Shoutouts!
FictionHobbit )( I'm taking it we're a Skitts fan? LOLOL! Yeah, Pirate is most def. NOT a nice character. He kinda framed Spotty in a roundabout way in Growth. Not that Spotty minded. Heh! But he's fun to write. I enjoy big oafs with no brains. Not even a half a' one.
Raider )( Ahh, the racism gets worse. And I *did* update Untouchables! Whoo whoo! Thanks dearie!
The Omniscient Bookseller )( Oui, depressing stories are GRAND fun! But – and this excites me greatly, btw – I was writing the last chappy of this today during school, and it doesn't turn out dappy! It's actually mappy! I'm so excited, it's sad. I'd post that one right now too, but I'm only halfway through Race's part. But hoooo ha!
Keza: Queen of Procrastination )( It was nice of you to hug the characters. Hehe! Yeah, I enjoyed the "Jack wasn't black" line also. It made me chuckle a bit, because then I pictured like an Eminem-esque Jack Kelly, wearing bling-bling and wifebeaters and a bandanna and screaming "Yo, g-dawgs!" at the top of his lungs. It amused me for quite some time. All Dogs Go To Heaven?? I used to love that movie… the little girl was so cute… and I loved how she said "Chahrhlie" all weird-like. She was way cool.
Derby )( Yeah, poor Charlie. :( I feel sorry for the guy, he always gets the worst parts in my fanfics. Perhaps next I will write a HAPPY story for Charlie. ((Unfortunately for most of my created characters, they just aren't much fun until bad stuff happens to them. **Mondie shrugs**)) Poor Blinky-182! You squirted his picture! He cried for about an hour after reading that review. It was depressingly sad.
misprint )( Have I mentioned lately that I love our run-on reviews? They make me greatly happy. HOO HA! ^_^ I'm glad you thought that Charlie was Mary Sue. That amused me almost as much as Jack Kelly in bling-bling ((read shoutout to Keza)) YAY! You found the newsie-in-the-movie-who-doesn't-have-a-newsie-name-but-Mondie-decided-he-looked-like-Disney's-Aladdin-and-named-him-Aladdin! WHOO WHOOOOO! I love Aladdin. I was astounded to find out that he is Gloria Estefan's son. That is truly odd. Yay, go pound Snyder for his racism. Lord knows he needs it. But just you wait till next chapter… ooh, just you wait! **Mondie rubs hands together and cackles** Shade, you mustn't strangle Mis. **Mondie shakes finger condescendingly** YAY YAY YAY, I love it when Mush is cradling his blanket! I totally fashioned that off the beginning of the movie, even though he's not cradling his blanket in it. I just thought he could be dreaming about holding a Mondie in his arms. **Mondie shrugs** Thanks for the wonderful review, Mis!!!
Shortie )( WOOOOOOOW! Thanks! **Mondie flushes and looks embarrassed, for the, oh, second time in her life** I KNOW! What is UP with the lack of Newsies love in the universe? How can people never have heard of it?!?! I don't understand. Sorry for forgetting you're the one that wrote Santa Fe… I read so many friggin stories I can't keep the authors straight in my head, LOL! But it WAS really good. I liked that one greatly. "La vie boheme" means "The Bohemian Life," kinda like in Moulin Rouge, ya know? I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE "La Vie Boheme," it's TOTALLY my favey-davey song in Rent. It's so much fun to sing!
rumor )( Good, don't smack Boots, Snyder does enough of that himself in this chappy. Yes, my nails are rather long also (quite a hindrance—good word, hindrance, I like it haha—for typing), and when I paint them, everyone's like, "Are those real?" like they don't believe they are. It's hard to convince them otherwise. ^_^ Your review was incredibly mappy and made me incredibly happy! I always love your reviews, rumor. :D :D :D Thanks!
Crunch )( GAWD, I *have* to read your Star Crossed Lovers… I think I've started reading it about three times, but I always have to go somewhere or the phone rings or it's time for school… blah. Slap me upside the head and color me procrastinator if I don't get to it soon. ANYHOW. Thanks for the sweet review!!!! :D Yayness!
Will I? Chapter 3
by Mondie
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
Skittery stared around himself uneasily when he got to the gates of the Distribution Center. They were still closed and locked, as was customary when the newsies arrived, but one fact puzzled him beyond comparison—there were no other newsies around.
Well, he countered himself, there were a couple of newsies around. Three or four, with grime thick on their faces like on his, which generally meant that they too had carried the banner the night before, snagging pavement for a restless bed. They looked confused, too, at the lack of their brethren. Truth be told, none of Skittery's friends were near the gate—at all. And they weren't in sight, either.
He trekked backwards through his mind, making sure that when he'd crossed the sidewalk before the Lodging House, it had still been there, and not burnt to cinders or toppled over or collapsed in on itself. He assured himself that it had been intact. Where, then, he wondered, were his friends? No Bumlets, no Racetrack, no Mush, no Kid Blink, no Itey, no Specs, no Snoddy.
He began to backtrack towards the Lodging House, giving up his spectacular front spot at the gate. He was more worried about his friends now then he was earning his day's money. He reflected he probably wouldn't sell much, anyways. Without Jack Kelly, most of the magic was gone.
As he neared the Lodging House, he was stunned to find it looking still asleep. There was no movement in its windows, and in fact the shades were still drawn tight. The door was closed, filling the usually gaping mouth of the doorframe. Skittery scratched his head, and squinted at the building.
Something on his right made him turn in alarm, until he remembered the noises he'd heard earlier that morning. The whimpering had increased, and it sounded more like a wounded puppy now then a drunk. Skittery decided that it might be safer to face whatever was in the alley than the thing plaguing the Lodging House.
"Help…" the voice was saying softly, and Skittery frowned as he tried to decide whose voice it was. It sounded like a cross between Racetrack and Mush, and it wasn't until he saw the shock of blond-white hair that he placed it.
"Chahlie?" he asked incredulously. "Whatcha doin' on da ground?"
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
Boots stood, alone and quivering, against a wall. His bare body was glistening from sweat, which mixed with the blood pouring from his lacerations. The horsewhip, just as menacing slumped against the wall as it was in Snyder's hand, frightened him still. There was one other boy in the room, an older boy named Chocolate, whose skin was the same dark cocoa as Boots'. Ashamed that Chocolate had heard him crying out earlier, and embarrassed by his nakedness, Boots bowed his head and wouldn't look at the older prisoner.
"You all righ', kid?" Chocolate had a deep bass voice, and it was filled with sorrow and bitterness. Boots didn't look up, but nodded from where he stood. Chocolate moved for the first time since Boots had entered the room, and the sound of scraping chains echoed, cutting through the silence. Boots looked up sharply at this, and realized that Chocolate was chained around the ankles to the wall. He wore only a pair of white cotton pants, and his chest had risen dark brown scars all across it. His eyes were hard and seething. Chocolate moved as close to Boots as he could, and, his eyes scorching, glared at the thick wooden door which barred them from escape. "What'dja do ta get heah?"
Boots mumbled, "Stole some food." He didn't feel like going into it. He felt an anger rise inside of him towards Jack. If Jack hadn't left them… if Jack had still been here for them… if, if, if! In a flurry of disgust, he turned his head and spit in the dust around his feet. Then he looked up at Chocolate. "An' you?"
Chocolate sighed. "Ah, I didn' do nuttin'. I was jus' in da wrong place at da wrong time. Dis kid, Francis Sullivan, 'e stole some stuff an' ran. I was wit' 'im, but I wasn' as fast as 'im. An' even though dey didn' have no ev'dence or nuttin', dey still decided dat I stole some stuff too an' threw me in heah."
"Francis Sullivan?" Boots repeated. "Dat's Jack Kelly. He's kinda why I'm in heah too."
"Da bum," Chocolate said, his eyes hardening even more so. "I been in heah foah five long yeahs."
Boots felt anger rising in his throat. At that moment, had he been blessed with the opportunity and the means, he would have whipped Jack Kelly with Snyder's horsewhip within an inch of his life.
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
Charlie was in such pain by the time Skittery found him that he couldn't feel it anymore. He didn't notice the tears running down his face, nor the aches of his burning cold fingers.
Skittery rushed over when he figured out who it was. He tried to figure out what the easiest way to get Charlie to his feet would be. At first he tried clasping hands with Charlie and pulling upwards, but this only succeeded in reopening the wound on Charlie's arm so that they had to wait for the bitter wind to freeze it shut again. The amount of blood next to Charlie's frail frame frightened Skittery beyond what he thought possible. Next he tried to lift up Charlie from behind, clasping him under his armpits and forcing him upwards. But Charlie's limp frame just sagged in the middle, and he turned an unhealthy shade of white as he nearly lost consciousness. Skittery didn't want to pick him up so that he'd jar his leg, because, frankly, the bone jutting out from beneath the skin terrified him. Finally, he tore off his shirt and thin jacket and threw them over Charlie's shivering frame and ran to the Lodging House to get help.
Charlie trembled. His eyes, more gray than green in the overcast lighting, gaped open as he stared blankly around him. He vaguely wondered where his friend was gone—though he couldn't remember exactly who had come to see him anymore—and the alley seemed to be closing in—and turning purple— He leaned back and let the blackness overcome him.
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
Racetrack opened his eyes to see Pirate standing guard in the middle of the bunkroom. Though the sun was courageously trying to fight its battle—and losing spectacularly—to the fast-approaching late autumn winds, and was shining brightly in the cracks around the curtains, there were still slumbering newsies all around.
He noticed Mush swaying to and fro on his bunk, apparently either drunk or thinking about some song, and realized that no one was sleeping. Then he noticed that the bunkroom door was closed.
"Hey, Terrain," he said quietly. Terrain looked over from the next bunk, raising an eyebrow. "Why is ev'ryone still in heah an' not sellin'?"
"Because," Terrain answered softly. "Pirate don' want none a' us ta sell ta'day. 'E says we gotsta loin how ta do t'ings his way. Since he's da new leadah an' all."
Race sighed to himself. He realized, in the midst of it, that it was a rather loud sigh. So loud, in fact, that every newsie had to stifle laughs, bar Pirate, who turned his dark eyes to Race with a matching scowl. "Racetrack Higgins. I t'ought you was almos' dead."
"Not quite yet, Pirate… Pirate," Race answered, unsure of Pirate's last name. There were a few titters scattered throughout the bunkroom, but they were silenced by a stare from the new leader.
"Oh yeah? Ya wan' me ta help ya along?" Pirate asked, menacingly making a fist and punching his hand into the other.
Racetrack sighed. "No, not really. I mean, I'se got so much ta live for. Like… uh… um… like that one t'ing… help me out heah, Mush."
Mush stopped swaying and smiled. "Like … puppy dogs."
"Yeah. Like puppy dogs." Racetrack suddenly realized what he'd said. "Waidda minute, Mush. I don' GOT a puppy dog."
"Yeah, but dey're funny. Dey run all weihd, an' dey have waggy tails!"
Race would have hit his head with his hand if he hadn't had a splitting headache. "Mush, you'se an idiot. But, Pirate, why da hell is you in my bunkroom anyway?"
Pirate gave a barking laugh. "Ain'tcha hoid, Racey boy? I'se gonna be da new 'Hattan leadah." He smiled smugly.
Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Not when I'm da leadah a' Man'attan, ya aren't."
There were barely audible gasps all through the bunkroom, and Pirate looked like he'd just been slapped. "What'dja jus' say?" he asked, staring.
"E's delirious, Pirate," said Kid Blink hastily.
"No, I'se not!" Race said. Shakily, he climbed out of bed and onto the floor, wincing as his bare feet hit the floorboards which seemed made of ice. Too late, he realized that he was getting cold again, and knew that that meant he'd fall asleep shortly. But he had to get Pirate out of the Lodging House.
Had to get Pirate out…
Suddenly, Race slumped against the bedpost, a shade of green spreading across his face. Six Strings, who was in the bunk below him, reached out just in time to catch him. Race's head rolled back, and he began murmuring incoherently.
Pirate laughed mercilessly. "T'row 'im outside," he commanded. No one moved. "I said, t'row 'im outside!" he screamed, the laughter cut short.
Gulping breaths of air quickly, and blinking furiously, Six Strings and Terrain shuffled to the door, Race limply hanging between them. They knew they couldn't leave him outside, but didn't know how to appease Pirate.
Soon the bunkroom door was unbarred, for Pirate had tied the door so Kloppman couldn't get in, but it wasn't a very sneaky knot. Still unsure about what they should do, Six Strings and Terrain stopped and looked at each other with painful eyes.
But they didn't have the chance to deliberate.
The door was practically knocked in, and Skittery rushed inside.