Bitter made sure to stay out of the light of the alleys, not wanting anyone to get too concerned about her. She wrapped her hand up nicely, quietly mumbling to herself, keeping an eye on Winter as she checked the wound on her shoulder. Trick had caught her good and as she neared the light, she could see that it was fairly deep and bleeding something awful. She knew she would not be able to hide it forever, she just did not want all the girls concerned, especially Whiskey.
Winter was watching her concerned, her eyes kept to the ground until Bitter's body hit the light of the alley. She winced as she saw once light blue over shirt covered with dark red bloodstains. Winter slinked up to Whiskey and looked nervously at the ground as she asked, "How long 'til we get ta Manhattan?" she asked.
Whiskey looked at her strangely, "Why, ya hoit bad Wintah?" she asked, looking the girl over. Winter had no wounds at all, only a few bruises scattered on her arms and neck, where her various opponents had tried to take her by surprise.
"Nah, I jist need ta know," she said, looking up at Whiskey, the green in her brown eyes glinting at her nervously.
"Fine, whatevah. We got about an hour left a' walkin'," she said. She watched as Winter's face twitched a little. "An' if someone's hoit bad, ya bettah speak up now Wintah," she warned, lowering her voice so no one else could hear them, knowing very well that her girls all had some pride issues.
"Well, Bittah kin take care of herself right?" she said carefully, raising an eyebrow and quickly looking back down at the ground.
Bitter ducked into the shadows at the sound of her name and saw the two girls whispering away. "Aw shit," she muttered out loud to herself.
Whiskey nodded and limped slowly over to Bitter, who was waiting for her in the dark section of the alley, arms crossed. "Yes my dear?" Bitter asked, knowing quite well what she wanted.
"Lemme see ya Bittah," Whiskey said, motioning for her to come into the light.
"Ya kin see me fine right heah," Bitter retorted, a smirk planted on her face.
Whiskey glared at her, "We ain't playin' games Bittah, not tonight, I ain't lettin' ya pass out on me. An' I certainly don't wanna be carryin' ya ass ta Manhattan," she said.
Bitter's eyes narrowed, their emerald color scorching Whiskey through the darkness. "I'll be fine," she stated, noticing that the other girls had stopped to watch.
"Bittah! I will soak ya if ya don't get yer ass ovah heah," Whiskey yelled, her concern for her friend mixing with the anger building up inside her.
Bitter jumped at her harsh tone and shrugged, coolly walking into the light. "Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph! Bittah, you'se bleedin' everywhere!" she exclaimed as she glanced at the wound on her shoulder which was soaking her shirt with blood.
Bitter grimaced as Whiskey pulled the shirt apart from where it had attached itself to the bloody, deep wound, glancing over the pussed up, now infected wound. "Jesus, Needle's gonna hate dis Trick kid, Doc get de hell ovah heah, an' bring dat medical kit," Whiskey hollered.
Whiskey shook her head, "Bittah, what am I gonna do wit ya?" she said with a frown.
Bitter smirked, "You'd do de same thing, dat's why we watch out fer each other," she stated, "cause if we don't, I don't know what would happen."
Whiskey laughed, "Airight, I'm gonna send de other goils ahead a' us," she said, winking at Bitter as Doc looked her wound over.
"Airight, All of ya – Get. Go to Manhattan, we'se run into a lil' problem due ta Bittah's stubbornness an' we'll meet ya dere. I'se suah ya all know de way," Whiskey yelled to the girls who were lazing about, gawking at the scene unfolding before them.
They all whined and complained, but Whiskey just yelled at them more until they left. She turned around to see Bitter's face scrunched up in pain as Doc pressed something against her shoulder. "Jesus Doc," she screamed, trying to push her away. It was a good thing that Doc was used to people doing that and she didn't release for one second.
"Well, if ya woulda spoke up before it wouldn't hoit so bad," she stated simply. Whiskey watched amusedly at the situation and as soon as Doc was done bandaging her up, she patted her gently on the back, only causing Bitter to glare at her something awful.
"What?" Whiskey said, as Bitter changed out of her over shirt in the middle of the alley, leaving her only in her tight, sleeveless undershirt. "Don't tell me your mad 'cause I stopped yer stubborn ways so you wouldn't pass out on de way ta Manhattan?" she asked, frowning at her as Bitter did not say a word.
"Fine, give me the silent treatment," Whiskey said, crossing her arms and starting to walk away with them. "But ya look like a whore in dat thing," she said with a wide smirk, turning to Bitter.
Bitter stuck her tongue out and punched her hard on the arm, "I wouldn't talk my dear," she said.
"What?" Whiskey asked, looking down at her attire, noticing that her over shirt was torn up the side, most of it missing. "Woops," she said, taking the rest of the torn white shirt off. "See, we are true friends, we do everything together, even look like whores."
Bitter laughed, "Yeah, an' more den once too," she said, lightening up.
Doc just shook her head at the two, playfully punching at each other and making fun. They continued all the way until they got to the lodging house, where the girls were waiting outside for them.
Whiskey led them in, Bitter on her tail. Specs saw Whiskey and jumped up, pulling her into a hug, "I was so worried," he said.
"Dat's great an' all but yer crushin' me lungs," Whiskey grunted from the confines of Specs' arms, Specs still not loosening the embrace.
Jack appeared behind Bitter, looking her up and down. "Looking whorish today, aren't we?" he asked.
Bitter glared at him and punched him hard across the face, knocking him to the ground. She stepped over his body, stepping on his stomach hard before going straight up the stairs, not giving him a second look.
"Tsk, tsk Jackey-boy," Whiskey stated cruelly, having turned around so her back was against Specs' chest, still not able to free herself from his arms. "Now if you'se go around sayin' dat Bittah's a whore den dat I guess dat makes me one too, considerin' da attire, rat bastad…" she stated with a satisfied smirk, mumbling the last part under her breath so only Specs could hear her. She yelped a little, receiving a pinch for that remark, but continued undaunted. "And Specs heah would have a little bit of a problem wit you callin' his goil a whore, wouldn't ya Specsy?"
Specs took a moment to consider, looking her up and down shamelessly before answering with obvious relish. "Nope, no problem," Specs stated, sweeping a surprised Whiskey up the stairs the same way he had a week ago.
"You'se just as much a rat bastad as Jack back dere, ya know it? And Specs, it's sweet an' all but ya can put me down," she said with a smile.
"Not on your life! And dere ain't nothin' you kin do ta make me," he stated, cocking an eyebrow and smirking to himself.
"We'll see about dat," Whiskey stated, as she began whispering extremely suggestive deeds into his ear until he became flushed, almost dropping her upon their arrival at the girls' bunkroom. "Talk to you later doll," she stated with a salacious wink, slapping his ass and entering the bunkroom, a grin plastered across her face and a slight flush to her cheeks.
"If it idn't me favorite hell raisa!" a petite girl asked with amused whiskey colored eyes. "An' jist what's dat flush on your cheeks from?" she asked with a wink, getting up from the position on her bunk and crossing the room with a cocky air about her. She was not a large or imposing person, but she exuded confidence.
"Hazard, you of all people should know what this flush on my cheeks is from...or have you already forgotten dat 'moment' last yeah when I was stayin' heah and ah, walked in on you an' Jackey-boy? Wasn' he makin' yoah face all flushed at de time?" Whiskey asked with a big grin, limping towards Hazard and sweeping her into a small hug. "By da way, you might wanna go check on him...da smart ass was just askin' foh trouble and Bittah gave it ta him."
Hazard glared slightly in Bitter's direction before exiting the room hastily. She stuck her head in with a small smile and said, "Knowin' dat bastad, he probably deserved it." And with a wink she was gone.
Bitter chuckled as Whiskey sat down next to her on the bed, "Ya ain't gotta look aftah me Whiskey, go have yer fun," Bitter stated with a small sigh.
Whiskey smirked and ruffled up Bitter's hair playfully, knocking her gray cap off in the process. "Aww, I rather visit wit me troublemakin' partna in crime! It's not everyday I can do stuff like dis, seeing as ya hoit an' I ain't," she said, glowering as she dodged a punch from Bitter.
Bitter pushed her hands away, "Ya know I don't like it when ya do dat," she muttered, putting her cap back on.
"Aw, but I think Spot would agree dat ya look bettah when ya hair's down," Whiskey said with a wide smirk, knocking the cap off again.
"I do agree," Spot's rough voice said from the doorway.
Whiskey let out an 'eep' and jumped up, blocking Bitter from his view, so he would not see her hoit again. "How'd ya . . ." she started, looking over his tired appearance.
"I have me sources Whiskey," Spot said, narrowing his eyes, "What I wanna know, is why yer back ta getting' yerselves in trouble."
Whiskey glanced back at Bitter, giving her a look that said, Get outta heah, after reading the look Bitter had on her face. Bitter nodded slowly, getting up as Whiskey started to speak again. "Figured ya could use de help," she said with a smirk, blocking Bitter's movements by grabbing a towel and starting a to fold it, a 'nervous habit' she had made up after time and time again of helping Bitter or one of the other girls out when they were in a tight squeeze with Spot or one of the other boys.
Spot's eyes flickered. "Bitter airight?" he asked, noticing that she was not talking.
Whiskey snorted, "Of coise she's alright, she's jist tired, an' probably still mad at de likes of ya," she retorted.
He took a step closer and Bitter took the chance to dash out of the room while Whiskey yelled at him about respecting his girl's space when she needed it.
She chuckled nervously once she got out the door and proceeded into the boys' room, excusing herself quietly as she made her way to the window and out onto the fire escape. She climbed quietly onto the roof and laid down, nursing the wound on her hand for some time before settling down and watching the stars.
Doc was busy tending to Rook, who was in bad shape after the rumble. Pyro had passed out and hit her head on the edge of the table after reaching the Manhattan Lodging House, that being her only wound. Spades was antsy, having to hold still long enough for Doc to look over the various cuts and bruises she had acquired, none being bad enough to warrant a call for Needle. Doc left the room quickly, just as Whiskey started to rip into Spot about being an overbearing, 'overprotective sonnova bitch.' She made her way quickly down the stairs to the common room, finding Jack nursing a wounded ego. "I need someone ta go fetch Needle from Queens," she stated commandingly.
Jack looked up, defiance and self-pity characterizing his eyes, "Go get da fucker yaself, ya don't need ta be sendin' any a my boys ta get him dis late at night."
Doc just rolled her eyes and surveyed the rest of the room. "Anyone?"
"Suah," Racetrack volunteered, taking out a cigar and smelling the contents by running it under his nose, "I'se gots a cousin ovah dat way, bastad's nosey enough ta know all da business of everyone he shouldn't. Won't be too hard to find the little guy."
"I'se goin' witcha," a resolute voice stated, rising from the shadows. Fiery red hair being the first attribute spotted as she stepped over towards Races's side.
"Come on Gambla…it ain't gonna take dat long, an hour at da most!" he wined, not wanting to share the cigar on his way over there with his goil.
"Well den, da fasta we get dere, da quicka we can find Needle, and you know what he looks like? Right?" she asked as she looped her arm through his and walked nonchalantly towards the front door. Doc nodded and retreated to the girls' bunkroom, which had since been turned into a scene of chaos. Whiskey was livid, throwing her arms around, her face flushed as she ripped into Spot for just about everything she could think of, Fade cheering her on and Pyro drunkenly adding a few words of advice when the urge struck her, while the Manhattan girls were mortified at the display of unbridled estrogen clashing with unbridled testosterone.
Two of the Manhattan girls, comically enough, were sitting next to each, holding each other frightened. "He's gonna blow," Goosey said, a petite girl with long curly brown hair and large, innocent brown eyes, the only person in the room wearing a dress.
Maybe dat stunnin' brown numba mighta been hers...Whiskey thought fleetingly with a smirk as she continued to yell at Spot.
Goosey continued to cringe, and would have loved to be in the confinements of her boy Itey's arms, but was not about to risk walking across the room and past those two madmen, settling for the strong arms of her friend Blaze instead. Blaze sat staring in disbelief at the two, her blue eyes wide. Should I stop them? she asked herself over and over again, wishing her boy Bumlets was there to hold her. Both girls were used to friendly teasing among the newsies, but actual malice had not made its way into the ranks since, well, since Whiskey had left six months ago...
Doc opened the door just as Whiskey began questioning Spot's use of 'the glare,' just in time to see an irate Spot, purple with rage, haul back and slug her across the face before turning tail and storming out of the room. The two Manhattan girls gasped and Doc just shook her head at the scene as Whiskey began to laugh softly to herself. "Guess I took dat jussa little too fah…"
After Whiskey's tirade, she made her way to the boys' bunkroom, her face flushed, but for a different reason this time. Spot could be extremely unreasonable when he jumped up on his high horse…especially since other ladies had been in the room to bear witness to the ego shattering that had occurred. She nursed the black eye tenderly. Hell, it ain't like ya didn't earn it, you worked dat bastard hard foh damn neah thoity minutes. IF he hadn't lost it and slugged ya den ya woulda started to worry. She reached the bunkroom and pounded hard on the door with her fist, cursing to herself as she did, feeling the gashed on her semi-mangled hand reopen.
There was only one place Bitter could be, she decided as she resorted to kicking the door to earn some attention, as her good hand was busy cutting off the blood flow to her bleeding one. "OPEN. UP. DA. FECKIN'. DOOR." she cursed vehemently, enunciating each word, as she kicked in time with the plea.
"Feckin'?" a voice asked as it opened the door slowly.
She kicked it open the rest of the way, spying Bumlet's amused face. "Yes. As in get da feck outta my way you feckin' bastad, I need ta get ta da roof," she stated with a smile as she swept past him, in too much of a hurry to recognize any others in the room, out the window and up the fire escape.
Bitter moaned softly to herself, upon hearing a noise from below after about a half an hour of wallowing in pain. She closed her eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep, hoping the person would go away.
"Bittah, Bittah, Bittah, what de feck am I gonna do witcha?" a familiar voice stated with concern. Bitter raised her dark, pain-filled green eyes to meet the light green of Whiskey's.
"Foist, we'se gonna getcha off a da roof heah, don' worry, I scared off ol' Spotty boy for da moment at hand," she stated, quickly closing the distance between herself and Bitter, trying to lift her up from under her good shoulder. Bitter cringed as she made an attempt, however half-assed, to help Whiskey out as both girls made their way back to the fire escape.
Bitter caught the sight of Whiskey's face as they hit the light on the fire escape and groaned, "Whiskey, ya pissed him off again didn't cha?" she asked.
Whiskey smiled crazily, "Why yes I did, I ripped him apart and don't start on me missy, he desoived it an' you know it," she said, hopping through the window to the boys' bunkroom and then reaching back to Bitter, helping her through.
Bitter hissed in pain as her shoulder hit the window, her not being careful enough and cursed up a storm. She glared at the boys who were staring at them. "Quit yer gawkin', ain't nuttin' heah ta see," she yelled, making the boys nervously jump and go back to what they were doing.
Spot was in the middle of a poker game when he spotted Bitter. They made eye contact for a brief second and Bitter pushed Whiskey out of the room. "Let's get outta heah, fast," she whispered, seeing Spot glance over her body and she knew he saw the huge, blood-covered bandage on her shoulder.
Whiskey glared at Spot evenly, giving him a look of warning as he stood up and then grabbed Bitter's arm, dashing out of the room. Whiskey dragged her down the stairs and ran smack into Doc, who had Needle at her tail, his cheeks flushed from running all the way over.
Bitter groaned, looking at Whiskey for help, who just shrugged and pushed her lightly towards Doc, who had crossed her arms by this time. "Just think of dis way, now Spot can't see ya 'cause ya getting' woiked on," Whiskey said with a wide smirk.
Bitter narrowed her eyes and then shrugged, "Fine, but you're stayin' wit me," she said.
Whiskey looked at Doc for approval and she nodded impatiently, motioning for them to join Needle. Needle had disappeared into the little side room that was often used for things like this situation. Bitter tried to stall a bit longer, but Whiskey pushed her towards the room, Doc helping pry her fingers from the doorway.
"Oh come on you guys, we don't hafta do dis," she said, sitting down nervously. Her eyes flickered and Whiskey watched her, seeing her eyeing the needle and then looking towards the door.
Whiskey looked at Doc, her expressions telling her that Bitter was going to be giving trouble tonight. Doc sighed and she sat down next to Bitter.
"Can you lay down dear?" she asked quietly, in a soothing voice.
Bitter nodded, always one to do what Doc said. Doc motioned for Whiskey to come over and sit on her. Bitter watched the two nervously and jumped up as Whiskey neared. "Uh, uh, uh," Whiskey said, jumping on her friend and pinning her back to the bed, sitting with her knees on her stomach, her hands holding down her arms.
"Whiskey, don't do this to me," Bitter mumbled.
"It's fer yer own good Bittah. You've had a rough night, so I'se jist helpin' out a lil', wantcha to get better," Whiskey said, ruffling up her hair with one hand quickly and then going back to holding her arm down.
Bitter glared at her. Doc got up and took off the bandage slowly, looking over the deep, long wound at length. "It's infected," she muttered to Needle. She disappeared and reappeared with some bourbon, and poured it over the wound and then cleaned it off with water, Bitter cursing the whole thing through. Whiskey was surprised that Bitter had as much energy as she had, having lost a lot of blood and had to keep on her toes so Bitter did not toss her off and ruin Needle's careful stitching.
They were soon done and Whiskey released Bitter, who was glaring dangerously at all three of them. She got up slowly and slinked past them, not saying a word. Whiskey smiled sweetly at Doc and Needle, "That means thank you in Bittah language," she said.
Doc rolled her eyes and started cleaning up and Whiskey watched her and Needle for a moment until she heard yelling out in the hall. She ran out of the door and spotted Bitter pushed up against the wall, Spot screaming at her.
Bitter was a little bit weaker than she let on and screamed back at him with a dignified air, knowing that he would back down soon enough, seeing as she was hurt and all. He did not and this continued for quite a few minutes, until Bitter slammed her fist hard across his face and walked away. Whiskey watched this wide-eyed, feet paralyzed to the floor it seemed.
He growled and ran after her, taking her to the ground. She could barely wriggle out of his grasp and it earned her some bruises as they wrestled around on the ground, her concentrating on trying to get free.
"SPOT! What da feck is your problem!!" Whiskey screamed as she half ran/half limped towards the irate leader of Brooklyn. Both Bitter and Spot were still screaming back and forth to one another and Whiskey landed two swift kicks to Spot's midsection, hoping to catch him off guard long enough for Bitter to get to safety. Whiskey could handle a couple more bruises and some blood loss. Bitter, on the other hand, was looking as if she was about to pass out from both blood loss and pain.
Spot hardly flinched at the kicks delivered, so Whiskey straddled him and wrapped her right arm around his neck, flexing and holding it there as he struggled against the choke hold, giving Bitter the opportunity to get out from underneath him. "Get the feck out a heah," Whiskey growled lowly as Spot continued to put up a fight, succeeding in flipping Whiskey so she was now the one underneath him. Bitter nodded quickly and flew out of the lodging house towards The Screaming Weasel, knowing that Whiskey loved that bar, even though it smelt like piss and old liquor. When she arrived, she promptly collapsed in an empty booth, breathing heavily and hoping that her friend would get out of the lodging house in one piece.