Brooklyn: Mortals

By Keza: Queen of Procrastination

AN: Erm, thanks to Shortie-Short-Shorts for prodding me with a hot poker until I agreed to get writing. And thanks for the pie shaped confetti, that was cool. Also thanks to some good, depressing, Natalie Merchant songs to help me write this, and last nights heavy metal concert which secured me a good night's sleep. Enjoy the chapter, show it to your friends and family, and don't forget to review! Now, I'm off to go treat some third degree burns…

Misprint: No, no, Ruin and Spin aren't married… good memory though. -_^ That was just Racetrack being, uh, Racetrack. Oh, and One-eye and Blink aren't the same person, man, I really messed up the nicknames there, didn't I? Haha. Actually when I read your review I was like "hmm… you know, that's a good idea!" (to have Blink and One-eye be the same person) but, alas, One-eye is a Mid-Townie, as we'll see, soo… yeah.

+

Spot glanced down at his papers, the afternoon edition. He was unpleasantly surprised to find that, by the looks of it, more than fifty were left in his stack. The headline was good, why wasn't he done yet? With a sigh, Spot dropped the papers on a bench and sat next to them, his head falling into his hands. A severe headache still wracked his skull, and a million thoughts swarmed through his mind, making selling a near impossible feat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the images, the horrifying memory of the previous night out of his head. He thought about all the kids, boys both younger and older than himself, that he had hurt, some more serious than others, perhaps some even fatal. He thought about all the kids, boys both younger and older than himself, that had been hurt by someone else, some more serious than others, perhaps some even fatal. And all of it was on his account, it was all his fault, he told himself. He had gotten them all into it, and he had failed to get them all out.

Guilt was not a feeling Spot was accustomed to. It was a strange, foreign thing that he could feel writhing in his stomach, making him queasy. He had never been able to admit to being wrong before, but there was a first time for everything. Spot opened his eyes and glanced around the area surrounding his bench. No one. No one ever sold around Spot's favorite place, of course.

Slowly Spot stood up and walked away down the street, towards a dully painted sign advertising a cheap tavern. He walked with a bowed head, his hands planted firmly behind his neck. It only took him two steps to forget about his papers. It only took him two drinks to forget about his troubles.

+

"Ok, Jack just came back early," Mondie assured her friend. "Our shift is almost up, we can go looking for them now. They'll probably just laugh that we were so worried. You can tell Racetrack that he owes you two dates now."

Misprint smiled weakly, lifting her head from her hands.

"Yeah… ok," she agreed softly. Mondie smiled in relief, glad to get the girl's spirits up a little. They had worked the afternoon in silence, each with her own thoughts to what had happened the night before. Misprint had known from Jack's haggard expression and hopeless words that it had been more serious than ever before. Mondie had spent the whole time trying to figure out why boys fought like that, what mattered so much that it could take someone's life just to get it. She never found an answer.

"There's Dove," Mondie pointed out as they left the factory later. "Do you think she'll know anything?"

Misprint shrugged.

"Maybe. Dunno if she'll tell us though."

"Yeah, really."

The two approached a small bakery where a tall girl with dirty blonde hair was exiting. Her hair was tied in two neat braids and she had smudges of flour on her face and gray skirt. She was trying to get the streaks out of the latter.

"Dove!" Mondie hurried to the girl's side.

"Hello," she said quietly.

"Looks like we caught you at the end of your shift."

"Yes." She went back to working on her skirt. Mondie exchanged glances with Misprint over Dove's head. Not only was she the quietest, shyest, girl they had ever known, she was also horrible at keeping a conversation going.

"Erm, have you seen Pie-eater lately?" Misprint asked casually. Dove straightened.

"Yes," she answered, meeting Misprint's eyes. After a pause, she added, "why?"

"Well, we heard there was a fight last night, and-"

"Oh," Dove interrupted, though still softly. "Yes. He mentioned that. He didn't look very well of himself." She offered a weak smile. "I was just going to see him now, near his lodging house."

"Can we come along?" Mondie asked.

"Did he mention any of the others?" Misprint said at the same time. Dove blinked slowly.

"Yes," she said after a moment, then walked off. Mondie and Misprint exchanged glances again, then Misprint shook her head and followed the girl.

+

"You don't look like much of a drinker to me, boy," a soft voice lingered in Spot's ear. He glanced away from his mug to see a blurry form perched on the seat to his right. He blinked his sight back into focus and studied the girl. Gorgeous. She looked to be only a year or two older than him, and probably an inch shorter. Curly brown hair framed a face with amused gray eyes. She rested her chin on a hand and surveyed him right back. Spot blinked again, then smirked and ordered up another drink. The bartender nodded and hurried away through the smoky darkness. The girl edged closer, shaking her hair away from her eyes. She received her drink and raised it a few inches, again looking at Spot with that amused expression.

"Well, what are we drinking to?"

Spot glanced at the alcohol left in his own mug, then raised it too.

"To…" He paused, eyes on his mug, a million answers coming to mind. To Mercy? To the newsies? To Brooklyn? Guilt? Troubles? Problems? Hate? His eyes darted to the girl's own expectant ones, and a new answer shoved the other options out of the way.

"To you," he said with a coy smile. The girl giggled, then answered his smile, eyes sparkling.

"To you," she agreed.

The clinking of their glasses was lost in the noisy atmosphere of the tavern.

+

Pie-eater was right outside the lodging house, just like Dove had said. In a moment she was enveloped in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. He had his cheek against her head, one hand stroking her hair. Mondie was horrified by the dark splotches covering his face. A cut covered with sickly looking dried blood resided above one of his eyebrows. His lip was split and his hair a mess. His fingers and hands too were swollown and bruised, yet he was the one comforting Dove. Of course, Dove was the type that needed comforting. Misprint fidgeted awkwardly, and Mondie smiled sympathetically when Pie-eater's eyes met hers over Dove's head. He broke away, one arm still hugging her close and nodded politely to the others.

"Girls," he said.

Mondie was the first to speak.

"Pie, where are the others?" she asked curiously.

"Everywhere," he told her. "Some are still in Brooklyn - Boots, Heat, Curly, but they'll be back soon… most everyone else is upstairs, and a few are selling papers," he finished. Dove said something to him softly. He nodded.

"I can get Mush for you," he offered. Mondie smiled gratefully.

"Thanks."

He dropped his arm from Dove's shoulder and disappeared inside. Dove looked over and smiled sadly, Misprint frowned. He hadn't said anything about Racetrack.

A moment later Mush burst from the door and barreled into Mondie, who hugged him tightly back. Mush backed away first, his face not matching the joy expressed on Mondie's. His eyes fell to the ground, and he fiddled with his hat in his hands. Finally he looked up, but this time at Misprint. His face spoke of weariness, but his eyes were soft and comforting. Misprint felt safe under his gaze. But his next actions jolted her out of that haven.

"He…" Mush began, then closed his eyes. After a moment he met Misprint's eyes, but this time just shook his head before turning away. Misprint gulped, her lower lip trembling. She bit it firmly, her teeth coming close to breaking skin. Some of the pain helped to clear her senses. She looked over to Mondie, who was staring at Mush in disbelief. Misprint blinked a few times, then stared at the scuff marks on her shoes.

"Hon," Mondie was saying softly. "You alright?"

Misprint didn't know who she was talking to, herself or Mush. Either way, she didn't answer. She saw Mush's feet move across the cobblestones.

"…had knives," he was saying. "We didn't see him."

"Are you sure?" Mondie was asked feverently. "He's so short, damned Italian, are you sure you didn't just miss him?"

"Mondie…" A sad pause. "I'm sure."

"Oh lord…" Mondie moved to her friend, trying to hug or comfort her. Misprint shook her off, tears welling in her eyes, and stepped away. Mondie stayed back, hurt but understanding. Misprint's knees shook under her, and without warning, she collapsed.

+

"He went 'n there," Edge said, stifling a yawn. "I saw 'em go in. Left 'is papes out here 'n everythin. 'Course, I didn't take 'em, nah. But why waste a good sellin' spot? Thank you, sir." Edge rid himself of another of his own papers. "Ok, well, maybe I took a few, but 'e's not gonna notice, eh? 'N besides-"

"Thanks," Wood muttered, abandoning the rambling boy. Edge eyed his back, then shrugged to himself and continued talking.

"Papes were gonna get all wet out there, with that darned dew and such, ya know, I bet he never even saw that bench was under a tree, oh, and who'd bother ta count anyway? Course, I would, but that's just me…"

Wood ducked into the tavern, blinking smoke away from his eyes. Slowly they adjusted to the gloominess inside, and he was able to make out Spot's lithe form lounging on a bar stool. Next to him was a short girl with curly hair. On closer inspection Wood saw that it wasn't Heart, and sighed. What was Spot doing now, when he should be selling? Wood made his way to the bar and took the free seat to Spot's left. He didn't notice until Wood tapped his shoulder.

"What're you doing, how many drinks have you had, and why aren't you selling?" he asked with a motherly tone. Damn. He hated sounding motherly.

Spot laughed and told the bartender to get something for 'his friend.'

"A good one, Wood," he said. "But this one's better - what do you get when you cross a chicken with-"

"Spot, how many have you had?"

The girl on Spot's right leaned over the bar, meeting his eyes with a dangerous look.

"Maybe you'd better leave," she hissed. Wood raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the unfamiliar girl's bluntness. But damn, she was beautiful…

"No, no, he's probably right," Spot said glumly, eyes on his mug. "I have to sell, or talk to someone, or… something." He managed to push the mug away and hopped down from the stool. Wood smiled with relief - he thought his friend was gone.

The girl pouted.

"Don't leave!" she begged, her lower lip trembling. Spot hesitated. "You can stay a little longer," she continued. "Your friend is ruining our fun."

Spot found himself back on the barstool. He turned to Wood.

"She's right… hey, don't you have some selling to do?"

Wood shrugged.

"Maybe," he admitted, moving towards the door. Maybe Spot just needed some space… he had seen how he'd looked that morning - it hadn't been good. "See you then," he added, then left calmly.

The girl shook her head with a smile.

"What an annoyance," she murmured. "And look, he didn't even touch his drink."