You think you know- by Crunch
*Vioshine- AWW, it may sound weird for me to review a review, but I love this! And it's not just the ego inflation factor, either! Oh, yes, I want that very much too, maybe, just maybe. . .I love Manca! He's so fun to write! And yes, you were correct, he is not attractively challenged in ANY way! Thankyou so much for this review, it means a lot, since I love your writeing! Please do it again! (And feel free to point out any. . .er, not so great parts, since I value your opinion so much! Constructive critisism is everybody's friend!) Thanks again!
*Derby- HOO YAH! Yes, hero, you heard right. Oh really? YAY! It's always comforting to hear from the master o' description that your story is descriptive! Yes, it's me update goil, bringing you new chapters at the SPEED OF LIGHT! DUN DUN DUN! Oh yes, so thanks for reviewing, now go write a new story! I Demand it of you!
*Mondie- hehe OH that's a teaspot! SPOUT!!! What a lovely pun. Ahhh, do not mention college! That's such a panic inducer. .. oh no here I go. . .*hyperventilates into a paper bag, as Spot runs screaming into the night* Any whoo, yes I understand, take your time, you brilliant continuer of stories you! Hehe, Spot in his little playpen, with his widdle fisher price slingshot! Yes, oh the stupidity of boys, it boggles the mind. Well, yes, bureau, but you never know, maybe Spot has a bunch of his goilfriends hidden in his dresser! Maybe? Well, Spell check and haste are not good bedfellows. Oh, calculus, POOOR MONDIE! *sends one golden newie of your choice through the computer screen as condolence!* have fun!
*Doll Face- *Sigh of relief* Oh, GOOD. I was so afraid you'd hate me for mutilating your character beyond recognition, but this is not the case, so glad you liked it! Yes, you will be maaking future appearances, fear not! And I will do my utmost to maintain your dignity! Hows that for encouraging?
*Ali- WOAH! I got an Ali review! An Ali review! Oh, dear. . .*Charges paddles "one two three CLEAR!"* nonono, no bother at all, I appreciate a good ramble now and then! Thanks for the review SO MUCH, now, as I told Derby, go write a new story. Go on! THANKS MUCHLY!
*Shortie- WHEE! Oh, Jacky boys a semi-mimbo in Hallelujah, I think. You're character in SCL, well, muahaha. Actually you're already in a chapter, you just don't know it. Oh, don't worry, he'll go to Hell, if I have any say in it! *devilish wink* hm, yes, well, maybe he is keeping women in his bureau, you never know! Ahem. Spell check is nobody's friend. Manca, yes, my little Italian stalion, oh sigh. hmm. . . I dunno if Manca's gonna end up with a girlfriend in THIS story, and while I was going to selfishly keep him for myself, well, sure you can have him if the opportunity arises! And if not this story, hey, don't worry, Manca will ride again!
*Raeghann- Yes, Spot. How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Oh no, I cannot, so thanks! Keep reading! Here ya are!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot studied Manca from across the greasy, plate- packed tabletop in their regular booth, in their regular diner. Every thing about the boy across from him, oblivious to his leader's scrutiny as he gulped down forkfulls of pasta, seemed competely and blissfully normal. From his boyish, foreign good looks, to his cheerful disposition, to the predictably untroubled thoughts floating through his head at the moment, he was your average American boy, albeit more cunning and street-savvy then most. His opinions, his dreams, were those of the standard working boys of New York. It was one of the reasons Spot valued his input so much, and also, one of the reasons Spot envied him.
He only wished he could be normal.
"I t'ought Doll Face was just a fling." His friend mused around a sip of beer, jolting Spot back to there previous conversation.
"She is."
"Oh." Manca frowned slightly.
"Oh what?"
"Well, shouldn't she be. . .ya know, flung? It's been t'ree weeks." Spot shrugged, unwilling to consider the reasons behind this unusual occurance. It was true, Doll Face was the girl of the week he just couldn't bring himself to throw away. Even Spot didn't understand himself sometimes. Most of the time, actually.
"So, whatta you gonna do about da Bronx?" Spot shrugged again, his mind on other things.
"I dunno. I can't worry about dat right now."
"Spot, somethin's gotta be done. Wrench's had da whole Borough out ta get youse evah since you done 'is sistah . . ."
"Manca, will ya lower ya voice, fah Gawd's sake?" Spot glanced around nervously, though he couldn't say why. He supposed it was because Doll Face has no knowledge of the real reasons behind the fued, though why he cared if she found out, well, he couldn't say that either.
"I mean, it's getting outta hand. . ."
"I KNOW dat, Manca." The boy raised his hands in submission, not nearly fool enough to press the issue.
"Alright, I'm sorry Spot. So you don't wanna talk about it. I could take a hint."
*.*.*.*
"Scandel rocks da state! Gov'nor seen wid young goil! Extra, Extra!"
Spot whiped one sleeve, stiff with caked on mud and filth baked thoroughly in the midday sun, across his glistening forhead, waving the papes high above his sun-beaten head. Selling was hard on Sunday's, though he managed. He always managed. "Mayer and his nude young goilfriend caught red handed, pictahs page nine- " He cocked his head and paused, mid headline, as the strains of a familiar tune drifted from a building across the street, littered with girls in pleated skirts and men in fancy bowlers and hankercheifs.
"Rock of ages let our song
praise thy saving power"
Intrigued, he turned on one thread-bare heal and, cap clutched in his hands, strode towards the open doorways of the nearby, familiar ivory cathedral, glistening in the midday sunlight.
"Thou admist the raging foes,
Wast our sheltr'ing tower"
With a strange feeling that his presence was violating the sanctity of this holy place, Spot ducked inside reluctantly, feeling the deep strains of the organ reverberating through the floorboards. Sometimes, he thought about attending sevices. Hey, it couldn't hurt, he figured, and it might even help a bit. But then the urge would pass. What good would praying and singing those silly little songs do anyways? If he wasn't good enough for God, or whoever, just the way he was, it was too late to do anything about it now.
"Furious they assailed us,
But thine arm availed us,"
Spot leaned against the archways, comtemplating whether today felt like a 'fake limp' day, or a 'hacking cough' day. Church goers were, after all, easy stoolies. They'd flow through the collossal wooden doorways at the end of another rambling sermon, like a river of holy water, hearts filled with repentance and heads brimming with good intentions, eager to buy a pity pape or two from a starving, sickly orphan.
"And thy word
broke their sword,
When our own strength failed us,"
"You, boy, what are you doing here, skulking around a church in broad daylight? Have you know respect?" A crotchety old congregant, clutching the wicker basket brimming with change in his warped old hands, staggered painfully across the vestibule towards the stunned Brooklynite with an admonishing glare. "Is nothing sacred to you street rats?"
"I just. . ."
"I know VERY well what you wanted, you scoundrel, and you'll get nothing from us! Now be gone!" He wagged a veiny finger in the indignant boy's face.
"Well dat aint mighty Christian of youse!"
"OFF with you!" With a last glare of rebellion, he shrunk from the temple, scuffing the polished floors as he went. Was there no charity in this town? All he wanted was a place to rest, and it's not like the folks he planned to swindle couldn't afford it.
Glancing over his shoulder, still reflecting on the passion of the injustices done against him, Spot ran smack into an untidy cluster of panting, teary young newsies, faces distorted with grief and terror.
"Hey, whats da mattah wid you guys?" Spot strained for breath, fighting to keep the cocky smile plastered to his face despite the fear permeating his churning stomach. "You look like da world is endin." He cast his piercing cobalt eyes from face to face. "BeBe? Twinkle? Pipah?" the last newsie mentioned stepped forwards, a grim look of panic written across his young face.
"Spot. . .da raid. . ." he mumbled. "We lost."
"Lost what?"
"Diamond, Swivel, Queenie, we lost em. A couple udders is beat pretty bad. Petey's got his leg broked, an Tissue doesn't say anythin', just keeps groanin'. . ."
"Huh? We lost . . ." He reached for some thread of understanding, his heart down around his ankles. Of course, this was just a joke, and any second, Piper's face would crack a grin, and he would cackle with pleasure.
Any second now. . .
"Dere's a couple of guys messed up REAL bad, and one. . .der aint nothin' da Doctor could do fah him, he's just a li'l un like us. . ."
"What?" Any second now . . . "Pipah, WHAT are you talkin about?"
"It was da raid, Spot, it all went sour. Wrench's boys musta known we was comin' some how!"
Spot shook his head, desperate to hault the swirl of information invading his brain. Things were going too far, too fast, and he felt powerless to stop it. "Wait, raid? What raid?"
"Didn't you know?" Piper's lips parted in surprise, and Spot knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
"Know about what?" This wasn't happening.
"He said you gave da order for a raid on da Bronx. He said you wanted somethin' done about Wrench an' his boys, tanight. Dat's how all our boys got hoit."
"Who said? Who said I wanted a raid, Pipah?" The child's lip trembled with fear, and despite his growing impatience, the Brooklyn leader softened his voice persuasively. "I aint gonna hoit youse for tellin' me, Pipah. Now come on, who said I wanted a raid?" Coaxed by the change in Spot's tone, Piper heaved a sigh of resignation.
"Manca, Spot. It was Manca."
Oh. . . Shit.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
OOH, the plot ever thickens! REVIEW!!!!!!!!!
*Vioshine- AWW, it may sound weird for me to review a review, but I love this! And it's not just the ego inflation factor, either! Oh, yes, I want that very much too, maybe, just maybe. . .I love Manca! He's so fun to write! And yes, you were correct, he is not attractively challenged in ANY way! Thankyou so much for this review, it means a lot, since I love your writeing! Please do it again! (And feel free to point out any. . .er, not so great parts, since I value your opinion so much! Constructive critisism is everybody's friend!) Thanks again!
*Derby- HOO YAH! Yes, hero, you heard right. Oh really? YAY! It's always comforting to hear from the master o' description that your story is descriptive! Yes, it's me update goil, bringing you new chapters at the SPEED OF LIGHT! DUN DUN DUN! Oh yes, so thanks for reviewing, now go write a new story! I Demand it of you!
*Mondie- hehe OH that's a teaspot! SPOUT!!! What a lovely pun. Ahhh, do not mention college! That's such a panic inducer. .. oh no here I go. . .*hyperventilates into a paper bag, as Spot runs screaming into the night* Any whoo, yes I understand, take your time, you brilliant continuer of stories you! Hehe, Spot in his little playpen, with his widdle fisher price slingshot! Yes, oh the stupidity of boys, it boggles the mind. Well, yes, bureau, but you never know, maybe Spot has a bunch of his goilfriends hidden in his dresser! Maybe? Well, Spell check and haste are not good bedfellows. Oh, calculus, POOOR MONDIE! *sends one golden newie of your choice through the computer screen as condolence!* have fun!
*Doll Face- *Sigh of relief* Oh, GOOD. I was so afraid you'd hate me for mutilating your character beyond recognition, but this is not the case, so glad you liked it! Yes, you will be maaking future appearances, fear not! And I will do my utmost to maintain your dignity! Hows that for encouraging?
*Ali- WOAH! I got an Ali review! An Ali review! Oh, dear. . .*Charges paddles "one two three CLEAR!"* nonono, no bother at all, I appreciate a good ramble now and then! Thanks for the review SO MUCH, now, as I told Derby, go write a new story. Go on! THANKS MUCHLY!
*Shortie- WHEE! Oh, Jacky boys a semi-mimbo in Hallelujah, I think. You're character in SCL, well, muahaha. Actually you're already in a chapter, you just don't know it. Oh, don't worry, he'll go to Hell, if I have any say in it! *devilish wink* hm, yes, well, maybe he is keeping women in his bureau, you never know! Ahem. Spell check is nobody's friend. Manca, yes, my little Italian stalion, oh sigh. hmm. . . I dunno if Manca's gonna end up with a girlfriend in THIS story, and while I was going to selfishly keep him for myself, well, sure you can have him if the opportunity arises! And if not this story, hey, don't worry, Manca will ride again!
*Raeghann- Yes, Spot. How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Oh no, I cannot, so thanks! Keep reading! Here ya are!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot studied Manca from across the greasy, plate- packed tabletop in their regular booth, in their regular diner. Every thing about the boy across from him, oblivious to his leader's scrutiny as he gulped down forkfulls of pasta, seemed competely and blissfully normal. From his boyish, foreign good looks, to his cheerful disposition, to the predictably untroubled thoughts floating through his head at the moment, he was your average American boy, albeit more cunning and street-savvy then most. His opinions, his dreams, were those of the standard working boys of New York. It was one of the reasons Spot valued his input so much, and also, one of the reasons Spot envied him.
He only wished he could be normal.
"I t'ought Doll Face was just a fling." His friend mused around a sip of beer, jolting Spot back to there previous conversation.
"She is."
"Oh." Manca frowned slightly.
"Oh what?"
"Well, shouldn't she be. . .ya know, flung? It's been t'ree weeks." Spot shrugged, unwilling to consider the reasons behind this unusual occurance. It was true, Doll Face was the girl of the week he just couldn't bring himself to throw away. Even Spot didn't understand himself sometimes. Most of the time, actually.
"So, whatta you gonna do about da Bronx?" Spot shrugged again, his mind on other things.
"I dunno. I can't worry about dat right now."
"Spot, somethin's gotta be done. Wrench's had da whole Borough out ta get youse evah since you done 'is sistah . . ."
"Manca, will ya lower ya voice, fah Gawd's sake?" Spot glanced around nervously, though he couldn't say why. He supposed it was because Doll Face has no knowledge of the real reasons behind the fued, though why he cared if she found out, well, he couldn't say that either.
"I mean, it's getting outta hand. . ."
"I KNOW dat, Manca." The boy raised his hands in submission, not nearly fool enough to press the issue.
"Alright, I'm sorry Spot. So you don't wanna talk about it. I could take a hint."
*.*.*.*
"Scandel rocks da state! Gov'nor seen wid young goil! Extra, Extra!"
Spot whiped one sleeve, stiff with caked on mud and filth baked thoroughly in the midday sun, across his glistening forhead, waving the papes high above his sun-beaten head. Selling was hard on Sunday's, though he managed. He always managed. "Mayer and his nude young goilfriend caught red handed, pictahs page nine- " He cocked his head and paused, mid headline, as the strains of a familiar tune drifted from a building across the street, littered with girls in pleated skirts and men in fancy bowlers and hankercheifs.
"Rock of ages let our song
praise thy saving power"
Intrigued, he turned on one thread-bare heal and, cap clutched in his hands, strode towards the open doorways of the nearby, familiar ivory cathedral, glistening in the midday sunlight.
"Thou admist the raging foes,
Wast our sheltr'ing tower"
With a strange feeling that his presence was violating the sanctity of this holy place, Spot ducked inside reluctantly, feeling the deep strains of the organ reverberating through the floorboards. Sometimes, he thought about attending sevices. Hey, it couldn't hurt, he figured, and it might even help a bit. But then the urge would pass. What good would praying and singing those silly little songs do anyways? If he wasn't good enough for God, or whoever, just the way he was, it was too late to do anything about it now.
"Furious they assailed us,
But thine arm availed us,"
Spot leaned against the archways, comtemplating whether today felt like a 'fake limp' day, or a 'hacking cough' day. Church goers were, after all, easy stoolies. They'd flow through the collossal wooden doorways at the end of another rambling sermon, like a river of holy water, hearts filled with repentance and heads brimming with good intentions, eager to buy a pity pape or two from a starving, sickly orphan.
"And thy word
broke their sword,
When our own strength failed us,"
"You, boy, what are you doing here, skulking around a church in broad daylight? Have you know respect?" A crotchety old congregant, clutching the wicker basket brimming with change in his warped old hands, staggered painfully across the vestibule towards the stunned Brooklynite with an admonishing glare. "Is nothing sacred to you street rats?"
"I just. . ."
"I know VERY well what you wanted, you scoundrel, and you'll get nothing from us! Now be gone!" He wagged a veiny finger in the indignant boy's face.
"Well dat aint mighty Christian of youse!"
"OFF with you!" With a last glare of rebellion, he shrunk from the temple, scuffing the polished floors as he went. Was there no charity in this town? All he wanted was a place to rest, and it's not like the folks he planned to swindle couldn't afford it.
Glancing over his shoulder, still reflecting on the passion of the injustices done against him, Spot ran smack into an untidy cluster of panting, teary young newsies, faces distorted with grief and terror.
"Hey, whats da mattah wid you guys?" Spot strained for breath, fighting to keep the cocky smile plastered to his face despite the fear permeating his churning stomach. "You look like da world is endin." He cast his piercing cobalt eyes from face to face. "BeBe? Twinkle? Pipah?" the last newsie mentioned stepped forwards, a grim look of panic written across his young face.
"Spot. . .da raid. . ." he mumbled. "We lost."
"Lost what?"
"Diamond, Swivel, Queenie, we lost em. A couple udders is beat pretty bad. Petey's got his leg broked, an Tissue doesn't say anythin', just keeps groanin'. . ."
"Huh? We lost . . ." He reached for some thread of understanding, his heart down around his ankles. Of course, this was just a joke, and any second, Piper's face would crack a grin, and he would cackle with pleasure.
Any second now. . .
"Dere's a couple of guys messed up REAL bad, and one. . .der aint nothin' da Doctor could do fah him, he's just a li'l un like us. . ."
"What?" Any second now . . . "Pipah, WHAT are you talkin about?"
"It was da raid, Spot, it all went sour. Wrench's boys musta known we was comin' some how!"
Spot shook his head, desperate to hault the swirl of information invading his brain. Things were going too far, too fast, and he felt powerless to stop it. "Wait, raid? What raid?"
"Didn't you know?" Piper's lips parted in surprise, and Spot knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
"Know about what?" This wasn't happening.
"He said you gave da order for a raid on da Bronx. He said you wanted somethin' done about Wrench an' his boys, tanight. Dat's how all our boys got hoit."
"Who said? Who said I wanted a raid, Pipah?" The child's lip trembled with fear, and despite his growing impatience, the Brooklyn leader softened his voice persuasively. "I aint gonna hoit youse for tellin' me, Pipah. Now come on, who said I wanted a raid?" Coaxed by the change in Spot's tone, Piper heaved a sigh of resignation.
"Manca, Spot. It was Manca."
Oh. . . Shit.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
OOH, the plot ever thickens! REVIEW!!!!!!!!!