Okay, so far we have:
Bess-Who wants a third of someone's soul-(I have to agree with you on how much fun that would be. I own half of my friend Andy's soul {bought it for a quarter} and it is quite amusing. Also, I won't tone the accent down, because I had people tell me that they liked the accent. On the hard words, however, I will put the right spelling in () after. Ok?)
Singah-A lemming-shaped piece of cheese-(It's the fear of clowns, by the way.)
Rebellious Observer-Who wants a green martini umbrella-(Sometimes, the humor is on purpose, but sometimes I amaze myself! And actually, I am a huge Race/Spot shipper, so I do write a lot of slash. If you want to read my only =( slashy fics posted, go read A Very Nice Day For A Trial, which is Spot/Race, or Rage. But Rage is Harry Potter, Ron/Draco. Moving on...)
Rae Kelly-(Don't worry. I will get this all out of my head and onto the computer asap!)
Aaaaaand Here's the customary bribe-a plate of warm from the oven Chocolate chip cookies! There's two for each of the ch. 5 reviewers.
(::)(::)(::)
(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)
---------------------
And Dead Poet and Blondy Bear, who did not review this last chapter, due to a Chicago trip and Malcolm invading Blondy's computer (We created a Demon? Bad us.~Xander, Buffy: tVS, Season 6, Ep. 'After Life'). Thanks, guys. But hey! You get credit for getting me hooked on the word 'emphatically'.
And that's all, folks! Moving on, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my Drama class play, which contains the line 'It'd be nice to finally get lucky!'. Boy, that one sounds really bad out of context. Oh, hell. That one sounds bad *in* context!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Spot woke up to the sounds of metal banging against metal. He opened his eyes and looked around, very confused. He was in a room that he had never seen before, lying in a bed that was emphatically *not* his bed at the Lodging House. The walls were painted a light blue, and the bed had gold-painted foot and headboards. There was a dresser in the corner opposite the bed, and there was a window next to it. It was open, the pale blue curtains pulled across it, but still letting the light and noise in. He moved to get out of the bed, to see if he could find out what was going on, when a sharp pain in his side made him sink back down, and curl into a fetal position. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, but did not cry out. The first rule of the streets : Don't show weakness.
When the pains subsided, he tried to move again, this time a lot slower, and more careful of the injuries he now remembered that he had. 'Damn Dellancey Brothers. I'll soak em all when I get back right.' With that, he eased himself onto his feet and made for the window, to see what that noise was outside.
He was lucky that the window was only about three steps from the bed, because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to make it. He stopped there, leaning against the wall, for a few moments, breathing deeply, exhausted by his efforts. He then pulled back one side of the curtains, and was momentarily blinded by the light. (Hee. Did y'all catch that line from that song? I don't know the name or artist, but it was on the radio earlier! ~*)
Blinking rapidly, he leaned towards it so as he could see where the noise was coming from. There was a big, red barn, complete with a silo, that sat about fifty feet from the back porch. The doors were flun open, to reveal the girl that had pulled him out of the ditch, Savannah, milking cows. Her two milk buckets were making the noises, as she clanged them together when she moved them to go on to the next cow. He watched as she let them out of the pen on the right side, milked them, then shooed them off to a pen on the left. Thankfully, for his aching head, there was only one cow left in the right pen now.
He started to turn away from the window, but was overcome with a wave of dizziness. He grabbed the sill for support, and wavered back and forth. He lunged forward as he lost his balance, and cracked his forhead against the bottom of the raised window. He swore, colourfully, and stared at his hand on the sill to right his sense of balance. As he stared, a drop of red hit the sill, contrasting starkly to the bright white. Another drop fell, then another before Spot realized that his nose was bleeding. "Shit." He said, as he lifted the bottom of his shirt up to press against his nose. He glanced back at the sill, then ran his sleeve across it to clean it. 'Jus' one more drop ain't gonna hurt it.' He thought to himself.
By now, his dizziness had gone, and he made his way to the door. Going out into the hallway, he saw that he was in a rather large house. There were five doors, not counting his own, and then the staircase at the other end of the hall. He swallowed, then proceeded to move very slowly towards the stairs, using the wall as a brace. He had to stop and rest at the top, and it took him a full five minutes to get down. At the bottom, he stopped to get his bearings. Off to his left, there was a room full of furniture covered in white sheetes.
To his right, there was a kitchen, all doe up in a bright, happy yellow color. He headed for the kitchen, and sank down into a chair at the table, fully exhausted once again. About this time, he heard a grating sound that did wonders for his headache. He winced, then looked at the door ans it was knocked open by Savannah's foot, as she struggled with two buckets full of milk and a basket full of eggs, miraculously not spilling any of it.
She set them down on the table and looked over at Spot. "Good. I was afraid that you'd not get up on your own. We're going to go see Doc Flynn as soon as I get the animals done for the morning. You up for some breakfast? I'm not much of an eater in the morning, so all I can offer you breakfast-wise is eggs." She gestured towards the eggs in the mesh basket, sitting too close to the edge of the table for Spot's comfort level. She noticed, and pushed them back. " And milk, of course. Nasty stuff, if you ask me. Oh, don't mind me. I won't be like this all day. I had some chocolate chip cookies left over from last time I visited Mrs. Chappelow -she's my neighbor- and I ate them before I went milking. The sugar will wear off soon, I promise."
Spot just stared at her for a moment, taking this whole speech in. "I think maybe I'll jus' wait for latah. A doctah soun's real good, though." She nodded, and began to clean the eggs, then placing them in small crates. She put them in the icebox(1), then went on to the milk. She got out about twenty glass milk bottles, and poured the milk into each one of them, using a metal funnel. Then she covered them, using cloth squares and metal bands. She placed these in a crate as well, then slid them in next to the eggs.
"What are you doing?" Spot asked.
She smiled at him. Every other day, I take the milk and eggs to a man about ten miles down the road. He pays me for it. That's how I get money. He does whatever it is that he does to it for it to be fit to be sold in the city."
"What about da rest of your family? Wheah are dey at?"
Savannah hesitated, then frowned, looking at her feet. "They all died, a while back." She was suddenly not hyper anymore, and Spot felt bad. He didn't really know what to do though, so he kept his mouth shut, and the moment to do something passed. She wiped up the mess on the table, and cleaned out the milk buckets. She put the egg basket on a shelf next to the door and then washed her hands, all the way up to her elbows. Spot watched her do this, and she noticed, and explained. "Chickens are nasty, dirty birds. They get their crap all over everything and I don't want any chicken diseases." Spot looked a bit grossed out at the mention of chicken shit, so she clammed up again.
She went about her business, going out of the kitchen and upstairs. Spot heard creaking overhead, then she came down with a bunch of sheets. They were quite obviously the ones he had been sleeping on, due to the blood, dirt, and all around muck that was all over them. She took them out to the porch and dumped them in a heap next to a large metal tub. She looked at them for a few moments, then turned on her heel and came back inside. "So, are you ready to go to Doc Flynn's?"
"Um, yeah. I guess so. How faah is it?"
"It's only about three miles up further. A forty minute drive, usually. Once we took it in thirty, but that was when Mama was having Daniel and he was early and...." She faded out. "Never mind. The wagon is still where we left it. Give me ten minutes to hitch up the horses and we'll go." Spot nodded, and she went off.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mush held fast to the short piece of straw in his hand. He, Race, Kid Blink, Davey, and Boots had all drawn straws over which one of them would go talk to Jack. None of them really wanted too, owing that once Jack had gotten back to the Lodging House, he had gone over and sat on the fire escape with the paper and cane. Ha had been there ever since, except for once, when he realized that he had Spot's blood all over him and the things he was holding. After cleaning the cane and paper carefully, he ran the same towel across his hands. He didn't even change his shirt.
Race had come up with the idea of drawing, and Boots had produced a long piece of straw, after running into the streets for a few seconds. They had cut it up into five pieces of equal length, and then the one shorter one. They drew out of Blink's hand, with Mush getting the short one. Now, he stood inside the window that led to the fire escape, and he hesitated. Looking back at the others and swallowing nervously. They gave him motions of encouragement, that were altogether un-encouraging, and smiled at him. He frowed again, then jumped out the window before he could stop himself.
"H-h-hey Jack." He stammered. "How's it rollin?" His eyes widended as he realized that he had used Spot's usual greeting, to all the Manhatteners but Jack. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. He did.
"Spot said that to you guys."
"Erm, yeah, Cowboy, he did. He still does, you know."
"I'm suah (sure)." As they spoke, Cowboy had started running his hands all over the black cane. Mush noticed, now worried that Jack might flip out and if he had the cane in his hands....Well, they all knew what Spot did with the cane in a fight.
"So, Jack. What are you doin' out heah? We'se all kinda wondrin' when you'se gonna come in, and all."
"I dunno, Mush. I'se plannin'." Jack looked from the cane to the view thet they had. From this side of the Lodging House, the top of the Brooklyn Bridge was visible.
"Plannin' foah(for) what I'se gonna do to da Delancey Bruddahs."
"What about da Delancey's, Jack?"
"They done dis. I know it. Once I saw da lettah, I knew it was a fake."
"But Jack. You saw da lettah a long time ago. You an Davey."
"No. I didn't see it. Spot jus' tol' us what it was about. But dis lettah didn't come from da Final Rest Home. I know dat for shuah(sure). Dat place wen' outta business two yeahs (years) ago."
"How do ya know dat?"
"Cuz me muddah was deah. She wa buried out in da back. We didn't have no money foah a real place, so dey buried 'er in with da rest of da people who didn't have no family. Between my new job as a newsie, an me faddah's money, we bought 'er a headstone. I used ta go back deah (there) on 'er boithday every yeah (year), till it closed up. Dey ain't nuthin deah now, an dey moved da bodies. I can't get nobody ta tell me wheah to." Jack hung his head.
Mush chewed on his bottom lip, not knowing what to do. He wished Race or Davey were here instead of him. They were much better at this feelings stuff, especially when it came to family. Mush never really had a family. He grew up in an orphanage. When he was seven, they'd sent him to the refuge for something he didn't even do. While he was in there, he met a boy named Michael Garrett. Michael was nearly fifteen, and a newsie. He had been there before, for something that he wouldn't tell Mush about. Michael had broken out after the two of them were there for three days. He took Mush, then called Joseph, with him to the Newsboys Lodging House of Lower Manhatten. There he had picked up the Mush, and had stayed there ever since.
Mush looked at Jack, who was still as deep in thought as Mush had been seconds before. "So what are ya gonna do to em, Jack?"
"I'm gonna kill em." Jack said shortly, before climbing back through the window, and going to bed. Mush sat, stunned, for a few minutes, before runnin to find Race and the others. He found them downstairs, sitting around the poker table. The cars were dealt, but none of them were actually playing. They were all discussing Jack and Spot.
"Hey, guys. Jack-da Delancey's-Spot-lettah's fake. He's gonna kill 'em!"
"Race stood. "Whoa. Whoa. Slow down theah." He came from around the table to stand by his friend. "Staht (Start) ovah."
Mush dropped into an empty chair, his, if he'd been playing cards, and began to tell them what Jack ad said. About the Delancey's, the letter, and his mother. He ended dramatically, with Jack declaring to kill the Delancey's.
Davey looked at the others. "Be calm." He started, but the others all began talking at once, ignoring Davey completely. He tried to get them to shut up, so he could tell them his *cunning* plan, but they wouldn't listen. He got angry, grabbed his brother by the shirt, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The others noticed the door slam and looked up. Blink was the first to notice Davey was gone, and he told the others. They merely shrugged, and went back to loudly discussing a course of action and coming up blank.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Okay, that's the end of this lovely chapter. Oh, (1)-What did they call refrigerators then? Where thy still iceboxes, or were they something else? I dunno.
Moving on, here's the useless poll for this chapter:
Which do you like better?
A) The Right
B) The Left
C) The Middle
Please Review!!!
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Bess-Who wants a third of someone's soul-(I have to agree with you on how much fun that would be. I own half of my friend Andy's soul {bought it for a quarter} and it is quite amusing. Also, I won't tone the accent down, because I had people tell me that they liked the accent. On the hard words, however, I will put the right spelling in () after. Ok?)
Singah-A lemming-shaped piece of cheese-(It's the fear of clowns, by the way.)
Rebellious Observer-Who wants a green martini umbrella-(Sometimes, the humor is on purpose, but sometimes I amaze myself! And actually, I am a huge Race/Spot shipper, so I do write a lot of slash. If you want to read my only =( slashy fics posted, go read A Very Nice Day For A Trial, which is Spot/Race, or Rage. But Rage is Harry Potter, Ron/Draco. Moving on...)
Rae Kelly-(Don't worry. I will get this all out of my head and onto the computer asap!)
Aaaaaand Here's the customary bribe-a plate of warm from the oven Chocolate chip cookies! There's two for each of the ch. 5 reviewers.
(::)(::)(::)
(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)
---------------------
And Dead Poet and Blondy Bear, who did not review this last chapter, due to a Chicago trip and Malcolm invading Blondy's computer (We created a Demon? Bad us.~Xander, Buffy: tVS, Season 6, Ep. 'After Life'). Thanks, guys. But hey! You get credit for getting me hooked on the word 'emphatically'.
And that's all, folks! Moving on, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my Drama class play, which contains the line 'It'd be nice to finally get lucky!'. Boy, that one sounds really bad out of context. Oh, hell. That one sounds bad *in* context!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Spot woke up to the sounds of metal banging against metal. He opened his eyes and looked around, very confused. He was in a room that he had never seen before, lying in a bed that was emphatically *not* his bed at the Lodging House. The walls were painted a light blue, and the bed had gold-painted foot and headboards. There was a dresser in the corner opposite the bed, and there was a window next to it. It was open, the pale blue curtains pulled across it, but still letting the light and noise in. He moved to get out of the bed, to see if he could find out what was going on, when a sharp pain in his side made him sink back down, and curl into a fetal position. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, but did not cry out. The first rule of the streets : Don't show weakness.
When the pains subsided, he tried to move again, this time a lot slower, and more careful of the injuries he now remembered that he had. 'Damn Dellancey Brothers. I'll soak em all when I get back right.' With that, he eased himself onto his feet and made for the window, to see what that noise was outside.
He was lucky that the window was only about three steps from the bed, because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to make it. He stopped there, leaning against the wall, for a few moments, breathing deeply, exhausted by his efforts. He then pulled back one side of the curtains, and was momentarily blinded by the light. (Hee. Did y'all catch that line from that song? I don't know the name or artist, but it was on the radio earlier! ~*)
Blinking rapidly, he leaned towards it so as he could see where the noise was coming from. There was a big, red barn, complete with a silo, that sat about fifty feet from the back porch. The doors were flun open, to reveal the girl that had pulled him out of the ditch, Savannah, milking cows. Her two milk buckets were making the noises, as she clanged them together when she moved them to go on to the next cow. He watched as she let them out of the pen on the right side, milked them, then shooed them off to a pen on the left. Thankfully, for his aching head, there was only one cow left in the right pen now.
He started to turn away from the window, but was overcome with a wave of dizziness. He grabbed the sill for support, and wavered back and forth. He lunged forward as he lost his balance, and cracked his forhead against the bottom of the raised window. He swore, colourfully, and stared at his hand on the sill to right his sense of balance. As he stared, a drop of red hit the sill, contrasting starkly to the bright white. Another drop fell, then another before Spot realized that his nose was bleeding. "Shit." He said, as he lifted the bottom of his shirt up to press against his nose. He glanced back at the sill, then ran his sleeve across it to clean it. 'Jus' one more drop ain't gonna hurt it.' He thought to himself.
By now, his dizziness had gone, and he made his way to the door. Going out into the hallway, he saw that he was in a rather large house. There were five doors, not counting his own, and then the staircase at the other end of the hall. He swallowed, then proceeded to move very slowly towards the stairs, using the wall as a brace. He had to stop and rest at the top, and it took him a full five minutes to get down. At the bottom, he stopped to get his bearings. Off to his left, there was a room full of furniture covered in white sheetes.
To his right, there was a kitchen, all doe up in a bright, happy yellow color. He headed for the kitchen, and sank down into a chair at the table, fully exhausted once again. About this time, he heard a grating sound that did wonders for his headache. He winced, then looked at the door ans it was knocked open by Savannah's foot, as she struggled with two buckets full of milk and a basket full of eggs, miraculously not spilling any of it.
She set them down on the table and looked over at Spot. "Good. I was afraid that you'd not get up on your own. We're going to go see Doc Flynn as soon as I get the animals done for the morning. You up for some breakfast? I'm not much of an eater in the morning, so all I can offer you breakfast-wise is eggs." She gestured towards the eggs in the mesh basket, sitting too close to the edge of the table for Spot's comfort level. She noticed, and pushed them back. " And milk, of course. Nasty stuff, if you ask me. Oh, don't mind me. I won't be like this all day. I had some chocolate chip cookies left over from last time I visited Mrs. Chappelow -she's my neighbor- and I ate them before I went milking. The sugar will wear off soon, I promise."
Spot just stared at her for a moment, taking this whole speech in. "I think maybe I'll jus' wait for latah. A doctah soun's real good, though." She nodded, and began to clean the eggs, then placing them in small crates. She put them in the icebox(1), then went on to the milk. She got out about twenty glass milk bottles, and poured the milk into each one of them, using a metal funnel. Then she covered them, using cloth squares and metal bands. She placed these in a crate as well, then slid them in next to the eggs.
"What are you doing?" Spot asked.
She smiled at him. Every other day, I take the milk and eggs to a man about ten miles down the road. He pays me for it. That's how I get money. He does whatever it is that he does to it for it to be fit to be sold in the city."
"What about da rest of your family? Wheah are dey at?"
Savannah hesitated, then frowned, looking at her feet. "They all died, a while back." She was suddenly not hyper anymore, and Spot felt bad. He didn't really know what to do though, so he kept his mouth shut, and the moment to do something passed. She wiped up the mess on the table, and cleaned out the milk buckets. She put the egg basket on a shelf next to the door and then washed her hands, all the way up to her elbows. Spot watched her do this, and she noticed, and explained. "Chickens are nasty, dirty birds. They get their crap all over everything and I don't want any chicken diseases." Spot looked a bit grossed out at the mention of chicken shit, so she clammed up again.
She went about her business, going out of the kitchen and upstairs. Spot heard creaking overhead, then she came down with a bunch of sheets. They were quite obviously the ones he had been sleeping on, due to the blood, dirt, and all around muck that was all over them. She took them out to the porch and dumped them in a heap next to a large metal tub. She looked at them for a few moments, then turned on her heel and came back inside. "So, are you ready to go to Doc Flynn's?"
"Um, yeah. I guess so. How faah is it?"
"It's only about three miles up further. A forty minute drive, usually. Once we took it in thirty, but that was when Mama was having Daniel and he was early and...." She faded out. "Never mind. The wagon is still where we left it. Give me ten minutes to hitch up the horses and we'll go." Spot nodded, and she went off.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mush held fast to the short piece of straw in his hand. He, Race, Kid Blink, Davey, and Boots had all drawn straws over which one of them would go talk to Jack. None of them really wanted too, owing that once Jack had gotten back to the Lodging House, he had gone over and sat on the fire escape with the paper and cane. Ha had been there ever since, except for once, when he realized that he had Spot's blood all over him and the things he was holding. After cleaning the cane and paper carefully, he ran the same towel across his hands. He didn't even change his shirt.
Race had come up with the idea of drawing, and Boots had produced a long piece of straw, after running into the streets for a few seconds. They had cut it up into five pieces of equal length, and then the one shorter one. They drew out of Blink's hand, with Mush getting the short one. Now, he stood inside the window that led to the fire escape, and he hesitated. Looking back at the others and swallowing nervously. They gave him motions of encouragement, that were altogether un-encouraging, and smiled at him. He frowed again, then jumped out the window before he could stop himself.
"H-h-hey Jack." He stammered. "How's it rollin?" His eyes widended as he realized that he had used Spot's usual greeting, to all the Manhatteners but Jack. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. He did.
"Spot said that to you guys."
"Erm, yeah, Cowboy, he did. He still does, you know."
"I'm suah (sure)." As they spoke, Cowboy had started running his hands all over the black cane. Mush noticed, now worried that Jack might flip out and if he had the cane in his hands....Well, they all knew what Spot did with the cane in a fight.
"So, Jack. What are you doin' out heah? We'se all kinda wondrin' when you'se gonna come in, and all."
"I dunno, Mush. I'se plannin'." Jack looked from the cane to the view thet they had. From this side of the Lodging House, the top of the Brooklyn Bridge was visible.
"Plannin' foah(for) what I'se gonna do to da Delancey Bruddahs."
"What about da Delancey's, Jack?"
"They done dis. I know it. Once I saw da lettah, I knew it was a fake."
"But Jack. You saw da lettah a long time ago. You an Davey."
"No. I didn't see it. Spot jus' tol' us what it was about. But dis lettah didn't come from da Final Rest Home. I know dat for shuah(sure). Dat place wen' outta business two yeahs (years) ago."
"How do ya know dat?"
"Cuz me muddah was deah. She wa buried out in da back. We didn't have no money foah a real place, so dey buried 'er in with da rest of da people who didn't have no family. Between my new job as a newsie, an me faddah's money, we bought 'er a headstone. I used ta go back deah (there) on 'er boithday every yeah (year), till it closed up. Dey ain't nuthin deah now, an dey moved da bodies. I can't get nobody ta tell me wheah to." Jack hung his head.
Mush chewed on his bottom lip, not knowing what to do. He wished Race or Davey were here instead of him. They were much better at this feelings stuff, especially when it came to family. Mush never really had a family. He grew up in an orphanage. When he was seven, they'd sent him to the refuge for something he didn't even do. While he was in there, he met a boy named Michael Garrett. Michael was nearly fifteen, and a newsie. He had been there before, for something that he wouldn't tell Mush about. Michael had broken out after the two of them were there for three days. He took Mush, then called Joseph, with him to the Newsboys Lodging House of Lower Manhatten. There he had picked up the Mush, and had stayed there ever since.
Mush looked at Jack, who was still as deep in thought as Mush had been seconds before. "So what are ya gonna do to em, Jack?"
"I'm gonna kill em." Jack said shortly, before climbing back through the window, and going to bed. Mush sat, stunned, for a few minutes, before runnin to find Race and the others. He found them downstairs, sitting around the poker table. The cars were dealt, but none of them were actually playing. They were all discussing Jack and Spot.
"Hey, guys. Jack-da Delancey's-Spot-lettah's fake. He's gonna kill 'em!"
"Race stood. "Whoa. Whoa. Slow down theah." He came from around the table to stand by his friend. "Staht (Start) ovah."
Mush dropped into an empty chair, his, if he'd been playing cards, and began to tell them what Jack ad said. About the Delancey's, the letter, and his mother. He ended dramatically, with Jack declaring to kill the Delancey's.
Davey looked at the others. "Be calm." He started, but the others all began talking at once, ignoring Davey completely. He tried to get them to shut up, so he could tell them his *cunning* plan, but they wouldn't listen. He got angry, grabbed his brother by the shirt, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The others noticed the door slam and looked up. Blink was the first to notice Davey was gone, and he told the others. They merely shrugged, and went back to loudly discussing a course of action and coming up blank.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Okay, that's the end of this lovely chapter. Oh, (1)-What did they call refrigerators then? Where thy still iceboxes, or were they something else? I dunno.
Moving on, here's the useless poll for this chapter:
Which do you like better?
A) The Right
B) The Left
C) The Middle
Please Review!!!
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