had to abandon those thoughts for a while.
"C'mon, Speck," I said, handing the smaller boy ten or so papes. "We'se got woik ta finish."
"Extrie, extrie!" Speck yelled as he thrust a pape in the air. He stopped for a moment, unsure of a headline to use.
"Woman gives birth to cow!" I chimed in.
Speck just looked up at me with his freckled face and grinned.
