Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch
*Misprint- oh, yay, this review makes me tres happy. You don't have to explain, really, but if you fell the need. . .J/K! (or am I? *twirls imaginary mustache*) One think I HAVE to as you, when does it say "Here's your knife" in Newsies? I've watched the whole movie, and I can't find it!!! It's driving me MAD! Yes, really to bad about Racey - poo, but we're a long way off, so keep reading! And REVIEWING!
*Dollface- YAY! I'm so glad you liked it, that's my favorite part too and I didn't wanna cheapen it up or anything! (Shakespeare must be rollin over in his grave with all this damn talk about Bristols though. . .) Oh, and SOMEONE hasn't been UPDATING!! So don't waste your time on this babble (J/K, please do!) and go write!
*Shortie- oh, oh gosh. . .*staggers backwards completely taken by surprise* idol? OMG, why sure, but only if you can be mine! This is the time. . . was awesome, definitely write more like it! And oh gawd that friggin flamer for Santa fe. . .*grits teeth and hugs Race!muse a bit too hard for comfort* you are so much better then that, keep writing!
*Monkey McCartney- oh thankyou, thankyou, I'd take sweet over corny/sappy any day, so that's really a great compliment! Ahh, the fire escape. . .I would that Racey were standing under my fire escape right now. . .*runs to check, but he's not there. Grrr.*
*Jo- oh, yes yes ofcourse, since you asked so nicely, here is an update just for you!!! I hope you're brain did not explode waiting, that did take a long time, for me that is. . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The bottle of whisky lay half-hidden beneath the rumpled sheets of an anonymous newsie's empty bunk. With a sigh, Kloppman's trembling and warped old fingers closed around the flask, filled with the remains of some glittering amber liquid; God knows what, as his eyes were too cloudy these days to read the fine print of the label. Though alchohaul was hardly allowed in the Lodging Quarters, these afternoon cleanings never failed to produce a stray shot glass or two. These kids would never learn.
"'Ey, Kloppman! Kloppman!" The graying old man jumped at the sound of Race's foot steps thundering up the groaning wooden staircase. Flushed with excitement and gasping for breath, the scrappy Italian turned the corner with a spring in his step and a tune on his lips.
"Mmm, you didn't sleep last night, did you?" The sight of Race's neatly made bed told the story.
"Nah, I don't need sleep. I been on da go fah hours, coffee should be drinkin' me!" He laughed.
"Well, you didn't sleep here. . ." His kind eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe you found room in Bristol's bed?"
"Wha- Bristol? No! An' anyways, I'm ovah dat." Race leaned against the frame of a nearby bunk, a dreamy look hovering in his large eyes. "See, der's dis goil. . ."
"Uh huh." Kloppman paused in his tidying long enough to roll his eyes. With Race, there was always a girl.
". . .'Er name's Ruby. Aint dat a great name?"
"Breathtaking." The old man nodded distractedly. Race missed the jibe completely.
"You're right about dat. So dis goil, she's da one."
"The one?"
"Da one I wanna spend me life wid." With a love sick sigh he collapsed on the bunk, then promptly fell to the grubby wooden floorboards with a THUD as Kloppman yanked off the sheets to change them.
"Racetrack, I care for you like a son. But you, my boy, change lovers more then the rules in a poker game."
"But this time it's fah real. I know it is, not like last time. I t'ink, I wanna marry her."
"MARRY? Are you CRAZY, boy?" The man doubled over, seized by a sudden coughing fit. Race gestured absentmindedly from his spot on the floor.
"Breath, Kloppman. It's good fah your health."
"My health is not the problem!" With a shuddering sigh, he lowered himself painfully onto the bunk above Race, making every effort to speak kindly. These kids would be the death of him someday. "Racetrack, you can't rush into these things. What if you'd married that floozy girl, Bristols was her name? You'd have woken up with a hangover and a wife named after the female anatomy."
"Hey, dat aint fair!" The newsie staggered to his feet. "I was nevah serious about Bristol's anyways. . ."
"Mm hmm."
". . .And she definitely wasn't serious about me. Dis goil, she loves me. She said so. Anyways," He stared down at his hands, ink-stained and scarred from years filled with nights spent curled up on the streets, defending his stoop or overhang from any punk who tried to wrestle it from him. If not for Kloppman, he'd probably still be there, huddled in the gutter for warmth. Or else he'd be dead. "You got a brudder who's a preachah, don't you Kloppman? You could make dis happen, I know it. Der's just one catch- she's from Brooklyn." Kloppman stopped dead in his tracks as Racetrack continued, oblivious. "Infact, she's like Conlon's little sistah. So dat's why we gotta do dis fast, 'afore he finds out." Finally he glanced up at Kloppman, desparation in his liquid brown eyes. "Please, do dis for me?"
Though his worry-lined face remained stoic and unmoving as always, Kloppman's head spun with the possibilities. He was tired of this rivalry, tired of seeing the boy's he loved like his own children ripped apart by a meaningless fued. Tired of bathing the cuts and broken bones as his newsies stumbled in in the dead of night, groaning in pain as they told the same story over and over again, another fight. Most of all, he was tired of posting the "Bed Empty" sign in the front window when one of his newsies didn't come home. "Maybe. . . maybe." He turned to Racetrack, egged on by the voice in his head telling him this could change it all. The union of a Brooklynite and a Manhattenite, why, it might even end the war. "Yes, Race. I'll help you."
*.*.*.*
Kid Blink squinted into the rising sun, moaning as the light peirced his brain like a thousand hammers. With a half-hearted sigh he leaned back against the bronzed statue, trying not to jar his head. 'I'll nevah drink again' He though, then swigged down an early morning drink to ease the pain of his hangover. "'Ey, Skitts, you seen Racetrack since last night?"
"Nah." His friend broke off jabbing at thin air with his wooden staff, settling down in the dust below Blink. "He nevah came home. I talked ta Jack at da distribution office dis mornin', he aint seen 'im neither."
"Must be dat goil, whatser name? She's drivin' im mad." He paused for a drag of his cigarette, sheltering the fragile flame from a sudden, harsh gust of wind. "Yup, he's crazy alright."
"Baron sent 'im a note, ya knows."
"Dat so?"
"Yup. One a' his stooges gave it ta me dis mornin'. Says he wants a fight." Blink smirked, burrowing down in his thin Jacket and jamming his fists inside the torn pockets for warmth.
"Wonder what Racey's gonna do about it."
Skittery looked up, offended . "He's gonna beat 'im, dat's what 'e's gonna do about it. You t'ink he can't?" In a cloud of dust Blink's feet met the cobblestones. He smacked Skittery good-naturedly on the cheek and disarmed him of his favorite stick, jabbing playfully at the boy's chest as he danced back and forth. The newsie leaped to his feet, just in time to throw himself back to the ground to avoid Blink's wild stabs.
"I'll tell ya one t'ing, Baron may be a well-dressed pansy, but 'e aint no suckah. In one thrust, just ONE shove. . ." He rested the end of the staff over Skittery's heart as he lay smiling and panting on the ground. "Bang, ya pushin' up da daisies." Blink reached down and gave his friend a hand up, the mischevious smile fading from his clenched lips. "'E's awso a hoity toity, good fah nothin' fairy. I hate da bastid." Gazing into his friend's blazing eyes, Skittery felt a shiver run down his spine, shaking his very soul.
"Skitts! Blink!" The two turned to see Racetrack sprinting towards them from across the square. Blink grinned, his rage momentarily forgotten.
"Racey! How do ya do? Der, dat's a worthy greetin' to your nonsence, aint it? Ya stepped out on us last night."
"Who, me?"
"Yeah, aint you a peach."
He shrugged apologetically. "I 'ad important bizness. You undahstand, I had ta bow out."
"You mean ya had ta bend ovah for Bristol?"
"Least I weren't bent ovah wid me head in da john like you was." Blink laughed and through his arms open.
"Der, aint dis bettah den your love-sick crap? Don't you feel bettah, now dat you'se yourself?" Race's eyes twinkled, but he kept quiet when he saw a familiar figure approaching from behind Blink's shoulder.
"Well, hows about dis?"
Nanny huffed as she trudged up, carrying her heavy skirts as they trailed through the dust behind her. She did her best to ignore the cat calls and whistles from Kid Blink's direction. "G'day, boys. Could ya tell me, which one a you bummers is Racetrack?"
Skittery stepped forwards, his armed crossed. "Who wants ta know?"
"Yeah, did our Racey stand you up or somethin', sweety?" She sniffed as she sized up the newsie, from the jaunty leather eye patch to the impish grin.
"I soah hopes you aint him, fah Ruby's sake."
"You came from Ruby?" Race stepped forwards eagerly, as his friend threw is arms out in exasperation.
"Race, me and Skitts is goin' ovah ta Tibby's ta meet Jack. You comin?" He shook his head distractedly. "Ok den, but careful Race, she might eat ya!" Blink snickered and pranced off, laughing with Skittery as he went.
"Sorry about 'im, miss, 'e just loves ta hear hisself talk. . ." he broke off at Nanny's pudgy finger in his face.
"You t'ink I don't know your type? Well, I do, an' if you aint serious about my Ruby, if you's just leadin' er on, den so help me I'se gonna come aftah you meself!"
Race frowned. "Miss, I aint leadin' her on, I wouldn't do dat. I love 'er. And I wanna be wid her." "If you tell her ta meet me at Father Kloppman's taday at noon. . ." inhaling a cloud of frigid air that froze his lungs, he stared at the newsgirl with all the honesty and innocence he could muster. "Den she's gonna find herself a husband." Above their heads, the wind howled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
M'eh, whadya think? To my credit, it's late, and I'm pooped. Too pooped even to think of a new brillian scheme to procure reviews, so we're just gonna go with that shoe thing again. That seemed to work well. REVIEW!!!!
[pic] [pic] [pic]
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*Misprint- oh, yay, this review makes me tres happy. You don't have to explain, really, but if you fell the need. . .J/K! (or am I? *twirls imaginary mustache*) One think I HAVE to as you, when does it say "Here's your knife" in Newsies? I've watched the whole movie, and I can't find it!!! It's driving me MAD! Yes, really to bad about Racey - poo, but we're a long way off, so keep reading! And REVIEWING!
*Dollface- YAY! I'm so glad you liked it, that's my favorite part too and I didn't wanna cheapen it up or anything! (Shakespeare must be rollin over in his grave with all this damn talk about Bristols though. . .) Oh, and SOMEONE hasn't been UPDATING!! So don't waste your time on this babble (J/K, please do!) and go write!
*Shortie- oh, oh gosh. . .*staggers backwards completely taken by surprise* idol? OMG, why sure, but only if you can be mine! This is the time. . . was awesome, definitely write more like it! And oh gawd that friggin flamer for Santa fe. . .*grits teeth and hugs Race!muse a bit too hard for comfort* you are so much better then that, keep writing!
*Monkey McCartney- oh thankyou, thankyou, I'd take sweet over corny/sappy any day, so that's really a great compliment! Ahh, the fire escape. . .I would that Racey were standing under my fire escape right now. . .*runs to check, but he's not there. Grrr.*
*Jo- oh, yes yes ofcourse, since you asked so nicely, here is an update just for you!!! I hope you're brain did not explode waiting, that did take a long time, for me that is. . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The bottle of whisky lay half-hidden beneath the rumpled sheets of an anonymous newsie's empty bunk. With a sigh, Kloppman's trembling and warped old fingers closed around the flask, filled with the remains of some glittering amber liquid; God knows what, as his eyes were too cloudy these days to read the fine print of the label. Though alchohaul was hardly allowed in the Lodging Quarters, these afternoon cleanings never failed to produce a stray shot glass or two. These kids would never learn.
"'Ey, Kloppman! Kloppman!" The graying old man jumped at the sound of Race's foot steps thundering up the groaning wooden staircase. Flushed with excitement and gasping for breath, the scrappy Italian turned the corner with a spring in his step and a tune on his lips.
"Mmm, you didn't sleep last night, did you?" The sight of Race's neatly made bed told the story.
"Nah, I don't need sleep. I been on da go fah hours, coffee should be drinkin' me!" He laughed.
"Well, you didn't sleep here. . ." His kind eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe you found room in Bristol's bed?"
"Wha- Bristol? No! An' anyways, I'm ovah dat." Race leaned against the frame of a nearby bunk, a dreamy look hovering in his large eyes. "See, der's dis goil. . ."
"Uh huh." Kloppman paused in his tidying long enough to roll his eyes. With Race, there was always a girl.
". . .'Er name's Ruby. Aint dat a great name?"
"Breathtaking." The old man nodded distractedly. Race missed the jibe completely.
"You're right about dat. So dis goil, she's da one."
"The one?"
"Da one I wanna spend me life wid." With a love sick sigh he collapsed on the bunk, then promptly fell to the grubby wooden floorboards with a THUD as Kloppman yanked off the sheets to change them.
"Racetrack, I care for you like a son. But you, my boy, change lovers more then the rules in a poker game."
"But this time it's fah real. I know it is, not like last time. I t'ink, I wanna marry her."
"MARRY? Are you CRAZY, boy?" The man doubled over, seized by a sudden coughing fit. Race gestured absentmindedly from his spot on the floor.
"Breath, Kloppman. It's good fah your health."
"My health is not the problem!" With a shuddering sigh, he lowered himself painfully onto the bunk above Race, making every effort to speak kindly. These kids would be the death of him someday. "Racetrack, you can't rush into these things. What if you'd married that floozy girl, Bristols was her name? You'd have woken up with a hangover and a wife named after the female anatomy."
"Hey, dat aint fair!" The newsie staggered to his feet. "I was nevah serious about Bristol's anyways. . ."
"Mm hmm."
". . .And she definitely wasn't serious about me. Dis goil, she loves me. She said so. Anyways," He stared down at his hands, ink-stained and scarred from years filled with nights spent curled up on the streets, defending his stoop or overhang from any punk who tried to wrestle it from him. If not for Kloppman, he'd probably still be there, huddled in the gutter for warmth. Or else he'd be dead. "You got a brudder who's a preachah, don't you Kloppman? You could make dis happen, I know it. Der's just one catch- she's from Brooklyn." Kloppman stopped dead in his tracks as Racetrack continued, oblivious. "Infact, she's like Conlon's little sistah. So dat's why we gotta do dis fast, 'afore he finds out." Finally he glanced up at Kloppman, desparation in his liquid brown eyes. "Please, do dis for me?"
Though his worry-lined face remained stoic and unmoving as always, Kloppman's head spun with the possibilities. He was tired of this rivalry, tired of seeing the boy's he loved like his own children ripped apart by a meaningless fued. Tired of bathing the cuts and broken bones as his newsies stumbled in in the dead of night, groaning in pain as they told the same story over and over again, another fight. Most of all, he was tired of posting the "Bed Empty" sign in the front window when one of his newsies didn't come home. "Maybe. . . maybe." He turned to Racetrack, egged on by the voice in his head telling him this could change it all. The union of a Brooklynite and a Manhattenite, why, it might even end the war. "Yes, Race. I'll help you."
*.*.*.*
Kid Blink squinted into the rising sun, moaning as the light peirced his brain like a thousand hammers. With a half-hearted sigh he leaned back against the bronzed statue, trying not to jar his head. 'I'll nevah drink again' He though, then swigged down an early morning drink to ease the pain of his hangover. "'Ey, Skitts, you seen Racetrack since last night?"
"Nah." His friend broke off jabbing at thin air with his wooden staff, settling down in the dust below Blink. "He nevah came home. I talked ta Jack at da distribution office dis mornin', he aint seen 'im neither."
"Must be dat goil, whatser name? She's drivin' im mad." He paused for a drag of his cigarette, sheltering the fragile flame from a sudden, harsh gust of wind. "Yup, he's crazy alright."
"Baron sent 'im a note, ya knows."
"Dat so?"
"Yup. One a' his stooges gave it ta me dis mornin'. Says he wants a fight." Blink smirked, burrowing down in his thin Jacket and jamming his fists inside the torn pockets for warmth.
"Wonder what Racey's gonna do about it."
Skittery looked up, offended . "He's gonna beat 'im, dat's what 'e's gonna do about it. You t'ink he can't?" In a cloud of dust Blink's feet met the cobblestones. He smacked Skittery good-naturedly on the cheek and disarmed him of his favorite stick, jabbing playfully at the boy's chest as he danced back and forth. The newsie leaped to his feet, just in time to throw himself back to the ground to avoid Blink's wild stabs.
"I'll tell ya one t'ing, Baron may be a well-dressed pansy, but 'e aint no suckah. In one thrust, just ONE shove. . ." He rested the end of the staff over Skittery's heart as he lay smiling and panting on the ground. "Bang, ya pushin' up da daisies." Blink reached down and gave his friend a hand up, the mischevious smile fading from his clenched lips. "'E's awso a hoity toity, good fah nothin' fairy. I hate da bastid." Gazing into his friend's blazing eyes, Skittery felt a shiver run down his spine, shaking his very soul.
"Skitts! Blink!" The two turned to see Racetrack sprinting towards them from across the square. Blink grinned, his rage momentarily forgotten.
"Racey! How do ya do? Der, dat's a worthy greetin' to your nonsence, aint it? Ya stepped out on us last night."
"Who, me?"
"Yeah, aint you a peach."
He shrugged apologetically. "I 'ad important bizness. You undahstand, I had ta bow out."
"You mean ya had ta bend ovah for Bristol?"
"Least I weren't bent ovah wid me head in da john like you was." Blink laughed and through his arms open.
"Der, aint dis bettah den your love-sick crap? Don't you feel bettah, now dat you'se yourself?" Race's eyes twinkled, but he kept quiet when he saw a familiar figure approaching from behind Blink's shoulder.
"Well, hows about dis?"
Nanny huffed as she trudged up, carrying her heavy skirts as they trailed through the dust behind her. She did her best to ignore the cat calls and whistles from Kid Blink's direction. "G'day, boys. Could ya tell me, which one a you bummers is Racetrack?"
Skittery stepped forwards, his armed crossed. "Who wants ta know?"
"Yeah, did our Racey stand you up or somethin', sweety?" She sniffed as she sized up the newsie, from the jaunty leather eye patch to the impish grin.
"I soah hopes you aint him, fah Ruby's sake."
"You came from Ruby?" Race stepped forwards eagerly, as his friend threw is arms out in exasperation.
"Race, me and Skitts is goin' ovah ta Tibby's ta meet Jack. You comin?" He shook his head distractedly. "Ok den, but careful Race, she might eat ya!" Blink snickered and pranced off, laughing with Skittery as he went.
"Sorry about 'im, miss, 'e just loves ta hear hisself talk. . ." he broke off at Nanny's pudgy finger in his face.
"You t'ink I don't know your type? Well, I do, an' if you aint serious about my Ruby, if you's just leadin' er on, den so help me I'se gonna come aftah you meself!"
Race frowned. "Miss, I aint leadin' her on, I wouldn't do dat. I love 'er. And I wanna be wid her." "If you tell her ta meet me at Father Kloppman's taday at noon. . ." inhaling a cloud of frigid air that froze his lungs, he stared at the newsgirl with all the honesty and innocence he could muster. "Den she's gonna find herself a husband." Above their heads, the wind howled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
M'eh, whadya think? To my credit, it's late, and I'm pooped. Too pooped even to think of a new brillian scheme to procure reviews, so we're just gonna go with that shoe thing again. That seemed to work well. REVIEW!!!!
[pic] [pic] [pic]
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