Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch
Hey all! Disclaimer- is this really nessesary? We all know I don't own the newsies, do you have to rub it in?
You've all heard THE story, but I'm bettin' not like this. You know how this goes- review it's good, flame if it sucks. *Crunch crosses her fingers*
Oh yes, thanx a bunch to Shortie, Moods, Anna Belle, and morning dew! You guys rock!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot studied the young man crouched infront of him, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles glowed white. From the cabby hat perched jauntily on an impeccibly groomed head of midnight black hair, to the deep set emerald eyes wide with a trademark mixture of confidence and anticipation, to the strong features, broad, commanding shoulders, and sturdy figure cloaked in angelic white, the boy looked every inch the gentlemen. He was indeed a good friend, and a fine newsie, but was he worthy of Ruby?
"She's- She's like me sistah, ya know? I just always wanted bettah fah her den some guy like me. She deserves bettah."
"I know she do, Spot. Ruby- she's da most special goil I evah met. She deserves da moon, and da stars. . ."
"Don't push it, Frenchy." Spot sighed and gazed out the window of the lodging house, heart filled with pride at the view of the city line. This was all his, as far as the eye could see. Brooklyn was HIS kingdom. And he loved it. "I just don't know, bruddah. She's only 15."
"An' how old was you when you first fell in love, Spot?" The newsie chuckled.
"I been fallin' in love all me life." Relenting, he turned to face his friend at last. "What I wanna know is, will you treat her good? Will you take care a' her?"
Frenchy licked his lips excitedly, tasting victory within his grasps. "I will Spot. All me life."
The Brooklyn leader nodded, a smile creeping over his lips. "Tell ya what, Frenchy. Every year, all me newsies get tagether at da Red Hook, ta bring in da new year wid a bang, ya know?
"Yeah, Spot, I hoid of it."
"So, you come, get ta know me girl Ruby. If she likes you. . den you have me blessing." Frenchy laughed out loud, pleasure shining in his eyes. In one suave movement he unfolded himself to Spot's height, flushed with the prospect of the oncoming chase.
"You won't regret it, Spot. I swear it."
"You break 'er heart, I'll break ya head." Spot chuckled, with something not entirely humorous obvious in the quiet tone of his voice.
"I know. An' it won't happen. You won't regret dis."
*.*.*.*
Racetrack stood on the steps of the lodging house, cheek pressed against the sunwarmed bricks not yet cooled by the oncoming night. 'Nothing spoils a good sunset like unrequited love.' He though wryly. Besides him Skittery sighed.
"Race, it's not da end of da world, ya know. So you like a goil."
"I don't LIKE a goil, Skitts." He scoffed and wiped a hand across his tired eyes. "I love a goil."
"Do you even know her name?"
"Sure I do, da problem is she don't know mine." He sank down onto the wooden staircase, wincing as it groaned and sagged under his minimal weight. One of these days these stairs would collapse, and some poor, unsuspecting sap would have hell to pay. "You should see her, Skitt. She's gorgeous, I mean REALLY well endowed. All da right coives in ALL da right places. An' her face. . ."
"She sounds like every udder goil in Manhatten, Pal."
"But she aint. Skitts, she's special; even her name is special." The boy sighed and spoke her name to the heavens, letting the sacred word roll sweetly off his toungue. "Bristols."
Skittery snorted through an attempt at sympathy. "Race, ya know what bristols means, don't ya?" Thouroughly insulted, the love sick newsie inched away from his friend.
"Yeah, I know what it means alright, but that aint da point." Skittery sobered up immediately. After all, a joke was one thing, but friendship was something he took very seriously, and to laugh at a friend in pain was treason in the highest degree.
"Look, I didn't mean nothin' by it, Race. Ok, so you like dis goil Bristols, but ya can't have 'er cos she's a stuck up . ."
"Skitts!"
"Ok, ok. Well I got just da thing you need, Brudda," Race glanced up, curiosity piqued by the smile on his friends face; a dazzling display of white glowing in the dusk. With a mischievous chuckle, the boy tugged a dilapidated leaflet from his pocket, clearing his throat as he struggled to read the message aloud. "To all da newsies a' Brooklyn, your presence is expected at da Red Hook, tamorrow night when all sellin' is done, ta celebrate da new year. Courtesy a' your leader, da one an' only Spot Conlon. No Manhattenites aloud!"
"Skittery, dat last part means we aint on da guest list."
"I know, Race me boy. But since you seem so hung up on dis goil, whatser name? Bristols? I figuah a big party like dis, imminent risk of death, plenty a' gorgeous women? Might do ya good." Race sighed and squinted into the last vanishing flames of the day.
"I appreciate it, but it aint gonna do any good. It won't change me mind. I'm just doomed."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Short, I know, but I write what the voices in my head tell me to, ya know? So review review REVIEW! No review-y, no update-y, kapeesh?
[pic] [pic]
Hey all! Disclaimer- is this really nessesary? We all know I don't own the newsies, do you have to rub it in?
You've all heard THE story, but I'm bettin' not like this. You know how this goes- review it's good, flame if it sucks. *Crunch crosses her fingers*
Oh yes, thanx a bunch to Shortie, Moods, Anna Belle, and morning dew! You guys rock!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot studied the young man crouched infront of him, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles glowed white. From the cabby hat perched jauntily on an impeccibly groomed head of midnight black hair, to the deep set emerald eyes wide with a trademark mixture of confidence and anticipation, to the strong features, broad, commanding shoulders, and sturdy figure cloaked in angelic white, the boy looked every inch the gentlemen. He was indeed a good friend, and a fine newsie, but was he worthy of Ruby?
"She's- She's like me sistah, ya know? I just always wanted bettah fah her den some guy like me. She deserves bettah."
"I know she do, Spot. Ruby- she's da most special goil I evah met. She deserves da moon, and da stars. . ."
"Don't push it, Frenchy." Spot sighed and gazed out the window of the lodging house, heart filled with pride at the view of the city line. This was all his, as far as the eye could see. Brooklyn was HIS kingdom. And he loved it. "I just don't know, bruddah. She's only 15."
"An' how old was you when you first fell in love, Spot?" The newsie chuckled.
"I been fallin' in love all me life." Relenting, he turned to face his friend at last. "What I wanna know is, will you treat her good? Will you take care a' her?"
Frenchy licked his lips excitedly, tasting victory within his grasps. "I will Spot. All me life."
The Brooklyn leader nodded, a smile creeping over his lips. "Tell ya what, Frenchy. Every year, all me newsies get tagether at da Red Hook, ta bring in da new year wid a bang, ya know?
"Yeah, Spot, I hoid of it."
"So, you come, get ta know me girl Ruby. If she likes you. . den you have me blessing." Frenchy laughed out loud, pleasure shining in his eyes. In one suave movement he unfolded himself to Spot's height, flushed with the prospect of the oncoming chase.
"You won't regret it, Spot. I swear it."
"You break 'er heart, I'll break ya head." Spot chuckled, with something not entirely humorous obvious in the quiet tone of his voice.
"I know. An' it won't happen. You won't regret dis."
*.*.*.*
Racetrack stood on the steps of the lodging house, cheek pressed against the sunwarmed bricks not yet cooled by the oncoming night. 'Nothing spoils a good sunset like unrequited love.' He though wryly. Besides him Skittery sighed.
"Race, it's not da end of da world, ya know. So you like a goil."
"I don't LIKE a goil, Skitts." He scoffed and wiped a hand across his tired eyes. "I love a goil."
"Do you even know her name?"
"Sure I do, da problem is she don't know mine." He sank down onto the wooden staircase, wincing as it groaned and sagged under his minimal weight. One of these days these stairs would collapse, and some poor, unsuspecting sap would have hell to pay. "You should see her, Skitt. She's gorgeous, I mean REALLY well endowed. All da right coives in ALL da right places. An' her face. . ."
"She sounds like every udder goil in Manhatten, Pal."
"But she aint. Skitts, she's special; even her name is special." The boy sighed and spoke her name to the heavens, letting the sacred word roll sweetly off his toungue. "Bristols."
Skittery snorted through an attempt at sympathy. "Race, ya know what bristols means, don't ya?" Thouroughly insulted, the love sick newsie inched away from his friend.
"Yeah, I know what it means alright, but that aint da point." Skittery sobered up immediately. After all, a joke was one thing, but friendship was something he took very seriously, and to laugh at a friend in pain was treason in the highest degree.
"Look, I didn't mean nothin' by it, Race. Ok, so you like dis goil Bristols, but ya can't have 'er cos she's a stuck up . ."
"Skitts!"
"Ok, ok. Well I got just da thing you need, Brudda," Race glanced up, curiosity piqued by the smile on his friends face; a dazzling display of white glowing in the dusk. With a mischievous chuckle, the boy tugged a dilapidated leaflet from his pocket, clearing his throat as he struggled to read the message aloud. "To all da newsies a' Brooklyn, your presence is expected at da Red Hook, tamorrow night when all sellin' is done, ta celebrate da new year. Courtesy a' your leader, da one an' only Spot Conlon. No Manhattenites aloud!"
"Skittery, dat last part means we aint on da guest list."
"I know, Race me boy. But since you seem so hung up on dis goil, whatser name? Bristols? I figuah a big party like dis, imminent risk of death, plenty a' gorgeous women? Might do ya good." Race sighed and squinted into the last vanishing flames of the day.
"I appreciate it, but it aint gonna do any good. It won't change me mind. I'm just doomed."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Short, I know, but I write what the voices in my head tell me to, ya know? So review review REVIEW! No review-y, no update-y, kapeesh?
[pic] [pic]