"Nothing costs so much
As what is bought by prayers."
-Seneca
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Rooftop watched from where she sat on the makeshift pile of rags and blankets that served as her bed, watched as the boy she had previously called 'her's' began making eyes at Snare. What little sunlight there was filtered in through a single, shattered window, illuminating temptress and victim alike.
Enough ta make me sick, she thought, slender fingers clutching violently at the blankets beneath. Wouldn'tve made me dat sick if it was me instead of Snare, she added hesitantly. Then, hardening once more, the newsgirl turned away.
Months. How many months had it been since news of the death of both Mask and Gambler had arrived in Harlem? News usually wasn't that slow to circulate amongst the newsies. Roof's eyes shifted back to where Snare and Handle sat, now kissing passionately.
Snare. She's called dat for a good reason.
And suddenly, everything was very clear to the girl. She was alone in the world, alone, totally, painfully, clearly alone. Temptation and a broken relashionship had taken Handle from her, death and Gambler had stolen her heart's sister away, and Spot Conlon, having harnessed death, had banished Gambler into eternity.
What's happened? Where da hell did da Golden Ages go? she wondered mournfully.
The Golden Ages, for Harlem at least, were long gone. They had fled after Blade had stepped down, finding leadership too hard to handle, giving the title to a flighty, naive and totally unprepared girl by the name of Crash.
I don't know what he saw in her, Roof wondered absently. Things had gone well for about a year more, then, for unknown reasons, Blade vanished from Harlem, never to be seen again. There were rumors that he had fled to Brooklyn, rumors that he had fled to Santa Fe, to Virginia, perhaps. Roof snorted in derision.
Rumors. We newsies thrive on rumors.
Something had snapped in Crash, signaling the end of everything good. The girl had turned hard, tempermental, and more capable of overseeing things than ever. She didn't tolerate defiance amongst the ranks, and that didn't fly well for Gambler. The boy had rebelled against her at every chance, causing her to fly off the handle more often than not.
The bickering between Gambler and Crash had very quickly turned into something a lot more serious. Over time, it evolved into a bitter struggle for leadership, and all knew something was going to give very, very soon.
It did.
Nobody was really sure how it happened, how it started, but everybody knew the facts: Crash was dead, killed by Gambler's dagger before the eyes of Mask, who, ironically enough, was seeing a foreshadowing of her own fate. Gambler asserted himself as leader, and none opposed him. Nobody was that stupid.
From somewhere beyond the abandonded warehouse, churchbells pealed. And tears welled in Roof's normally mirth-filled blue eyes. She shot a glance at Handle to find that he and snare were long gone. Most were out going about the business of selling papers, and she found herself alone.
Alone.
April had come and gone, taking with it the usual showers, a single death. Roof wished desperately that she could truthfully say that Mask's passing had been one filled with honor and glory, but it wasn't so. The girl had died at the hands of her rapist, stabbed by the dagger that had killed her leader, left to rot in the gutter.
No. Not rot in da gutter, Roof reminded herself, bringing back images of a priest, old face weathered and worn, decked out in robes bearing the symbol of the holy cross.
Who was da man? A friend of one of da newsies, for shoah. Dey would've nevah have had da cash ta pay for a fueneral on deir own. 'Least we know Mask's...at peace.
At peace? Roof snorted at her own thought. She had been far from at peace, knowing Gambler had won, knowing she had left behind a boy who loved her dearly, friends, brothers and sisters who loved her dearly.
Roof shut her eyes, listening to the wind whistle outside, the jaunty tune it performed contrasting sharply with the chill, drab, October's day.
It was warm in the church, and the atmosphere was filled with the safety and sancitity most of the newsies did not feel. Light filtered in through the stained glass windows adorning the walls, and Snoddy's eyes were cast down, not lifting to so much as glance at the casket.
Roof studied the boy out of the corner of her eye, barely hearing the priest's words. The pew beneath her felt cold and hard, and she felt out of place.
Mask, she thought, not quite believing her friend could hear hear but trying anyway, Gambler's dead. Just like you. A life for a life.
And she was filled with something that seemed totally out of place at such an occasion, at such a location: joy in vengeance. It made her afraid of herself, made her feel sick, but what more was there to feel?
Spot, unexpectedly, had not shown up at the funeral. He has his reasons, Roof told herself, but the girl couldn't help but feel bitter, as though Spot were somehow to blame.
Reaching over, she hesitated a moment before taking Snoddy's hand in her's. He looked up, startled, and Roof wondered if it was Mask he was seeing instead of her, if it was the newsgirl's green eyes looking back, if it was her hand that had twined its fingers with his.
And they glanced at each other, and simply knew. They had known Mask the same way, but seen her through different angles. And nothing could ever snatch the stolen moments they had shared with the newsgirl. Nothing...
And Roof bowed her head and cried.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Snoddy's hands were jammed deep into his pockets against the cold, squinting as the wind drove itelf into his eyes. He wasn't selling today, hadn't sold yesterday and didn't intend to sell tomorrow. The atmosphere was subdued, as expected, and he had glanced at each of his friends and wondered what in the world was going through their minds.
And in his mind, he had decided one thing: no one could mourn for Mask the way he had and was continuing to do.
She had thrown a curtain over herself, and Snoddy had been one of the first to unveil it. The unveiling had led to two hearts, tarnished though they were, joining as one.
But what happens when da odder half is gone? he wondered bleakly.
And a wave of anger and bitterness swept over him. Their relashionship had been a fragile thing, hanging in the balance, as had their love. But it had been strong.
Lotsa people think strong and fragile have nothin' ta do wit each odder. How wrong dey are.
Hanging in the balance. Everything hung in the balance, since the day when Man had first been blessed with Life, to the day the first newsie had ever screeched out a blaring, shameless lie.
"Snoddy! Hey, Snoddy! Wait up, will ya?"
Snoddy didn't even bother turning at the sound of Jack's familiar voice. He kept on walking without a backwards glance, until the Manhattan leader finally caught up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Snoddy bristled, whirling around. "Don't touch me," he said with frosty simplicity.
Jack backed up a pace or two, having expected such a reception. "Hey, if dat's how ya feel, fine," he stated, the words coming out harsher than intended. Snoddy sighed.
"Sorry, Jack. I dunno what's gotten inta me."
Jack shook his head. "It's okay ya feel dis way, Snoddy. I understand." Jack paused. "Well, actually, I don't. She was..." his voice trailed off, then came back more forceful than ever. "She was a friend of mine. A sister. Dere for me all my life. And I thank her for dat alone. But I wasn't da one in love wit her. You were."
Snoddy drew in a sharp breath, as though he were about to say something, but hesitated, and decided against it.
"I ain't used ta dealin' wit dese kinda things," Jack continued. "But da thing is, she wouldn't want us ta sit around mopin' like dis for da rest of our lives. It'd make her feel guilty," he added with a chuckle. Snoddy didn't join in.
Jack regarded his friend a moment longer. "I've said my goodbyes. Maybe you should say your's."
Snoddy's eyes widened, and he turned on Jack. "How da hell could ya say somethin' like day? How da hell could ya treat dis so casually?"
Jack snapped right back, his patience wearing thin. "Look, I ain't treatin' dis casually. But ya gotta understand..." his eyes seemed to glaze over, somebody- he wasn't quite sure who's- words came flying back to him. "...ya gotta understand. Life goes on. Life goes on no mattah what. Good men...and women...die. But life goes on."
"Yeah, right," the latter snarled, and, taking several sharp turns, managed to elude Jack, losing him in the crowded streets of Manhattan.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Racetreack and Blink sat at the steps of the Lodging House, having decided to take a short break after lunch. Race leaned back, stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes.
"Jeez, I needs ta get more sleep," he stated listlessly.
Blink shook his head. "Quit it, Race. Ya don't need more sleep. You'se just tryin' ta make conversation ta avoid tawkin' about...y'know."
Race didn't even bat an eye in the face of such blunt analysis. Instead, he took a long drag from his cigar and turned to Blink. "I wouldn't tawk."
"Naw. You're right." Blink paused, then let out a chuckle. Race glanced at him with raised eyebrow. "Nothin'," Blink said in response. "It's just...I remembah how taken I was by Mask when she foist showed up heah. I mean, she ain't a great beauty or anythin', it's just...dere was somethin' about her. Y'know what I mean?"
"No. I don't," Race replied blankly. "We had a hate-hate relashionship goin' foist few months...but den, she came ta be someone I-" Race, being Race, and not prone to spewing things he considered too poetic broke off, but blink understood.
There was silence for awhile, until Racetrack spoke up once more, voice cracking with emotion.
"My God, Blink, I just lost one of me best friend," he said forlornly. Blink, unsure of what to do or say, could only nod in agreement, then pull out a deck of worn, tattered cards.
"Poker, anyone?"
"Anyone?" Race snorted. "Dere's just you an' me. And I nevah toined down a good game of Poker." He paused. "And aftah awhile, niether did Mask."
Blink dealt the cards, and they played in silence.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The snow came early the next day, falling soft and silent on the pavement, building up in drifts and hills. Fortunately, the wind refused to blow, and Snoddy found the going easier. Hefting his bundle of papes, the ones he had sworn not the sell, he headed off towards his selling spot, feeling strangely ashamed of himself.
Why? 'Cause ya weren't dere ta protect her? Ya always arrived a second too late, he berated himself.
"Snoddy!"
This time, he turned and waited for the blonde girl to catch up. Roof's hair was coated in snowflakes, flying free as usual. And for a moment, her eyes were green, her locks raven, and her mood quiet and brooding. Then, the newsboy shook himself back to reality.
"Roof. What're ya doin' heah? Ain'tcha supposed ta be wit Handle right now?"
Roof's face flushed. "He...he and I...we ain't togeddah no more."
Snoddy nodded. "I'se real sorry," he said, more out of politeness than actual pity.
Roof shook her head. "Don't be," she replied automatically. They trudged along for a few seconds more, neither saying a single word, letting silence speak for itself. Finally, Snoddy turned.
"So...who-" he hesitated, "who's takin' over Harlem?"
Roof shook her head. "Nobody. It's just been one disaster aftah another. We'se tryin' ta pick up da pieces, we really are," she stated, sounding as though she were trying to convince herself, "but it ain't woikin'. Nobody's really shoah wheah ta start. Nobody wants ta step up and began puttin' life like we knew it back together."
Snoddy said nothing, but Roof knew he understood. The Harlem newsgirl shook herself out of another round of emptiness. "Anyway, dat ain't what I came heah ta say."
"Den what did ya come heah ta say?" Snoddy asked, amusement and curiosity peaked. Roof shook her headin annoyance.
"Shaddup and listen! You and me are goin' to da graveyard taday," she said flatly. Snoddy balked at the prospect.
"No. You go alone."
Roof stopped, hands on hips, glaring up at the newsboy. "Hey, I didn't come heah to sulk and mope! I came heah ta pay me final respects to a good friend and sister. And she was your goil, Snoddy! Your goil! How could you just leave it like dat, leave her six feet undah witout a woid of love or comfort or goodbye or whatevah?"
The words and statements were harsh, but Snoddy found himself agreeing with them.
And, hesitantly, he followed her down streets that were blanketed in white.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The cememtary.
As a young child, Roof had been throughly superstitious. She had grown up in a family that was highly religious, but dabbled in the idea of spirits and ghosts and whatnot. It had caused a million fears and insecurities in her to breed and multiply, and under normal circumstances, this place would have been the last place she would want to set foot in.
But not today.
Today, it was strangely peaceful. Roof was tempted to say that it had a festive air about it, but feared that would be a bit too irreverent, even for her. Turning to Snoddy, she nodded and led the way, stopping in front of a grave that, unlike most of the others, was devoid of tombstone.
Kneeling, she reached out and placed a hand on the cold earth.
"Heya Mask, how ya doin'?" she asked softly, expecting no reply and not getting one. "I'se heah..." she choked, two tears streaming down either of her cheeks. "...I'se heah ta say goodbye." Pause. "But...I'll nevah really say goodbye y'know? Ya left behind too many memories for dat. Well, t'anks for everythin'."
The girl rose and turned to Snoddy, then back to the mound of earth. "Bet you're lovin' da attention you're gettin', peacock," Roof half laughed, half choked out.
And then, she was crying, sobbing, embracing Snoddy and having him embrace her in turn. The duo stood like that for a long time, then finally turned and left without a backwards glance, Snoddy knowing that that was far from the last visit he would pay to his companion's final resting place.
But it ain't her final restin' place, he thought, casting his gaze skywards, casting his gaze at the church that rose just to his left, steering Roof and himself through its doors. It ain't da final restin' place for her at all.
And Spot Conlon watched them go, hidden in the shadows of a grove of trees standing guard over the place. And he cast eyes over the peaceful scene of so many people, sleeping, resting, before vanishing once more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The church had always made Roof feel small, unimportant. But not anymore. She was suddenly one with it, one with the alabaster walls, the glorious, stained glass windows, the pulpit, the pews, and everything the building itself represented. She stood in front of the alter, gazing up at the lifeless eyes that stared unseenigly back down at her, beautiful and sorrowful at once.
The girl turned to Snoddy nervously. "You Catholic?"
"No," he replied. "I nevah believed in God." He seemed to hesitate. "But everythin' dat's happened...and when I look at dis buildin'...I..." she groped for words. "...dere hasta be somethin', someone, out dere."
Roof smiled. "I..." she paused, then smiled, a thought leaping to mind. ""Sky's da limit, hmn? Well, lemee tell ya a liddle somethin'."
Snoddy nodded, waiting expectantly. Roof went on.
"Mask nevah believed dat. She was one a' dose rare people dat goes
through life fightin' ta remove dose limitations."
Roof turned eyes that seemed infinately huge upon Snoddy. Irony danced within.
Irony. Mask wanted to remove those limitations. But she brought them down on
herself, put more and more weight upon them as life went by. Such an unresolved
girl...such an unresolved being...
And Roof bowed her head, clasping her hands in prayer and realized that she was never truly alone. Had she been paying closer attention, the Harlem newsgirl would have noticed the piece of paper Snoddy slipped into her pocket before exiting the church, unobtrusively, silently. He vanished against the overcast sky, another drifter caught in the limbo of the frightening balancing act called living.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Okay...that about wraps things up. Jeez, this is sooo old. I wrote back when I
was fourteen (like I'm sooo much older now *sarcasm). Oh well, might as well
stick it up here to keep up the feeble number of fanfics I have up.
Thanks for the reviews! =) This is really late, but... I don't own Newsies...blah
blah blah... not making any money out of this...wish I was...*falls asleep*