Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch
*DOLLFACE!!! YAY! I missed you! *waves madly at Dollface, who gives her this really weird look. . .* Anyways, ofcourse, ol' chum, there's nothing to forgive! I'm glad you read the story, and liked it! So here ya go, just for you I updated!!! ;) ooh, not to ramble, but how'd the concert go? Ehh- I bet ya knocked 'em dead! KEEP READING!!!
*Shortie- heehee, oh you are too much. Yay, you think about the chappie? That's great, and ya know? I don't even mind the capslocks. Yes, Blinks is mercutio, but I guess ya don't need me ta say it, good job! *pats on back* Hmm, I suppose I have wondered about that, but not of late, so thanks for reminding me to wonder. Oh, yes, race!muse was wonderful!!! *squeezes Race!muse who's sitting patiently next to her, whether he likes it or not*. Ok, well now to write, but thanks for reading! Keep doing it!
*Morning Dew- Oh, yay! That's what I was going for, I'm glad it wasn't too corny. It was gonna be Mush, but who can pass up Blinks when they stare into his eye? Keep reviewing! Gratci!!! (is that how you spell it? I dunno. . .)
*fearless- Ok, here ya go, I wrote more! But you knew that cause I emailed youse! See, I'm an author for the people. Heh heh heh. Hope ta hear from you again!
*Maggie- oh yay, you like! Yes, it does suck, doesn't it? My God, what am I doing to my sweet baboo Racetrack! I've put the boy in a mental institution, killed his unborn child, what else can I put him through? Anyways, despite that suckiness, thanks so much and keep reviewing!
*Monkey McCartney- Hmm. Yes, I suppose it does. . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot moved through the smoky bar room like a ball player dribbling down court, questioning waitresses and greeting party guests as he went.
"Hey, Blackee, how's it rollin? Looken good, Bristols, very good. Nice mask. 'Ey, Lady!" He paused long enough to throw an arm around his girlfriends hips and run a hand across her breasts.
"Spot, we'se in public!" She giggled, reveling in the attention.
"Well, I just can't seem ta help meself. Didya talk ta me goil Ruby?"
"Mmm, she said she'd look at Frenchy tanight. Dey would be a cute couple, wouldn't dey?" Lady flipped her hair and waited for the inevitable turn in the conversation, where Spotty would tell her how beautiful she herself looked. Maybe she could even drag him into the pantry for a quick go, if he wasn't too distracted. Turns out he was.
"Yeah, dey'd be great all right. Ya know, I just want da best fah her. I care about da kid . . ." For one rare moment, the hardened leader of Brooklyn let his feelings show through the well-built wall of machoism. But his sincerity only lasted a moment, soon to be replaced by the urgency of buisness.
"I'll see ya later, Lady." With a quick kiss, he left her cold in the middle of the floor, turning to joke with some close friend or employee.
*.*.*.*
"Ey, waitress!" Racetrack called a black-skirted bar tender and motioned towards the center of the infamous Red Hook. There stood a girl, not really his type - he prefered them older, and more experienced. By the expression of wide-eyed innocence written across her sweet face, this girl had never heard the names of half the things he'd done. Still, she took his breath away. "Who's dat?"
"Who do ya mean?" The bartender chewed distractedly on a cigarette as she struggled to balance the loaded trays in her straining arms.
"That goil, da one wid da brown hair. . .standin' near da wall."
"Dunno." The fading beauty shrugged and moved on, cursing as a wave of rum sloshed over the edge of one chipped glass. Briefly lifting the clumsy mask to get a better view, Race track turned back towards Ruby, sucking in an amorous breath between clenched teeth.
"Damn, who is she?"
"Race me boy!" Skittery stumbled into his friend and took it upon himself to lower the disguise. "Hey, do youse wanna get spotted? Whatsa matta wid you?"
"Skittery, ya know how I thought I loved dat udder goil?"
"Yeah."
He leaned against the sturdier newsie, chest suddenly and wonderfully unsettled. "I was wrong. I aint never loved any body, not before now." Skittery rolled his eyes.
*.*.*.*
From his seat at the bar, Baron stopped cold, his drink frozen halfway between the ashy countertop and his quivering lips. That voice. . . he knew it. He hated it.
"Manca, go on an' get me pistol." He snarled, shoving a hand through his slippery mass of oil-like hair. "Noone comes inta Brooklyn's territory an' messes wid me. . ."
"Baron, cheese it!" Spot materialized at the boy's shoulder. Nursing a drink, he patted his friend stiffly on the back. "I don't want you startin' nothing tanight."
"But Spot. . Don't you know who dat is?" He pointed his glass towards the boy moving quickly in the opposite direction. "Racetrack, dat son of a- "
"You aint gonna touch Racetrack, got it?" The light banter did nothing to mask the tangable peril in Spot's voice. "See, Race may not be welcome, but he's got a lot a' friends all ovah New York, not just da Manhatten newsies. Plus Jacky boy really looks aftah him. . .I just don't need da trouble. You understand, Baron?"
"But Spot, he. . ." Like a bolt of lightning Spot's clenched fist struck the side of Baron's face, halting any further complaints. Shocked in to submission, the sullen newsie massaged a sore cheek as his leader regained composure. For him, the transition from perilous to friendly was as easy as flipping a switch, especially with a few pints of whisky stirring in his veins. Spot adjusted his crooked cap as his eyes cooled to their normal shade of gray.
"Now, let's not argue anymore, Baron. I like youse, but ya gotta learn ta listen ta what I say. An' I say, you aint touchin' Racetrack." Smiling, he handed the newsie his full glass. "Here, have anudder drink. Enjoy yourself. Oh, an' Baron?" As he melted into the crowd once again, Spot turned to his friend with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Happy New Yeah."
*.*.*.*
"So, why do dey call ya Ruby?" She smiled, in a breath taking show of child like happiness, telling her favorite story.
"Cos me ma was queen a da gypsy's, didn't you know? An' one day, der was dis jewel theif, an'. . ."
"Is any a dis true?" She shrugged playfully. "Ok, proove it. Read me palm."
"What?" Race laughed gently and showed her his hand, palm side up. "If youse a gypsy, den you could read palms. So go ahead."
Eyes narrowed suspiciously, she grasped his hand in hers. Carefully, Ruby traced her fingertips across the warm, thick-skinned heal of his palm and up and down the strong, inkstained fingers. As he leaned in closer, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled like paper and freshly baked bread from the street vendors that crowded New York's cobblestone sidewalks just after day break.
A voice from the direction of the bar momentarily broke through the spell as an unsteady newsie mounted his stool, pocket watch waved aloft to emphasize his slirred words.
"Hey all! Twen'y seconds ta midnight, right heah!" Biting her lip anxiously, Ruby turned back to the stranger.
"So whadya see?"
"Hmm. . ." He found her devotion to the make believe talent intoxicating. "Well, I see you aint really interested in knowin' your future. An' why do you keep lookin' at me like dat?"
"15. . .14. . .13. . ."
Cautiously Racetrack lifted his mask once again, reveling in the cool air against his flushed skin as he smiled sweetly. "Cos I think you're pretty. You look like an Angel." To his amusement, she blushed furiously.
"9. . .8. ."
"Well I aint an angel, any more den you are."
"Somehow I doubt dat. So anyways, If you really is an angel like I thinks you are, den maybe you could help me out."
"How?"
"Help me be like youse. Help me fly like youse."
"3. . .2. . .1. . ."
Not waiting for a reply, he slowly leaned into her, pressing against her soft lips with his. She tasted wonderfully warm and sweet. After a single moment that seemed to linger for eternity, their lips parted in a sudden rush of breath, leaving them staring, open mouthed, into eachothers eyes. Ruby could swear she saw stars in there.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The room errupted in a chorus of cheers and whistles.
"Wow. You. . .you've done dat before, I see." Ruby struggled for words, still caught up in the magic of her first kiss. As she felt the world spin beneath her feet, she knew in that moment that nobody else on the planet was more in love then she was.
"Ruby! Ruby!" The young girl turned in time to brace her self as Nanny's chubby figure came barreling into them. "Ruby, Lady wants ta talk ta youse.'
"About what?" Nan peered over her shoulder at Racetrack, before Ruby could side step to block her view.
"An' who's dis? It aint Frenchy, dats for soah."
"ABOUT WHAT, Nan?" sensing the tension in her friend's voice, Nan turned back to the task at hand.
"Somethin' about Blackee, or maybe it was about bees; I dunno, I weren't really listenin'. Now go on, 'fore she get's mad!" With a gentle shove to the small of her back, Nan sent Ruby flying off into the crowd. Moving quickly, Race placed a hand on Nan's shoulder to stop her from following.
"'Scuse me, Miss. Could you tell me, who da Hell is dat? I mean. . ." The plump news girl looked him up and down, casting a suspicious eye from the dilapidated mask perched on his head, to his grimy boots and back again.
"If ya must know, dat's Ruby. Raised her meself I did, from a li'l water logged tyke. But she's like Spot's sistah, so don't go getting any ideas. . ." Her grating voice trailed off in a blur as Race's head swam with the irony of it all. Ruby. Like Spot's sister. A BROOKLYNITE.
"Hey, Race!" Skittery elbowed his way through the pulsing, rowdy crowd, panting as he grabbed his stunned friend by the arm. "Time's up! Baron knows we's heah, an I trust dat guy as far as. . .you could throw him." Grinning madly, he pulled Racetrack towards Blink, swaying on his feet by the exit.
*.*.*.*
"Nan, come 'ere." Ruby beckoned from across the emptying saloon, wringing her small hands in anticipation. This had to be done carefully; She's never seen the stranger before their kiss, which meant in all probibility he wasn't a Brooklynite. Maybe a crasher from Queens or the West Side, they were always a nuisance at these parties, and if word got back to Spot. . .
"Did ya have a good time tanight, luv?" Nan laughed, the bliss of alcohol shining in her wide coppery eyes.
"Uh huh. . .Nan, who is dat guy, ovah der." She pointed to a random newsie still seated at the near abandonned counter.
"Oh, dat's Swivel. Nice kid, kinda simple, youse can do bettah den dat." Nanny replied, showing off her prized ear for gossip.
"An who's dat?"
"Da one in da blue vest? Diamond, now he's a good catch fer any goil - "
"Yeah, and, who was dat boy, you know, da one wid da paper mask?" With a look of delight, Nanny leaned in to whisper confidingly, though in her tipsy state the words came out at more of a yell.
"I heah dat's Racetrack, a Manhatten newsie! Can you imagine, dem Manhattenites showin' up heah, of all places?" Ruby lurched backwards in surprise, though Nan rambled on oblivious. "Dey say he's Jack Kelly's second in command, a real big wig over der. Careful a him, Ruby, you know dem Manhattenites only want one thing. . ."
Nodding distractedly, the younger girl turned on her heel and staggered towards the wall, leaving her friend conversing with the empty air. Leaning against the rough brick surface for support, she felt hot tears of frustration spring to her velvety sapphire eyes. "Kelly's second. I'm in love wid a Manhattenite." She groaned. "Gawd, just kill me now."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oh jeeze, you guys were right. Spot IS getting scary. Ok, well let's just say he's not really mean, just an aggressive drunk. Hmmm.
Damn, this chapter was a bit fluffy in the mary sue department, but it IS Romeo and Juliet, what could I do?
Okee dokee then, whadya think? You know what to do. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Or else Spot will hit you with his SHOE!
*DOLLFACE!!! YAY! I missed you! *waves madly at Dollface, who gives her this really weird look. . .* Anyways, ofcourse, ol' chum, there's nothing to forgive! I'm glad you read the story, and liked it! So here ya go, just for you I updated!!! ;) ooh, not to ramble, but how'd the concert go? Ehh- I bet ya knocked 'em dead! KEEP READING!!!
*Shortie- heehee, oh you are too much. Yay, you think about the chappie? That's great, and ya know? I don't even mind the capslocks. Yes, Blinks is mercutio, but I guess ya don't need me ta say it, good job! *pats on back* Hmm, I suppose I have wondered about that, but not of late, so thanks for reminding me to wonder. Oh, yes, race!muse was wonderful!!! *squeezes Race!muse who's sitting patiently next to her, whether he likes it or not*. Ok, well now to write, but thanks for reading! Keep doing it!
*Morning Dew- Oh, yay! That's what I was going for, I'm glad it wasn't too corny. It was gonna be Mush, but who can pass up Blinks when they stare into his eye? Keep reviewing! Gratci!!! (is that how you spell it? I dunno. . .)
*fearless- Ok, here ya go, I wrote more! But you knew that cause I emailed youse! See, I'm an author for the people. Heh heh heh. Hope ta hear from you again!
*Maggie- oh yay, you like! Yes, it does suck, doesn't it? My God, what am I doing to my sweet baboo Racetrack! I've put the boy in a mental institution, killed his unborn child, what else can I put him through? Anyways, despite that suckiness, thanks so much and keep reviewing!
*Monkey McCartney- Hmm. Yes, I suppose it does. . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot moved through the smoky bar room like a ball player dribbling down court, questioning waitresses and greeting party guests as he went.
"Hey, Blackee, how's it rollin? Looken good, Bristols, very good. Nice mask. 'Ey, Lady!" He paused long enough to throw an arm around his girlfriends hips and run a hand across her breasts.
"Spot, we'se in public!" She giggled, reveling in the attention.
"Well, I just can't seem ta help meself. Didya talk ta me goil Ruby?"
"Mmm, she said she'd look at Frenchy tanight. Dey would be a cute couple, wouldn't dey?" Lady flipped her hair and waited for the inevitable turn in the conversation, where Spotty would tell her how beautiful she herself looked. Maybe she could even drag him into the pantry for a quick go, if he wasn't too distracted. Turns out he was.
"Yeah, dey'd be great all right. Ya know, I just want da best fah her. I care about da kid . . ." For one rare moment, the hardened leader of Brooklyn let his feelings show through the well-built wall of machoism. But his sincerity only lasted a moment, soon to be replaced by the urgency of buisness.
"I'll see ya later, Lady." With a quick kiss, he left her cold in the middle of the floor, turning to joke with some close friend or employee.
*.*.*.*
"Ey, waitress!" Racetrack called a black-skirted bar tender and motioned towards the center of the infamous Red Hook. There stood a girl, not really his type - he prefered them older, and more experienced. By the expression of wide-eyed innocence written across her sweet face, this girl had never heard the names of half the things he'd done. Still, she took his breath away. "Who's dat?"
"Who do ya mean?" The bartender chewed distractedly on a cigarette as she struggled to balance the loaded trays in her straining arms.
"That goil, da one wid da brown hair. . .standin' near da wall."
"Dunno." The fading beauty shrugged and moved on, cursing as a wave of rum sloshed over the edge of one chipped glass. Briefly lifting the clumsy mask to get a better view, Race track turned back towards Ruby, sucking in an amorous breath between clenched teeth.
"Damn, who is she?"
"Race me boy!" Skittery stumbled into his friend and took it upon himself to lower the disguise. "Hey, do youse wanna get spotted? Whatsa matta wid you?"
"Skittery, ya know how I thought I loved dat udder goil?"
"Yeah."
He leaned against the sturdier newsie, chest suddenly and wonderfully unsettled. "I was wrong. I aint never loved any body, not before now." Skittery rolled his eyes.
*.*.*.*
From his seat at the bar, Baron stopped cold, his drink frozen halfway between the ashy countertop and his quivering lips. That voice. . . he knew it. He hated it.
"Manca, go on an' get me pistol." He snarled, shoving a hand through his slippery mass of oil-like hair. "Noone comes inta Brooklyn's territory an' messes wid me. . ."
"Baron, cheese it!" Spot materialized at the boy's shoulder. Nursing a drink, he patted his friend stiffly on the back. "I don't want you startin' nothing tanight."
"But Spot. . Don't you know who dat is?" He pointed his glass towards the boy moving quickly in the opposite direction. "Racetrack, dat son of a- "
"You aint gonna touch Racetrack, got it?" The light banter did nothing to mask the tangable peril in Spot's voice. "See, Race may not be welcome, but he's got a lot a' friends all ovah New York, not just da Manhatten newsies. Plus Jacky boy really looks aftah him. . .I just don't need da trouble. You understand, Baron?"
"But Spot, he. . ." Like a bolt of lightning Spot's clenched fist struck the side of Baron's face, halting any further complaints. Shocked in to submission, the sullen newsie massaged a sore cheek as his leader regained composure. For him, the transition from perilous to friendly was as easy as flipping a switch, especially with a few pints of whisky stirring in his veins. Spot adjusted his crooked cap as his eyes cooled to their normal shade of gray.
"Now, let's not argue anymore, Baron. I like youse, but ya gotta learn ta listen ta what I say. An' I say, you aint touchin' Racetrack." Smiling, he handed the newsie his full glass. "Here, have anudder drink. Enjoy yourself. Oh, an' Baron?" As he melted into the crowd once again, Spot turned to his friend with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Happy New Yeah."
*.*.*.*
"So, why do dey call ya Ruby?" She smiled, in a breath taking show of child like happiness, telling her favorite story.
"Cos me ma was queen a da gypsy's, didn't you know? An' one day, der was dis jewel theif, an'. . ."
"Is any a dis true?" She shrugged playfully. "Ok, proove it. Read me palm."
"What?" Race laughed gently and showed her his hand, palm side up. "If youse a gypsy, den you could read palms. So go ahead."
Eyes narrowed suspiciously, she grasped his hand in hers. Carefully, Ruby traced her fingertips across the warm, thick-skinned heal of his palm and up and down the strong, inkstained fingers. As he leaned in closer, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled like paper and freshly baked bread from the street vendors that crowded New York's cobblestone sidewalks just after day break.
A voice from the direction of the bar momentarily broke through the spell as an unsteady newsie mounted his stool, pocket watch waved aloft to emphasize his slirred words.
"Hey all! Twen'y seconds ta midnight, right heah!" Biting her lip anxiously, Ruby turned back to the stranger.
"So whadya see?"
"Hmm. . ." He found her devotion to the make believe talent intoxicating. "Well, I see you aint really interested in knowin' your future. An' why do you keep lookin' at me like dat?"
"15. . .14. . .13. . ."
Cautiously Racetrack lifted his mask once again, reveling in the cool air against his flushed skin as he smiled sweetly. "Cos I think you're pretty. You look like an Angel." To his amusement, she blushed furiously.
"9. . .8. ."
"Well I aint an angel, any more den you are."
"Somehow I doubt dat. So anyways, If you really is an angel like I thinks you are, den maybe you could help me out."
"How?"
"Help me be like youse. Help me fly like youse."
"3. . .2. . .1. . ."
Not waiting for a reply, he slowly leaned into her, pressing against her soft lips with his. She tasted wonderfully warm and sweet. After a single moment that seemed to linger for eternity, their lips parted in a sudden rush of breath, leaving them staring, open mouthed, into eachothers eyes. Ruby could swear she saw stars in there.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The room errupted in a chorus of cheers and whistles.
"Wow. You. . .you've done dat before, I see." Ruby struggled for words, still caught up in the magic of her first kiss. As she felt the world spin beneath her feet, she knew in that moment that nobody else on the planet was more in love then she was.
"Ruby! Ruby!" The young girl turned in time to brace her self as Nanny's chubby figure came barreling into them. "Ruby, Lady wants ta talk ta youse.'
"About what?" Nan peered over her shoulder at Racetrack, before Ruby could side step to block her view.
"An' who's dis? It aint Frenchy, dats for soah."
"ABOUT WHAT, Nan?" sensing the tension in her friend's voice, Nan turned back to the task at hand.
"Somethin' about Blackee, or maybe it was about bees; I dunno, I weren't really listenin'. Now go on, 'fore she get's mad!" With a gentle shove to the small of her back, Nan sent Ruby flying off into the crowd. Moving quickly, Race placed a hand on Nan's shoulder to stop her from following.
"'Scuse me, Miss. Could you tell me, who da Hell is dat? I mean. . ." The plump news girl looked him up and down, casting a suspicious eye from the dilapidated mask perched on his head, to his grimy boots and back again.
"If ya must know, dat's Ruby. Raised her meself I did, from a li'l water logged tyke. But she's like Spot's sistah, so don't go getting any ideas. . ." Her grating voice trailed off in a blur as Race's head swam with the irony of it all. Ruby. Like Spot's sister. A BROOKLYNITE.
"Hey, Race!" Skittery elbowed his way through the pulsing, rowdy crowd, panting as he grabbed his stunned friend by the arm. "Time's up! Baron knows we's heah, an I trust dat guy as far as. . .you could throw him." Grinning madly, he pulled Racetrack towards Blink, swaying on his feet by the exit.
*.*.*.*
"Nan, come 'ere." Ruby beckoned from across the emptying saloon, wringing her small hands in anticipation. This had to be done carefully; She's never seen the stranger before their kiss, which meant in all probibility he wasn't a Brooklynite. Maybe a crasher from Queens or the West Side, they were always a nuisance at these parties, and if word got back to Spot. . .
"Did ya have a good time tanight, luv?" Nan laughed, the bliss of alcohol shining in her wide coppery eyes.
"Uh huh. . .Nan, who is dat guy, ovah der." She pointed to a random newsie still seated at the near abandonned counter.
"Oh, dat's Swivel. Nice kid, kinda simple, youse can do bettah den dat." Nanny replied, showing off her prized ear for gossip.
"An who's dat?"
"Da one in da blue vest? Diamond, now he's a good catch fer any goil - "
"Yeah, and, who was dat boy, you know, da one wid da paper mask?" With a look of delight, Nanny leaned in to whisper confidingly, though in her tipsy state the words came out at more of a yell.
"I heah dat's Racetrack, a Manhatten newsie! Can you imagine, dem Manhattenites showin' up heah, of all places?" Ruby lurched backwards in surprise, though Nan rambled on oblivious. "Dey say he's Jack Kelly's second in command, a real big wig over der. Careful a him, Ruby, you know dem Manhattenites only want one thing. . ."
Nodding distractedly, the younger girl turned on her heel and staggered towards the wall, leaving her friend conversing with the empty air. Leaning against the rough brick surface for support, she felt hot tears of frustration spring to her velvety sapphire eyes. "Kelly's second. I'm in love wid a Manhattenite." She groaned. "Gawd, just kill me now."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oh jeeze, you guys were right. Spot IS getting scary. Ok, well let's just say he's not really mean, just an aggressive drunk. Hmmm.
Damn, this chapter was a bit fluffy in the mary sue department, but it IS Romeo and Juliet, what could I do?
Okee dokee then, whadya think? You know what to do. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Or else Spot will hit you with his SHOE!