Thirty minutes after Bitter had entered the bar, Whiskey came sauntering in, her limping gait looking oddly comedic when pit against the scowl she had plastered across her face. Specs was at her side, her using his shoulder as a crutch. "Shut the hell up and no arguments." Whiskey stated as she slid into the other side of the booth, across from Bitter. Specs was about to take a seat next to her when she placed some money in his hand and requested for him to get "alcohol, lots of it."
Bitter looked over Whiskey's tired looking face. "So, what happened afta I left?"
"Well Spot bucked me, and was in the process of testing the durability of me spleen wit his fist befoah Jack, Dutchy and Wintah succeeded in pinnin' him ta da wall. So I'se a pathetic mess by now, an' was in the process of crawlin' off ta curl up in a hole an' die when me knight in shinin' specs swept me up an' got me da hell outta dere. I'm suah Doc woulda liked ta take a look at me, but I ain't got nothin' a couple a drinks won't cure," Whiskey stated, leaning back against the booth and lighting up a cigarette and then passing it on to Bitter.
"Alright, I undastand dat, but was it really necessary ta bring a man inta dis mess?" Bitter stated contemptuously.
Whiskey glared back at her. "Take a look at me. I look jus' as bad as you do now, an' my leg is feckin' killin' me, so lay off," she stated with finality, enunciating the 'lay off' with a slight growl.
Bitter looked over her friend, noticing a multitude of bruises, a twice-hit black eye, and a split lip. "Alright, sorry bout dat."
Specs returned with a bottle of whiskey and three cups. Whiskey took the bottle and attempted to pour herself a glass, but her hand shook too bad for much of it too make it into the glass. "Fuck Whiskey, jus' lemme pour it for ya."
Bitter looked over at the two enviously. "So, what's da plan from heah? You'se got any smart ideas?"
Whiskey smirked at her, letting Specs finally sit down next to her in the booth. "Why don't ya relax an' have a drink, it could help da pain," she said, making Specs pour her a glass and shoving it towards her.
She glared at the two of them, knowing very well that she looked like hell and shot down the liquid in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the table once she had finished with it. "Happy?" she asked, glaring at Whiskey.
Whiskey smirked back at her, looping an arm around Specs. "Yeah, but I'd be happiah if ya'd lighten up a bit," she said, kissing Specs on the cheek after he poured her another glass of whiskey.
Bitter just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, waiting for Whiskey to finish her drink so they could discuss plans. Whiskey took her time, knowing very well that it would piss Bitter off.
When Whiskey next looked up, Bitter was not glaring at her, but rather looking straight past her and Specs, her mouth open, her trying to say something. "What? Is Spot heah?" Whiskey asked, looking around. She muttered a curse when she saw what Bitter was gawking at. Nine girls entered the bar, all clumped together with fierce looks of anger on their faces as they scanned the place, obviously looking for someone.
Specs looked back and forth at the two girls confused. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Bitter shot Whiskey a look as she slumped down in the booth, knowing exactly who they were looking for. "What are we gonna do?" Whiskey whispered, ignoring Specs' obvious confusion.
"Like I know," Bitter said, "we gotta get outta heah an' fast, or we're deader than dead."
Specs eyes flickered between the two, still trying to figure out the situation. Whiskey waited until the girls had passed them to sit up straight and kiss Specs on the cheek, asking him to help her out of the booth. Specs scooted over, confused and helped Whiskey limp towards the door, Bitter right at their tail.
Bitter was in bad condition and was not moving too fast. She tried to keep up with the two of them, but it was no use. As she neared the door, someone grabbed her shoulder and twirled her around, putting her face to face with the leader of the Harlem girls, Luna Morgan. The slender girl's pale face turned a hint of red with fury as she looked over Bitter, her brown eyes flaring to a shade of red. Her jet-black hair fell in her way as she glanced up and down her hurt body, not even a slight look of pity or compassion coming across her face.
"Well, well, if it ain't jist de goil I'se been lookin' fer," Luna growled lowly, "How's Spot dealing wit de fact dat Harlem's close ta takin' his dear Brooklyn ovah?"
Bitter even her glare and snapped back, "Ya ain't close, an' ya ain't nevah takin' Brooklyn ovah."
Luna laughed, "Tsk, tsk, ya should mind yer mannahs me dear, don't want to get more on me bad side, seeing as you an' yer goils already took it upon yerselves ta soak our dear lot of boys, which we ain't happy about, are we goils?" she said, a smirk planted on her face.
A tall, slender girl with pale skin snarled at her like a cat, her eyebrows moving as she chimed in an agreement with Luna, slinking up by her side. Her dark brown hair and eyes seemed to clash against her fair skin, making her appearance awkward to Bitter, making her stare a little.
"Whatcha lookin' at goily?" Cats hissed at her, cracking her knuckles compulsively.
"She's lookin' at de same thing I am, a no good, dirty whorish Harlem goil," Whiskey chimed in, finally noticing that Bitter was not with her and Specs, but rather in the hold of her enemies. Specs had tried to convince her to let him take her home and get some boys to go after Bitter, but Whiskey wasn't one to leave her friend behind, especially when it was nine on one.
Bitter smirked as Cats turned a slight shade of red and worked on getting Luna to release the grip she had on her shirt. Luna snarled and pushed Bitter aside, landing her on the ground and stepped up to Whiskey.
"I wouldn't be saying dat goily," she said, taking a swing at Whiskey. Specs jumped in front of her protectively and took the punch from Luna that was meant for Whiskey, while Cats jumped at Whiskey, leaving the rest of the seven to corner in on Bitter, who could barely stand up, nonetheless fight.
"You bettah take dat back ya lousy Brooklyn bitch," Cats stated maliciously as she lunged at Whiskey, who effectively ducked the punches thrown in her direction.
"An why would I do dat, Catsy? I don' evah take back what I say, why da hell should I break da trend by startin' wit a doity tramp like you?" Whiskey spat out through clenched teeth right before Cats landed a punch that sent the Whiskey to the floor. Grinning at Whiskey's inability to get off of her knees, Cats closed the distance between the two, savoring the pain evident on Whiskey's face as she spat out blood and raised herself into a sitting position.
Meanwhile, Bitter watched anxiously as the rest of the unoccupied girls closed in on her, knowing she very well could not run even if she tried. A fiery short girl of sixteen pulled her up from the ground, Bitter not knowing how such a slim girl could even attempt doing what she did for a living. Her fair Irish complexion sparked through her chocolate brown hair and menacing brown eyes as she pushed Bitter up against a wall, holding her there while cussing her out.
"C'mon Mimic, let us have some fun too," a girl whined, her clear blue eyes and light brown hair differentiating from the mainly Irish look most of the girls had.
"Airight Relic, just take it easy we don't want her passing out on us," Mimic said with a smirk, letting go of Bitter, allowing some of the other girls to step up on her.
"Hold 'er Midnight," Relic stated and Bitter could not do anything as a girl of her height stepped up, her brown hair back in a ponytail and her brown eyes gleaming as she grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her, locking Bitter so she could not fight back at all. Bitter growled obscenities as Relic started in on her, giving her a nice black eye before stepping back and letting a girl who Bitter knew as Angel step forward, knife in hand.
Her brown eyes glinted at her with a mystic look as she licked her lips, tossing the knife back and forth between both hands, making Bitter a bit nervous. Her long brown hair with natural highlights fell into her tan face, making her pause to pin it back. She grasped the knife like a professional as she pushed it up against Bitter's neck, making her breathing became slightly uncomfortable. "I'd love ta kill ya, my dear, but I'm afraid dat it ain't yer night ta die," she whispered in her ear.
Bitter snarled and started to insult her when the knife dug deep into her upper chest, just below her neck. She let out a loud cry, cursing up a blue streak as Angel pulled the knife out again, satisfied with the pain she put Bitter in. Bitter closed her eyes, resigning herself for more as she leaned her head against Midnight's chest, hoping Whiskey was doing better than her.
"Aww, I didn' hoit da indestructible Whiskey? Did I?" Cats screamed mockingly as Whiskey slowly made her way back onto her feet, grimacing at the pain in her knee from that last kick.
Christ! She really id like a damn cat, jus' toyin' wit me, havin' a little fun 'til she goes in foh da kill... Whiskey thought as she rolled her neck. "Now who evah claimed dat I was indestructible? Me?" Whiskey stated after Cats pointed affirmatively in her direction. "Well if dat's da case it musta been after one too many shots a liquid courage at some bar...and I do become indestructible afta nursin' an entire bottle meself."
"Yes, well you ain't had one too many yet, so you'se just as I like ya, vulnerable, you gonna plead wit me ta spare ya life?" Cats asked, her -- eyes twinkling.
"What is it wit you Harlem scum gettin' off on people pleadin' wit ya foh dere lives?" Whiskey stated, throwing her hands up in the air frustrated.
Across the room, Bitter sighed and grimaced at the ever-growing wounds she was accumulating. Suddenly, she was released, feeling Midnight's grip on her slacken. She leaned against the wall, trying to regain her balance, looking for who her savior was. Sparkling blue eyes greeted her as Spot flashed her a smile, taking on some of the girls, and only fighting them to give Bitter enough time to compose herself. She could not move though, feeling quite painfully tired and dizzy. Spot looked back at her, motioning for her to leave, but she just shook her head, telling him with her eyes that she could not make it out of the building without help.
Spot pushed a girl away from him and the girl cursed at him, her blue eyes glaring at him as she pushed her wavy dark brown hair out of the way. "See ya 'round Autumn," he said with a smirk, making his way over to Bitter, who was on the ground at the time, and helping her up to her feet.
"Look I'se sorry," he whispered in her ear, "But dere ain't too much I can do right now ta make it up ta ya."
A fleeting smile passed over Bitter's features as Spot apologized, then the former grimace resurfaced as he passed his hand over a tender area, eliciting a small gasp. Two girls were making their way over to the couple, anger in their eyes. A girl named Dagger, had drawn a weapon, smiling evilly as she pushed her short brown hair out of her eyes, green eyes looking the two up and down. The other girl had long wavy hair that was the same color as a penny and blue eyes with little flecks of gold around the pupils. She was stronger than the girl next to her and was Irish like most of the girls there. "C'mon Mav, it ain't like us to not get any fun," Dagger stated encouragingly to her, stepping over various unconscious bodies.
Bitter looked at him straight in the eye. "Ya really wanna make it up ta me? Den get me da hell outta heah!" Bitter stated, her green eyes flashing lividly.
"An' what about Whiskey an' Specs? You jus' plannin' on leavin' dem behind ta face da wrath a nine angry women?"
"Somehow I don' think dat'll be a problem..." Bitter trailed off, eyeing Whiskey's exasperated form.
Cats laughed cruelly as she began circling Whiskey her like she was a delectable little morsel, and a grim smile crossed her face as she lunged. Fortunately, directly in her path at the moment was an off balance Luna Morgan, who collided with Cats, both going down hard in a tangle of limbs. Whiskey limped quickly away from the cursing mess at her feet, and over to Specs' side where he was rubbing the bruised and scraped up knuckles of his hand and smiling lopsidedly at Whiskey, seeing as the left side of his face was already swelling.
"Out. Now," she commanded as Specs once again served the purpose of a crutch and the two fled the bar, right on the tail of Bitter and Spot.
The Harlem girls had stumbled out a minute or two after them, only to find them gone. Bitter could hear the curses coming from their mouths, echoing down the long, hidden alley that Spot had led them into. She did not like being carried, but Spot had insisted and she was not going to waste time arguing.
"Needle's still at de Manhattan lodgin house, right?" Bitter asked behind her.
Whiskey grimaced at the comment, "Yeah, why Bittah?" she asked, not knowing what kind of condition Bitter was in. Specs looked at her, telling her to be quiet and Whiskey just glared at him.
"Got a nice wound that's pounding with pain, dat's all," Bitter said simply, trying to see her friend over Spot's shoulder in the dark. She twisted, making herself groan in pain, receiving a harsh look from Spot when she did that. She could finally see her friend and that was all that really mattered to her at the time.
Whiskey was looking quite exhausted from the fight and Specs took the chance to scoop her up into his arms, ignoring her remarks to put her down. Bitter laughed slightly and buried her head in Spot's chest, enjoying the confinements of his arms. Spot smiled down on her, only getting more concerned as he looked over her, seeing scattered bruises, a black eye and her bloodstained shirt. He hurried up to get her to the lh, trying not to hurt her in the process.
"Christsake, Specs, ya kin put me down now. Three times! Three times in da past two weeks ya been carryin' me...I feel like a damn invalid," Whiskey grumbled as the Manhattan Lodging House came into view. Specs just smirked in return, knowing that there was no way Whiskey was getting out of it this time, she could barely stand on her own, let alone walk.
"Yeah? Well dat's because ya are one, gettin' ya ass kicked from heah ta Harlem and back, an' don't you even try da same tricks ya did earlier ta get outa me arms, I'm immune ta dem now," Specs stated, one eyebrow cocked and a smug look on his face as they reached the lodging house and Spot carried Bitter in.
Whiskey wriggled free of Specs' arm right before they reached the door and whispered into his ear. "I'se got a reputation ta keep up heah ya dolt! An' it don't include you carryin' me everywheah," she hissed with a small smile as she limped across the threshold and collapsed in the first available wooden chair.
Specs confronted by an irate Jack, and frantically explaining what had happened between the time that they had pinned Spot to the wall and their sudden arrival. Something to the effect of "Spot pissed, now concerned. Bitter bleeding, still bleeding.
Whiskey? Drinks good, Harlem newgoils bad, drunken brawls worse, now bleeding."
"Hey, hey, hey! Outta da chair, you'se bleedin' all ovah it!" an amused yet concerned voice stated over the noise of the lodging house.
Whiskey grunted crossly, yet rose nonetheless and began her trudge up the stairs to the room that served as an infirmary. Bitter had been promptly swept up to it, Needle right on Spot's tail. Looking over her shoulder she spotted the voice that had ordered her out of the chair moments before and mustered up a, "Fuck off Bumlets."
"What 'appened ta 'feck'?" The same amused voice asked as she was halfway up the stairs.
"The lilt comes and goes lad," she yelled over her shoulder in as genial a Scottish accent as she could manage as she neared the top of the stairs, cursing under her breath. Every step she took elicited a small gasp that she cut off with a determined grimace. She began regretting telling Specs to "lay off wit da whole carryin' thing," as she would certainly get to the top of these damn stairs much faster if he was supporting her. Ha! Ya bastads...couldn' hold me back! I know your kind...get off on makin' people grimace...You and dose damn Harlem newsies are one in da same, she thought to the stairs, who were most wisely not responding. With a half-hearted kick to the banister she continued on her way.
"Bittah, you'se still alive in deah?" Whiskey asked as she softly knocked on the wooden door of the infirmary. She could hear muffled hisses and grunts of pain and resigned herself to sitting outside the door, when it swung open and Whiskey spotted Doc's concerned face.
"Whiskey, just da goil I was hopin' ta run inta. Get in heah, I'se need ta look at dose bruises dat Spot," she stated coolly with a glare, "And dose Harlem bitches gave ya."
"Awww, come on Doc, dey'se jus' bruises..." Whiskey trailed off as Doc led her docilely to a chair.
"If dey'se jus' bruises den why da hell ya bleedin'?" Doc asked as she cleaned and wrapped the wounds quickly.
Whiskey rolled her eyes, her face soon etched in pain as Doc pressed against her body, trying to stop the bleeding, "Jesus Doc, dat smarts!" she yelled, attempting to push her away, but getting no where.
Bitter laughed at her friend, glad that her time of pain was over, and that now she was just lying in bed, barely conscious. Whiskey glared at her, but her stare instantly softened. "Jesus Bittah, ya look awful," she said, shocked by Bitter's pale appearance.
Bitter pushed herself up on her elbows, but Needle just pushed her back down before he left the room, ignoring Bitter's glare. "Thanks Whiskey, makes a goil feel real good," she muttered, watching Needle walk away, promising to get her a glass of bourbon for pain.
Whiskey smiled, "Get me a glass, or rather bring the bottle," she yelled after him.
Doc shook her head and finished patching her up, "Ya ain't getting' more whiskey, me dear," she stated, before leaving, pushing Bitter down again as she attempted to sit again.
"Gawd I hate when dey do dat," Bitter cursed, leaning her head back so she could see Whiskey. Whiskey just laughed slightly, hopping up and hobbling over to the edge of the bed Bitter was laying on.
"Hey you ok?" she asked quietly.
Bitter smirked, "I'll live, it jist wasn't a fair fight ya know? Seven on one," she said, shaking her head.
Whiskey laughed, "Yeah, sorry I abandoned you back dere, I couldn't barely stand an' dat goil Cats is a handful, lemme tell ya, an' Luna had Specs fightin' for 'is life," she said with a smirk. "Never seen 'im fight someone dat good before, an' damn he was doin' well!" she exclaimed, licking her lips with the thought of Specs.
Bitter just shook her head, "Yer crazy," she muttered.
Whiskey smirked, "Well yer knight in shinin' armor came ta rescue you didn' he?" she said raising an eyebrow.
Bitter rolled her eyes, "I don't talk about mushy stuff like you do Whiskey, I keep me private life private," she said, moaning as Needle came back in the room, shoving a cup of Bitter's least favorite liquor at her. Needle helped her sit up and motioned for her to drink it.
Bitter looked at Whiskey who gave her a look, saying, "Ya know it helps de pain, even if ya don't like de taste," she said, "and wheah's my cup?" addressing Needle.
Needle smirked and left as soon as Bitter gulped it down. "Gawd, I hate that stuff more and more every time I hafta choke it down," she muttered.
Whiskey smacked her, "Don't talk about me whiskey dat way, it's a wonderful drink," she said.
Bitter winced as she did so, shutting Whiskey up before she could apologize, "I'se jist fine," she muttered weakly, turning on her side. "I jist need some sleep, right now? Care to join me for a long nap?" Bitter asked, making room for Whiskey to climb in bed next to her.
She smiled and hopped in, also tired from the fight. "You know, Specs would be jealous," she stated, grinning at Bitter.
Bitter groaned, "Jist shut yer trap an' sleep, I don't wanna heah a word from you about Specs for de next few days!" she snapped, curling up in a ball and soon falling fast asleep. Whiskey watched her concerned, her body looking horribly worn and her face full of pain even as she slept. Whiskey knew she probably looked about the same and closed her eyes, soon fast asleep beside Bitter.
When Whiskey next woke up, she found Bitter gone and snapped up, looking around the room. Specs was sleeping in the chair next to her and she shook him awake. "Wheah's Bittah?" she asked her sleepy boy.
Specs rubbed his eyes. "What?" he asked.
"Wheah is Bittah?" she asked, louder than the first time.
"Oh, Spot took her back to Brooklyn, said something about her getting bettah if she was back home an' not out causin' trouble," he said sleepily.
Whiskey got up and limped across the room, "Why didn't he wake me up? Take me wit him, I live dere too!" she exclaimed.
Specs laughed, "Whiskey, ya kin barely walk, plus Spot thought Bittah needed a break from ya, stop the troublemakin' you two have been doin'," he said.
Whiskey raged. "WHAT?" she screamed, limping towards him slowly.
"I'm sorry, we got Jack ta agree to let you stay heah for a week," he said.
"Oh no, no you don't, I can't believe you went along with Spot!" she yelled, limping out towards the door.
"Wheah ya goin?" he asked, not even getting up.
"Ta Brooklyn, ta wheah I live, wheah me best friend is!" Whiskey hollered.
Specs laughed, getting up when he heard a slight thump on the stairs. He walked out into the hallway, only to get Whiskey's green eyes glaring up at him from the step that she had sat down on, her leg obviously giving her pain. He helped her up, trying to stifle a laugh. "See, you can't even get down de stairs, nonetheless to Brooklyn!" he said, helping her back into the sick room. "Plus I agree wit Spot, you an' Bittah have been causin' too much trouble, ya need ta get bettah too," he said.
Whiskey's eyes widened and she pushed him away. "You were in on this!" she exclaimed, sitting down on the bed.
Specs sighed, "It's fer de best," he said, walking towards the door. "Get some rest, I'll be back by lunch wit some food," he stated as he shut the door, locking it behind him. Whiskey collapsed on the bed, cursing up a storm as she fell into a gentle sleep.
~ ~ ~