Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch
Wow, looky here, that was a REALLY quick little update!
*Shortie- oh WOW! I've always aspired to be a minion! MWAHAAHAA, the aboslute POWER! Anyways, well since you asked so nicely, sure! You could be in it, I guess Mush can have his arm wrapped around a girl when the time comes, just give me a description!! Yeah, Race hasn't had much time to gamble, what with the irrational obsession and all, (j/k, kind of) The whole song thing, well, you're a lot better at that then I am, but they needed a little wedding song filler, and I didn't want to write TOO much wedding bliss. Hence, amazing grace. Well thanks for reviewing my insignificant little chapter, enjoy!
*Misprint- Yes, I agree, the momentary lack of Shakespeare was nessesary. Mm, I'd like to believe Spotty can just move at lightning speed, it wasn't REALLY a mistake. Sorry that last chapter was so, uh, crappy. Here's a better one, I hope. R/R!!!!!
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An indian summer had swept over the streets of Manhatten, melting the frosts and sending a river of murky water flowing along the cobblestone side walks, taking everything in it's path with it. It was too early, Skittery reflected as he squinted up at the violent sun, glaring down like a single, fiery eye. Noone was ready for the heat.
"Hey Blink!" Skittery panted, peeling back the thread-bare pink shirt that clung to his sweat soaked chest. "Come on, let's go ta Tibby's or somethin'. It's Gawd damn near boilin' out heah, an' I hoid Brooklyn's out lookin' fah blood today! You know people got short tempahs when it's hot." Kid Blink paused in his boxing match with the nearby shrubbery and turned to face his friend, perched listlessly on the base of their favorite, sunwarmed statue.
"Well, listen ta da pot callin' da kettle black."
"Whadya mean?"
"Skitts me boy, let's face it. You're a madman in disquise, you is. You're like dat guy who walks inta a bar, slaps 'is gun on da counter an prays 'e won't need ta use it, but by 'is third tequilla shoots a guy in da head fah lookin' at 'im cross eyed." Blinks grinned, drawing the gleaming pistol he kept tucked in the waste band of his trowsers and flicking it playfully in his friend's face. Skittery frowned, unflinching.
"No, I aint. Am I?"
"Skitts, you go through fights like crap through a goose." Chuckling, he twirled the gun expertly before slipping it back into place.
"Yeah, well if I was half as bad as you, half a New York would buy me life for a cup a' coffee." The newsie glanced up at the sounds of wild laughter drifting across the square. "Gawd, heah comes Brooklyn." Blink patted his friend on the shoulder and climbed the statue, resting his feet carelessly on the arms of a bronzed Horus Greely.
"Let 'em come."
The Brooklyn Newsie approached, dripping with threat from his oiled black hair to the gleaming black shoes, far too fancy to grace your average newsie's feet. Dragging on a cigar, he gestured grandly at the two Manhattenites, to the amusement of his cronies. "Could I have a woid wid one a youse?"
"Ahh, is dat da best you could do, Baron? Can't ya make it, say, a woid an' a swing?"
Baron smirked. "I'm lookin fah Racetrack. Figured you might know where he is, Blink, or aint you seen 'im since he left ya bed dis mornin'?" A deadly tension blanketed the air as Blink stood suddenly, trembling with rage.
"You should NOT have said dat, Baron." In a last ditch effort for peace, Skittery placed a restraining hand on his friend's back.
"Come on, Blink, we's in public. People are startin' ta stare. Let's just take dis somewhere else, so's we don't end up in da refuge, ey?"
"So let 'em stare, I aint movin' for noone." Fuming, he stalked towards his leering opponent. Just then, Baron held up a hand.
"Hold on, here comes just da man I wanted ta see." Racetrack, who'd been sprinting across the square on a quest to tell his friends the good news, tie streaming behind him, stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his enemy. Blink grinned.
"Here 'e is, indeed. Now we'll see what you'se made of. Racetrack!" Breathing deeply, Race passed his friend and strolled slowly up to Baron.
"Listen, Baron, I aint gonna fight wid youse. See, der's a reason I can't, a better one den you know." With his bride in mind, the newsie extended a hand. After a lingering moment of confusion, rage dawned on Baron's face.
"You can't get away wid dis, ya bum. After all you done ta me?" Race scoffed.
"Aww, I aint never hoit youse, Baron." Whipping out an iron fist, the raging boy punched him across the mouth. Startled, Race reached up to wipe away the trickle of blood, but didn't return the blow.
"What is dis?" Kid Blink, who'd been watching the face off with growing discust, stepped forward. "If Race aint gonna fight youse, Baron, den I'll just have ta do it."
"Cheese it! BLINK! Skittery, help me!" The newsie shrugged out of Race's grasp, a sneer that dripped with menace forming on his lips. With a flick of Baron's wrist, the ultimate challenge, he charged.
"BROOKLYN!" The two met in a clash of battle cries and punches; fists flew, teeth clenched; and blood ran.
"You're finished, Manhatten!"
"Oh, I aint even started yet." Consumed by the red mists of blind fury, Blink found himself bent over his floundering opponent, the red-stained pistol pressed to the boy's heaving temple, his finger inching towards the trigger.
"No, Don't!" Racetrack threw himself between the two, desparately grasping at Blink's arms. "Blink. . ." He pleaded, staring into his friend's flashing eyes. Too busy calming his friend, he never noticed Baron staggering to his feet in the background until he found the Newsie's arm thrust beneath his, one trembling fist grasping the chipped handle of an outdated street knife. He never saw the blade though; it was already imbedded in Blink's stomach. With his heart down around his feet, he watched in horror as the boy's face, inches from his, contorted in pain and shock. "Blink?" Pale and glistening with sweat, Kid Blink staggered backwards, taking the knife with him. Slowly, he gazed down at his abdomen.
"Wow. . . I . . .been stabbed." He muttered beneath his breath. As if in slow motion, he clasped his bloodied hands around the handle and, in a shuddering, heart-wrenching cry of pain, pulled the knife from his body. It fell to the dust with a clatter.
"Oh, Gawd, Blink!" Skittery cried, before falling to his hands and knees and vomitting in the dust. To Race's releif and amazement, Blink managed a small, quivering smile.
"It's nothin'." He croaked. "Just, just a scratch."
Race stepped tentatively forwards. "Blink, you ok?"
"Sure." He staggered forwards, one hand clasped to his front. With the other he slapped his friend's cheek. "I'se told ya, it's just a scratch." He laughed, a dry chuckle that soon dissolved into sobs. "But it'll do." He glanced upwards for the first time, sadness welling in his hazel eye. "Why, Race? Why'd ya do it?"
"I'm sorry. . ." He struggled to choke back the tears. "I thought, I thought I was doin' da right thing. . ."
"Skitts, help me?" Still trembling, his normally tanned skin turned pale as a ghost, Skittery climbed unsteadily to his feet. Shakily he rushed to Blink's side.
"It'll be ok, pal. You'll be ok - BLINK!" He sobbed as his friend collapsed, folding over onto the ground. Swiftly Racetrack moved to cradle the shivering boy in his arms.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Blink nodded weakly through his tears, though his eyes still burned with sorrow.
"You an' Baron, Gawd damn da both a youse ta hell!" He heaved a final sigh as Racetrack howled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, *Sniffle*, we all knew it would come to this. Poor Blink. Poor, poor Blink. On a lighter note, Review! Turn that frown upside down! *Runs off sobbing, looking for a race!muse to hug*
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!
Wow, looky here, that was a REALLY quick little update!
*Shortie- oh WOW! I've always aspired to be a minion! MWAHAAHAA, the aboslute POWER! Anyways, well since you asked so nicely, sure! You could be in it, I guess Mush can have his arm wrapped around a girl when the time comes, just give me a description!! Yeah, Race hasn't had much time to gamble, what with the irrational obsession and all, (j/k, kind of) The whole song thing, well, you're a lot better at that then I am, but they needed a little wedding song filler, and I didn't want to write TOO much wedding bliss. Hence, amazing grace. Well thanks for reviewing my insignificant little chapter, enjoy!
*Misprint- Yes, I agree, the momentary lack of Shakespeare was nessesary. Mm, I'd like to believe Spotty can just move at lightning speed, it wasn't REALLY a mistake. Sorry that last chapter was so, uh, crappy. Here's a better one, I hope. R/R!!!!!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An indian summer had swept over the streets of Manhatten, melting the frosts and sending a river of murky water flowing along the cobblestone side walks, taking everything in it's path with it. It was too early, Skittery reflected as he squinted up at the violent sun, glaring down like a single, fiery eye. Noone was ready for the heat.
"Hey Blink!" Skittery panted, peeling back the thread-bare pink shirt that clung to his sweat soaked chest. "Come on, let's go ta Tibby's or somethin'. It's Gawd damn near boilin' out heah, an' I hoid Brooklyn's out lookin' fah blood today! You know people got short tempahs when it's hot." Kid Blink paused in his boxing match with the nearby shrubbery and turned to face his friend, perched listlessly on the base of their favorite, sunwarmed statue.
"Well, listen ta da pot callin' da kettle black."
"Whadya mean?"
"Skitts me boy, let's face it. You're a madman in disquise, you is. You're like dat guy who walks inta a bar, slaps 'is gun on da counter an prays 'e won't need ta use it, but by 'is third tequilla shoots a guy in da head fah lookin' at 'im cross eyed." Blinks grinned, drawing the gleaming pistol he kept tucked in the waste band of his trowsers and flicking it playfully in his friend's face. Skittery frowned, unflinching.
"No, I aint. Am I?"
"Skitts, you go through fights like crap through a goose." Chuckling, he twirled the gun expertly before slipping it back into place.
"Yeah, well if I was half as bad as you, half a New York would buy me life for a cup a' coffee." The newsie glanced up at the sounds of wild laughter drifting across the square. "Gawd, heah comes Brooklyn." Blink patted his friend on the shoulder and climbed the statue, resting his feet carelessly on the arms of a bronzed Horus Greely.
"Let 'em come."
The Brooklyn Newsie approached, dripping with threat from his oiled black hair to the gleaming black shoes, far too fancy to grace your average newsie's feet. Dragging on a cigar, he gestured grandly at the two Manhattenites, to the amusement of his cronies. "Could I have a woid wid one a youse?"
"Ahh, is dat da best you could do, Baron? Can't ya make it, say, a woid an' a swing?"
Baron smirked. "I'm lookin fah Racetrack. Figured you might know where he is, Blink, or aint you seen 'im since he left ya bed dis mornin'?" A deadly tension blanketed the air as Blink stood suddenly, trembling with rage.
"You should NOT have said dat, Baron." In a last ditch effort for peace, Skittery placed a restraining hand on his friend's back.
"Come on, Blink, we's in public. People are startin' ta stare. Let's just take dis somewhere else, so's we don't end up in da refuge, ey?"
"So let 'em stare, I aint movin' for noone." Fuming, he stalked towards his leering opponent. Just then, Baron held up a hand.
"Hold on, here comes just da man I wanted ta see." Racetrack, who'd been sprinting across the square on a quest to tell his friends the good news, tie streaming behind him, stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his enemy. Blink grinned.
"Here 'e is, indeed. Now we'll see what you'se made of. Racetrack!" Breathing deeply, Race passed his friend and strolled slowly up to Baron.
"Listen, Baron, I aint gonna fight wid youse. See, der's a reason I can't, a better one den you know." With his bride in mind, the newsie extended a hand. After a lingering moment of confusion, rage dawned on Baron's face.
"You can't get away wid dis, ya bum. After all you done ta me?" Race scoffed.
"Aww, I aint never hoit youse, Baron." Whipping out an iron fist, the raging boy punched him across the mouth. Startled, Race reached up to wipe away the trickle of blood, but didn't return the blow.
"What is dis?" Kid Blink, who'd been watching the face off with growing discust, stepped forward. "If Race aint gonna fight youse, Baron, den I'll just have ta do it."
"Cheese it! BLINK! Skittery, help me!" The newsie shrugged out of Race's grasp, a sneer that dripped with menace forming on his lips. With a flick of Baron's wrist, the ultimate challenge, he charged.
"BROOKLYN!" The two met in a clash of battle cries and punches; fists flew, teeth clenched; and blood ran.
"You're finished, Manhatten!"
"Oh, I aint even started yet." Consumed by the red mists of blind fury, Blink found himself bent over his floundering opponent, the red-stained pistol pressed to the boy's heaving temple, his finger inching towards the trigger.
"No, Don't!" Racetrack threw himself between the two, desparately grasping at Blink's arms. "Blink. . ." He pleaded, staring into his friend's flashing eyes. Too busy calming his friend, he never noticed Baron staggering to his feet in the background until he found the Newsie's arm thrust beneath his, one trembling fist grasping the chipped handle of an outdated street knife. He never saw the blade though; it was already imbedded in Blink's stomach. With his heart down around his feet, he watched in horror as the boy's face, inches from his, contorted in pain and shock. "Blink?" Pale and glistening with sweat, Kid Blink staggered backwards, taking the knife with him. Slowly, he gazed down at his abdomen.
"Wow. . . I . . .been stabbed." He muttered beneath his breath. As if in slow motion, he clasped his bloodied hands around the handle and, in a shuddering, heart-wrenching cry of pain, pulled the knife from his body. It fell to the dust with a clatter.
"Oh, Gawd, Blink!" Skittery cried, before falling to his hands and knees and vomitting in the dust. To Race's releif and amazement, Blink managed a small, quivering smile.
"It's nothin'." He croaked. "Just, just a scratch."
Race stepped tentatively forwards. "Blink, you ok?"
"Sure." He staggered forwards, one hand clasped to his front. With the other he slapped his friend's cheek. "I'se told ya, it's just a scratch." He laughed, a dry chuckle that soon dissolved into sobs. "But it'll do." He glanced upwards for the first time, sadness welling in his hazel eye. "Why, Race? Why'd ya do it?"
"I'm sorry. . ." He struggled to choke back the tears. "I thought, I thought I was doin' da right thing. . ."
"Skitts, help me?" Still trembling, his normally tanned skin turned pale as a ghost, Skittery climbed unsteadily to his feet. Shakily he rushed to Blink's side.
"It'll be ok, pal. You'll be ok - BLINK!" He sobbed as his friend collapsed, folding over onto the ground. Swiftly Racetrack moved to cradle the shivering boy in his arms.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Blink nodded weakly through his tears, though his eyes still burned with sorrow.
"You an' Baron, Gawd damn da both a youse ta hell!" He heaved a final sigh as Racetrack howled.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, *Sniffle*, we all knew it would come to this. Poor Blink. Poor, poor Blink. On a lighter note, Review! Turn that frown upside down! *Runs off sobbing, looking for a race!muse to hug*
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!