A/N: I was at a party and they started playing songs that reminded me of
the guy I love, so I'm in a romantic mood. My last fluffy piece went over
all right, so here's another. This time, though, its not about me. Slider,
happy. Umm. happy happy bunnies day! This is for giving you Gray in WUAS.
I stood up and pulled on my shirt. I grabbed the key on the string around my bedpost and put it around my neck. I grabbed my cane and headed out the door without even bothering to wash up. I walked towards the distribution office and grabbed my papes from the skinny man in front of me.
I headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge, a personal favorite selling spot. Most people would expect it to be an easy sale, but it really wasn't. Most people had already bought their papes on the other end, but I liked the challenge. The wind started to chill my bones; December in New York was not pleasant. I handed a paper to a young gentleman with his arm wrapped around a frivolous looking girl. I tried not to laugh at the foppish couple while I sold.
I thought ahead to that night, trying to forget the biting cold. I felt the warmth just thinking about the bonfire that night. Jacky-boys newsies had planned it. I think it was that eye-patch boy's idea, but I could be wrong. Maybe the heartbreaker. Or the gambler. Yeah, it was the gambler's idea. But that's not the point, the point was that tonight I would be warm. And there would be dancing, and drinking, even though I would most likely only participate in the latter.
"Hey, Spot, ya comin'? Kelly's little party starts in about fifteen minutes," a voice told me a few hours later. I looked up and saw Swimmer, another of my newsies. I nodded and we walked off towards Manhattan and the bonfire.
"Well if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick," I joked, using a phrase I quite often addressed him with since that day he told me they were striking two years ago. I'd just become leader back then. And in three more years I'd be passing the position on to another Brooklyn boy.
"Hey there, Spot. Glad ya could make it," Jack told me, and I looked around the party. The Manhattan and Queens girl & boy lodging houses had shown up. Harlem and Long Island only had newsboys housing. A handful of Brooklyn girls were there too, but even so the ratio wasn't near even.
"Spot? Spot?" Jack said, waking me out of my reverie.
"Yeah, sorry. Jus' lookin' around," I told him. I walked over to the drinks and grabbed a glass, not really caring about the contents. I looked at the couples dancing, slightly jealous. I always wished I could dance, but I never learned how, and I wasn't about to admit that I didn't. So I pretended I didn't because of my badass attitude, and the stupid boys bought it.
I've never been one to fall in love. It's just not my style. It's not that I mean to use girls, I've just never been into long-term relationships. Or, at least, that's how I felt until tonight. Until this moment, if you asked me if I believed in love at first sight I would have laughed my ass off. But, now I'm not too sure.
I first noticed her dancing around with a couple of the other girls I'd known practically since they were born. Her body moved smoothly, with the gracefulness of a swan. A fire was present in her eyes like I hadn't seen before in my life. I felt an unfamiliar lurch in my stomach, and couldn't take my eyes off her. Her movement captivated me, and I felt compelled to look at her. She stopped and walked over to the drinks, where I was still standing.
She looked at me, "So, what's yer name?"
"Spot. Spot Conlon. Leadah of da Brooklyn newsies," I said trying to overcome the giant knot that had formed in my tongue. Damnit, what was with me? I'd never felt tongue-tied around a girl before.
"Ah. So you're the infamous Spot Conlon." With a grin she said, "I've heard a lot about you."
"Good or bad?" I asked, trusting that my "wonderful" friends had told her numerous horrible tales about me. They sure had a lot. I had a tendency to get into some stupid shit when I got drunk.
"Depends on what you think is good," she taunted, refusing to give me a straight answer. "But Fingers filled me in on an interesting experience with you and some chocolate frosting."
"Oh shit," I groaned. I remembered that day too well. I got drunk and covered myself in chocolate frosting and told everyone to lick it off me. Let's just say that Fingers had been slightly too interested in that. One thing led to another, and. wait, why am I telling you this?
"But I've hoid some good stuff too. Like your helpin' dem in da strike of 1899 an' your reputation as the strongest and most feared newsie in all o' New York. Those boys fear ya like a good Christian fears G-d," she told me, and I sighed in relief. So my friends weren't all bad. Then, she said the words that I dreaded to hear, "Do you want to dance?"
Something in her eyes, the ones that contained the passionate fire, made me want to tell her the truth. Sure, lying always made stuff worse, that was a fact of life. So I whispered in her ear, "I don't know how."
"You don't know how to dance?" she whispered back, fortunately she understood why I had lowered my voice. "I tell ya what," she said when I nodded, "I'll teach ya ta dance. Sound good?"
"Yeah," I told her. She walked back off to the dance floor and I watched her slither like a snake, watching her every movement intently.
Shit. I was falling in love.
I stood up and pulled on my shirt. I grabbed the key on the string around my bedpost and put it around my neck. I grabbed my cane and headed out the door without even bothering to wash up. I walked towards the distribution office and grabbed my papes from the skinny man in front of me.
I headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge, a personal favorite selling spot. Most people would expect it to be an easy sale, but it really wasn't. Most people had already bought their papes on the other end, but I liked the challenge. The wind started to chill my bones; December in New York was not pleasant. I handed a paper to a young gentleman with his arm wrapped around a frivolous looking girl. I tried not to laugh at the foppish couple while I sold.
I thought ahead to that night, trying to forget the biting cold. I felt the warmth just thinking about the bonfire that night. Jacky-boys newsies had planned it. I think it was that eye-patch boy's idea, but I could be wrong. Maybe the heartbreaker. Or the gambler. Yeah, it was the gambler's idea. But that's not the point, the point was that tonight I would be warm. And there would be dancing, and drinking, even though I would most likely only participate in the latter.
"Hey, Spot, ya comin'? Kelly's little party starts in about fifteen minutes," a voice told me a few hours later. I looked up and saw Swimmer, another of my newsies. I nodded and we walked off towards Manhattan and the bonfire.
"Well if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick," I joked, using a phrase I quite often addressed him with since that day he told me they were striking two years ago. I'd just become leader back then. And in three more years I'd be passing the position on to another Brooklyn boy.
"Hey there, Spot. Glad ya could make it," Jack told me, and I looked around the party. The Manhattan and Queens girl & boy lodging houses had shown up. Harlem and Long Island only had newsboys housing. A handful of Brooklyn girls were there too, but even so the ratio wasn't near even.
"Spot? Spot?" Jack said, waking me out of my reverie.
"Yeah, sorry. Jus' lookin' around," I told him. I walked over to the drinks and grabbed a glass, not really caring about the contents. I looked at the couples dancing, slightly jealous. I always wished I could dance, but I never learned how, and I wasn't about to admit that I didn't. So I pretended I didn't because of my badass attitude, and the stupid boys bought it.
I've never been one to fall in love. It's just not my style. It's not that I mean to use girls, I've just never been into long-term relationships. Or, at least, that's how I felt until tonight. Until this moment, if you asked me if I believed in love at first sight I would have laughed my ass off. But, now I'm not too sure.
I first noticed her dancing around with a couple of the other girls I'd known practically since they were born. Her body moved smoothly, with the gracefulness of a swan. A fire was present in her eyes like I hadn't seen before in my life. I felt an unfamiliar lurch in my stomach, and couldn't take my eyes off her. Her movement captivated me, and I felt compelled to look at her. She stopped and walked over to the drinks, where I was still standing.
She looked at me, "So, what's yer name?"
"Spot. Spot Conlon. Leadah of da Brooklyn newsies," I said trying to overcome the giant knot that had formed in my tongue. Damnit, what was with me? I'd never felt tongue-tied around a girl before.
"Ah. So you're the infamous Spot Conlon." With a grin she said, "I've heard a lot about you."
"Good or bad?" I asked, trusting that my "wonderful" friends had told her numerous horrible tales about me. They sure had a lot. I had a tendency to get into some stupid shit when I got drunk.
"Depends on what you think is good," she taunted, refusing to give me a straight answer. "But Fingers filled me in on an interesting experience with you and some chocolate frosting."
"Oh shit," I groaned. I remembered that day too well. I got drunk and covered myself in chocolate frosting and told everyone to lick it off me. Let's just say that Fingers had been slightly too interested in that. One thing led to another, and. wait, why am I telling you this?
"But I've hoid some good stuff too. Like your helpin' dem in da strike of 1899 an' your reputation as the strongest and most feared newsie in all o' New York. Those boys fear ya like a good Christian fears G-d," she told me, and I sighed in relief. So my friends weren't all bad. Then, she said the words that I dreaded to hear, "Do you want to dance?"
Something in her eyes, the ones that contained the passionate fire, made me want to tell her the truth. Sure, lying always made stuff worse, that was a fact of life. So I whispered in her ear, "I don't know how."
"You don't know how to dance?" she whispered back, fortunately she understood why I had lowered my voice. "I tell ya what," she said when I nodded, "I'll teach ya ta dance. Sound good?"
"Yeah," I told her. She walked back off to the dance floor and I watched her slither like a snake, watching her every movement intently.
Shit. I was falling in love.