You think you know- by Crunch
*Last chapter: Spots friends. This chapter: Spot's looooooooooove. Well, sorta.
Raeghann- oh, thanks muchly! Here ya go!
Shortie- oh, my own pitchfork, finally. . . THE ABSOLUTE POWER!!!! Yes, Manca, my Italian stallion. Really, like you? Oh, well, he's in touch with his femanine side then. Hehe, I liked that line, I was gonna save it for Racetrack, but the need arose. . .You know you're right! Racetrack, Jack, Spot, there all male bimbos in my stories! There MIMBOS! Oh no nono nonono, don't worry, its nothing like SCL. I'm not gonna kill anyone. . .well, not everyone. The fueds just gonna be to prove a point. Except I haven't figured out how yet. . .oh well you don't need to hear all that.Oh, swivel, hehe, its ok, hes a reseilliant little ambastard. It is not to worry. Well, this chapter is slow, but if you make it to the end, there'll be a golden newsie waiting! Cheers~
Mondie- whats a teaspot? Maybe I'm crazy, but it sounds really cute, and I just got a picture of Spot doint the whole I'm a little teapot jig. . . oh thanks! I lovel piper. Ok, I'll continue . . . . if you write another story! MU HAAA HA! No, I'll prolly continue anyways, but I still want a new story. No pressure! (pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. There is pressure.)
Derby- DERBY!!! *staggers backwards in shock and delight, inadvertantly trips over the computer chair and wakes the family* Ow. Yay, my hero reviewed! Whoo hoo! Thanks so much, here a new chapter, and uh, slip the hamsters a little extra food for me tonight, okies? *sly wink*
Bittersweet- ok right. . .wait for it. . .not yet. . .NOW! he he, here ya go, keep reviewing!
Spotted One- oh, goody! Intrigue is every writers friend! Thanks for the review!
Doll Face- Oh, I'm so glad you like it! Jeeze, I swear you are like, the most fantabulous reviewer a writer could ask for. So heres ya chapter! I know, I know, Im SO VERY sorry I mangled your character a bit, but look, ya still get Spot! Maybe I could try and change it if I've mortified you. . .And worry not, your relationship will take a turn for the better. Thanks for the profile, please don't hate me! You should see what I'm gonna do to Shorties character *he he he*
Caitlin22888- oh nono, don't worry, no death. Its not much of a fued anyways, probably just a little background plot. Oh, yes, thankyou for getting as far as you did with scl, I completely understand. I almost stopped reading it myself.
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It wasn't as horrible as he'd anticipated. From Piper's tearful description, Spot had more or less expected a mangled and crazy Swivel to greet him, when in reality, he was more of a bruised and shell shocked Swivel then anything. Still, it was enough of a beating to stir the vengeful blood of his newsie underlings.
"What do we do, Spot?" Spot and his associates, really just an assortment of Brooklyn newsies who'd slept late or been selling in the area when news of Swivel's soaking spread like wild fire, crowded around their fearless leader as he tried to think, pressing in from all sides. "Yeah, Spot, what are we gonna do about dis?"
How the hell should he know? For God's sake, he didn't know! He wasn't a Doctor, or an Army Commando, he was just a kid! A 15 year old kid born in the gutters of Brooklyn, and they wanted him to have all the answers? Damned if he knew what to do.
"I'll tell youse exactly what we's gonna do." Well, here went nothing. "Dey bust one of ours, I say we bust two a der's!"
The cry was met with hardy choruses of "yeah!" and "You tell em, boss!" Spot paced back and forth, setteling into his role, the role he was made for. "Dat's right. We'll show em! We'll show em dey can't mess wid us, and dey can't mess wid Brooklyn!"
"BROOKLYN!"
*.*.*.*
Doll Face was the kind of girl most newsies lay awake dreaming about at night; dreams that left them soaked with longing and bitter when they opened their eyes the next morning. Small and curvy, with beaming crystal eyes that looked into your soul and haunted your fantasies, she was sweet and proud and destined to be a good catch for any man.
Spot liked her. Well, he liked making out with her. He did not love her.
He never pretended to.
"What are ya t'inkin about, Spot?"
"Nothin." He grunted, anxious to get gack to the buisness of undressing. Why was it that people always felt the need to talk when there was no call for words?
"Aw, come on. You could tell me."
"No." he deadpanned, to her dismay. She knew exactly how he felt about her, and it hurt her; he could see it in the droop of her shoulders, usually stiff with self confidence, and in the way her face fell each time he'd causally brush her off. She loved him, but she knew.
"I dunno why you treat me like dis, Spot. I dunno why I LET you treat me like dis."
"Whatsa matta wid da way I treat youse?" He shrugged, a bit to busy unfastening his belt to devote himself to a suave response, so he settled for an honest one. "I neva hit you, I don't swear aroun' youse, an I aint makin' time wid any udder goils, not dis week. What's wrong wid dat?"
"If you don't know, I can't tell youse." He rolled his eyes in annoyance at her retort. It was just so. . .so. . .female.
"What evah. Come on, da boys'll be back soon." He glanced impatiently around the abandonned bunk room,expecting the stream of newsies to come piling in at any moment for their twelve o'clock lunch break.
"So what? Dey won't come up if dey knows you don't want em to."
"I know dat, lets jus' hurry up anyways." She leaned unmoving against a nearby bedpost, arms crossed furiously across her chest, an exasperated frown tugging at her lips.
"I aint a service station, Spot. You can't just open da flap an' fill er up when you're runnin' on empty." He sighed, cursing the fates for sticking him with, of all people, the one girl in the bureau, maybe in New York, who'd ever turn him down. Truth was, she was more trouble then she was worth, but she always came around. She might have her dignity, but she had her weaknesses as well. For one, she loved Spot. It was her greatest downfall.
"Fine, Doll Face. You don't wanna do it, we won't do it. I got papes ta get back to anyways." With a cavalier shrug, he writhed into his belt, grabbed his suspenders, and tucked his shirt under his arm, to his girl friend's dismay.
"Wait, Spot." Doll Face bit her lip, grasping desparately at his arm. "I didn' mean ta. ."
"It's alright. Like I said, I got papes ta get back to. An' I'm supposed ta meet Manca soon fah lunch, so it's bettah dis way." Uh huh. Spot failed to see how no action could ever be better then action, but begging never did wonders for your reputation. And that's all that Spot had, it was all that held Brooklyn together; Spot's reputation.
"Spot. . ." she paused, reluctant to leave his company no matter how hard he pushed. For a second, just a breif second, Spot thought she might be reconsidering. But then that insightful look crossed her porcelain features, a look that he detested, and he knew it was not to be. "I really t'ink it might be good fah you. You know, ta tell me whats goin' on." After a moment of intense consideration, he shrugged and plopped down on a comparatively neat bunk. What the hell, he could always use another opinion.
"Jus' trouble between da bureaus, that's awl. Wrench an' his boys is breathin' down me neck all da time."
"Why?"
"Ya know, same stuff it always is. Turfs wars, financial pro'lems, boys playin at bein' soldiars. An den dere's me own boys, who wanna see some action. Ya know, some revenge. But. . ."
"But you don't want revenge?" Spot shrugged again, a bit wary at the potential of this conversation.
"It's jus sometimes. . . I don't want it."
"It?" He opened his mouth, on the brink of revealing the eternal mystery that was the mind of Spot Conlon, but stopped dead in his tracks as the stairs leading to the bunk room errupted with the creak of decrepid wood and the chatter of boys just out of work. And that was the end of their conversation.
"Listen, you gotta be goin, Doll." He shrugged hastily into his trademark suspenders as the dissapointment shown like a banner across her face.
"Well, ok. . .will ya meet me latah tanight?"
"Sure, kid." He reached up and stroked her cheek gently, almost patronizingly. "If I got da time." Crestfallen, but determined to hold her rediculous tears at bay, she wrapped herself into her shawl and headed for the stairs of the Lodging House, throwing regrettful glances over one shoulder all the way.
Spot reached into his pocket, taking a long breath to cool down, and withdrew one of his prescious cigarettes.
He felt sorry for her, really he did. The poor kid didn't know what she'd gotten herself in to.
But then again, neither did he.
He would find out that night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
yeah, yeah, it's kinda slow, but hopefully it should pick up soon. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here, so I hope you guys weren't toooo dissapointed. Thanks to you all for reading *stands regally on a bronzed statue of Greely and tosses squeeling newsies into the crowd* REVIEW REVIEW!
*Last chapter: Spots friends. This chapter: Spot's looooooooooove. Well, sorta.
Raeghann- oh, thanks muchly! Here ya go!
Shortie- oh, my own pitchfork, finally. . . THE ABSOLUTE POWER!!!! Yes, Manca, my Italian stallion. Really, like you? Oh, well, he's in touch with his femanine side then. Hehe, I liked that line, I was gonna save it for Racetrack, but the need arose. . .You know you're right! Racetrack, Jack, Spot, there all male bimbos in my stories! There MIMBOS! Oh no nono nonono, don't worry, its nothing like SCL. I'm not gonna kill anyone. . .well, not everyone. The fueds just gonna be to prove a point. Except I haven't figured out how yet. . .oh well you don't need to hear all that.Oh, swivel, hehe, its ok, hes a reseilliant little ambastard. It is not to worry. Well, this chapter is slow, but if you make it to the end, there'll be a golden newsie waiting! Cheers~
Mondie- whats a teaspot? Maybe I'm crazy, but it sounds really cute, and I just got a picture of Spot doint the whole I'm a little teapot jig. . . oh thanks! I lovel piper. Ok, I'll continue . . . . if you write another story! MU HAAA HA! No, I'll prolly continue anyways, but I still want a new story. No pressure! (pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. There is pressure.)
Derby- DERBY!!! *staggers backwards in shock and delight, inadvertantly trips over the computer chair and wakes the family* Ow. Yay, my hero reviewed! Whoo hoo! Thanks so much, here a new chapter, and uh, slip the hamsters a little extra food for me tonight, okies? *sly wink*
Bittersweet- ok right. . .wait for it. . .not yet. . .NOW! he he, here ya go, keep reviewing!
Spotted One- oh, goody! Intrigue is every writers friend! Thanks for the review!
Doll Face- Oh, I'm so glad you like it! Jeeze, I swear you are like, the most fantabulous reviewer a writer could ask for. So heres ya chapter! I know, I know, Im SO VERY sorry I mangled your character a bit, but look, ya still get Spot! Maybe I could try and change it if I've mortified you. . .And worry not, your relationship will take a turn for the better. Thanks for the profile, please don't hate me! You should see what I'm gonna do to Shorties character *he he he*
Caitlin22888- oh nono, don't worry, no death. Its not much of a fued anyways, probably just a little background plot. Oh, yes, thankyou for getting as far as you did with scl, I completely understand. I almost stopped reading it myself.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It wasn't as horrible as he'd anticipated. From Piper's tearful description, Spot had more or less expected a mangled and crazy Swivel to greet him, when in reality, he was more of a bruised and shell shocked Swivel then anything. Still, it was enough of a beating to stir the vengeful blood of his newsie underlings.
"What do we do, Spot?" Spot and his associates, really just an assortment of Brooklyn newsies who'd slept late or been selling in the area when news of Swivel's soaking spread like wild fire, crowded around their fearless leader as he tried to think, pressing in from all sides. "Yeah, Spot, what are we gonna do about dis?"
How the hell should he know? For God's sake, he didn't know! He wasn't a Doctor, or an Army Commando, he was just a kid! A 15 year old kid born in the gutters of Brooklyn, and they wanted him to have all the answers? Damned if he knew what to do.
"I'll tell youse exactly what we's gonna do." Well, here went nothing. "Dey bust one of ours, I say we bust two a der's!"
The cry was met with hardy choruses of "yeah!" and "You tell em, boss!" Spot paced back and forth, setteling into his role, the role he was made for. "Dat's right. We'll show em! We'll show em dey can't mess wid us, and dey can't mess wid Brooklyn!"
"BROOKLYN!"
*.*.*.*
Doll Face was the kind of girl most newsies lay awake dreaming about at night; dreams that left them soaked with longing and bitter when they opened their eyes the next morning. Small and curvy, with beaming crystal eyes that looked into your soul and haunted your fantasies, she was sweet and proud and destined to be a good catch for any man.
Spot liked her. Well, he liked making out with her. He did not love her.
He never pretended to.
"What are ya t'inkin about, Spot?"
"Nothin." He grunted, anxious to get gack to the buisness of undressing. Why was it that people always felt the need to talk when there was no call for words?
"Aw, come on. You could tell me."
"No." he deadpanned, to her dismay. She knew exactly how he felt about her, and it hurt her; he could see it in the droop of her shoulders, usually stiff with self confidence, and in the way her face fell each time he'd causally brush her off. She loved him, but she knew.
"I dunno why you treat me like dis, Spot. I dunno why I LET you treat me like dis."
"Whatsa matta wid da way I treat youse?" He shrugged, a bit to busy unfastening his belt to devote himself to a suave response, so he settled for an honest one. "I neva hit you, I don't swear aroun' youse, an I aint makin' time wid any udder goils, not dis week. What's wrong wid dat?"
"If you don't know, I can't tell youse." He rolled his eyes in annoyance at her retort. It was just so. . .so. . .female.
"What evah. Come on, da boys'll be back soon." He glanced impatiently around the abandonned bunk room,expecting the stream of newsies to come piling in at any moment for their twelve o'clock lunch break.
"So what? Dey won't come up if dey knows you don't want em to."
"I know dat, lets jus' hurry up anyways." She leaned unmoving against a nearby bedpost, arms crossed furiously across her chest, an exasperated frown tugging at her lips.
"I aint a service station, Spot. You can't just open da flap an' fill er up when you're runnin' on empty." He sighed, cursing the fates for sticking him with, of all people, the one girl in the bureau, maybe in New York, who'd ever turn him down. Truth was, she was more trouble then she was worth, but she always came around. She might have her dignity, but she had her weaknesses as well. For one, she loved Spot. It was her greatest downfall.
"Fine, Doll Face. You don't wanna do it, we won't do it. I got papes ta get back to anyways." With a cavalier shrug, he writhed into his belt, grabbed his suspenders, and tucked his shirt under his arm, to his girl friend's dismay.
"Wait, Spot." Doll Face bit her lip, grasping desparately at his arm. "I didn' mean ta. ."
"It's alright. Like I said, I got papes ta get back to. An' I'm supposed ta meet Manca soon fah lunch, so it's bettah dis way." Uh huh. Spot failed to see how no action could ever be better then action, but begging never did wonders for your reputation. And that's all that Spot had, it was all that held Brooklyn together; Spot's reputation.
"Spot. . ." she paused, reluctant to leave his company no matter how hard he pushed. For a second, just a breif second, Spot thought she might be reconsidering. But then that insightful look crossed her porcelain features, a look that he detested, and he knew it was not to be. "I really t'ink it might be good fah you. You know, ta tell me whats goin' on." After a moment of intense consideration, he shrugged and plopped down on a comparatively neat bunk. What the hell, he could always use another opinion.
"Jus' trouble between da bureaus, that's awl. Wrench an' his boys is breathin' down me neck all da time."
"Why?"
"Ya know, same stuff it always is. Turfs wars, financial pro'lems, boys playin at bein' soldiars. An den dere's me own boys, who wanna see some action. Ya know, some revenge. But. . ."
"But you don't want revenge?" Spot shrugged again, a bit wary at the potential of this conversation.
"It's jus sometimes. . . I don't want it."
"It?" He opened his mouth, on the brink of revealing the eternal mystery that was the mind of Spot Conlon, but stopped dead in his tracks as the stairs leading to the bunk room errupted with the creak of decrepid wood and the chatter of boys just out of work. And that was the end of their conversation.
"Listen, you gotta be goin, Doll." He shrugged hastily into his trademark suspenders as the dissapointment shown like a banner across her face.
"Well, ok. . .will ya meet me latah tanight?"
"Sure, kid." He reached up and stroked her cheek gently, almost patronizingly. "If I got da time." Crestfallen, but determined to hold her rediculous tears at bay, she wrapped herself into her shawl and headed for the stairs of the Lodging House, throwing regrettful glances over one shoulder all the way.
Spot reached into his pocket, taking a long breath to cool down, and withdrew one of his prescious cigarettes.
He felt sorry for her, really he did. The poor kid didn't know what she'd gotten herself in to.
But then again, neither did he.
He would find out that night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
yeah, yeah, it's kinda slow, but hopefully it should pick up soon. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here, so I hope you guys weren't toooo dissapointed. Thanks to you all for reading *stands regally on a bronzed statue of Greely and tosses squeeling newsies into the crowd* REVIEW REVIEW!