You think you know - by Crunch
Doll Face- Yes, poor Spot can't even find a break. Even when he's finding religeon. Ok, so he wasn't REALLY finding religeon, but it's a shame none the less. . . Thanks a bunch! I'm glad you like! And I think I already told you this, but NO, DON't ABANDON IT! And where's my update, huh? I want a one sweet day update! But no pressure. BTW, it's kindof silly to ask you, but do you wan't to see a spot-grows-to-love-Doll Face development? I know, ask a stupid question. . .
Kaylee- Race? Who doesn't love him! Well, I'm not too sure, maybe I can have him make a cameo for you later, we'll see! Thanks for the review!
Ali- Oh, no, swearing doesn't offend me. . .I do it far too often. And I agree, Manca is a bastard. *takes a swing at a passing Manca-muse* Oh, yes, and there's this spontanious little reference to you in the chapter, since you were half- in the story already, or sort of, but you don't get to kill Manca. Oh well, don't worry, he's not purely evil yet. Oh, yeah, you . . . love. . .SOB! Crunch receives your high five. Thanks for the encouragement! Oh yes, and I'm polling the audience. . .what do you think of a Spot-learns-to-love-Doll Face development? Just a cornball little thought, but I think they're kind of cute too!
Derby- Hah, what do you think of update girl now? Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks a bunch, I'm glad you like it! Oh, Manca? Hmm. I was real proud of that one. I think it was a combination of a bunch of names. . . Mondie's might even have been in it. . .I'll have to think about that one. I love newsie names! Anywhoo, thanks for the review!
Misprint- Oh, lead to naught? That is one hell of an elloquent. eloquint.eloquent? Statement. Hee hee, now I've just pictured a doll face flying through the air, like from one of those catapults in ROBIN HOOD, MEN IN TIGHTS. And it is quite funny. Hee hee, vile wench? VILE WENCH? BUAHAHAHAHAHAH! Well, since you flatter me so, here's an update! Ps - what do you think of Apot growing to love DF? Just a thought. . .
Fanfiction420- I knoew what you mean, I was just starting to like Manca a lot too! Which is kind of weird, because, I made him up. Hmm. Anyways, yes, it is on, and stay tuned to see where Manca's foolishness will lead. Dun Dun DUN!!!!!!!!!
Vioshine- No, sadly you are not mistaken, and neither is Spot. But don't worry, Manca's not totally evil yet, oh, but the day is young! (No, really, he's not evil. Don't cry.) Yes, I love the Spot and Doll Face relationship, it's so fun to write, in a kind of twisted way. Jeeze, you've hit the nail right on the head with that! You're good at this! Anywhoo, I'm hoping their little rendez-vous will progress, but we'll just have to see where the mood takes me! Btw, what do you think of that idea- I mean Spot growing to love Doll Face? Your opinion is much needed and very welcome! Anyway, thanks for the review, and if you're even reading this after all this time, you have my eternal gratitude!
Mondie- #1 oh, I understand, my updations are few and far between. Sometimes I even miss them
#2 No, I don't think it is either, but as a frequent user of the world 'muchly' who am I to judge?
#3 Oh, Manca. I hated to do it. Really I did. He's just too darn cute for this. Shame on me.
#4 hee, piper, he's so small and insignifacantly cute. I love him muchly.
#5 Yes, Spotty finds religeon. Chuckles all around
#6 Don't remind me!
#7 oh, poor vulnerable Spot. It's alright, I'll comfort him *tries to embrace a very un-vulnerable Spot-Muse, and ends up with a black eye*
#8 This is a fun review! Luffle ya back! And, I have to ask, what the heck do all those little letters mean? It's been bugging me for evah!
Sorry everyone about the late update! Yes, laziness, thy name is Crunch. Anyway, enjoy!
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Spot could barely hear the sobs of his fellow newsies around the blood pounding in his ears and rising behind his eyes. 'Anyone else. . .' he pleaded against the rage he could feel simmering inside of him. 'Why couldn't it have been anyone else?' He'd trusted Manca, he'd confided in him, he'd loved him like a brother. Now he would kill the son of a bitch.
He wasn't hard to find. After all, Manca was so predictable, just your average working boy of New York. So Spot knew exactly where he was headed as he stormed across the cobblestones, deaf to any protests or pleas. The boy couldn't go home, and he couldn't hide, because Spot knew him inside and out, knew every trick and every crevice of Manca's world. No, he couldn't hide from Spot Conlon. He could run, but he could never hide.
Deaf to the indignant cries of bystanders as he barreled through them, Spot turned onto the street he knew well from many post- curfew adventures. With his footfalls thundering against the gritty cobblestones of a back alley, strewn with blacken clumps of snow and broken beer bottles, it was only minutes before Spot found himself at his destination. The rage inside of him boiling over with every step, he ducked through the entranceway under a sign that read 'Girls Brooklyn Lodging House'. Ignoring the mingled protests and cat calls of the newsgirls, he stormed up the rickety old staircase, pushed past a flurry of anxious females, and stepped into the bunkroom he knew like the back of his hand. And there, huddled on a bunk with his head in his hands, just as Spot had suspected, was Manca.
At the sound of his labored breathing, the petite girl bent over Manca's shivering form looked up with dread in her eyes. "Spot. . . don't hoit 'im, please. . ."
"Get out, Ali."
"He didn't mean. . ."
"Get OUT!" her face drawn with worry, Ali nodded and squeezed her boyfriend reassuringly on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the bunkroom deserted save for the two newsboys.
"What did you do, Manca?" He turned to his leader, dazed and sick at heart.
"Spot. . .please. . ."
"What did you do?"
"Please, I didn' know. . ."
"Do you have ANY idea how much shit youse put me in?"
"Spot, don't. . ."
"DO YOU?" Spot dragged him off the bunk and flung the ashen boy against the wall with the ease of a child hurling a ragdoll, despite the four inches and 30 pounds Manca had on his leader. He didn't look remotely handsome now, with his bouncing raven hair hanging over his forhead, painted and clotted with blood, his twinkling sable eyes dull and frightened, and his normaly tanned skin the color of bleached ashes. More than anything, he looked sick.
Spot tried to keep his furious glare; tried to clench Manca's collar in anger; tried to hate the shell of a boy quaking in front of him, but he suddenly found that he didn't have the energy, or the heart. He relaxed his fists and staggered backwards as Manca slid to the floor, and spoke in a voice void of anger, or forgivness, or emotion.
"Why, Manca?"
"Spot. . ." He nearly sobbed, and Spot could detect the sadness clutching his body. After all, he had always prided himself on knowing exactly what Manca was thinking, and exactly what Manca was planning. But this. . .
"Tell me why you did dis ta me."
He looked upwards, sorrow burning in his eyes. "I know I'm not suppose' ta wanna be youse. You been me friend forevah, you took me in an gave me a place in dis woild. But dat was a long time ago. T'ings have changed, Spot. You've changed. An so have I, but you was too busy ta notice."
"I. . .I don't know what yoah tawkin' about."
"I aint da half dead liddle boy who came crawlin' inta da lodgin house seven yeahs ago, shoeless an shirtless. An' you aint da same leader you was a few weeks ago. You use ta be fearless, but now, you dunno what you want anymore."
Spot stiffened under his friend's accusations. "I didn't want dis."
"But you SAID, Spot."
"What?"
"You said we'd show em, remembah? Show em dey couldn't mess wid Brooklyn."
"I'm not ready fah war!"
"Well ready or not, here it comes." He cocked his head, no longer trembling. "I made a call, Spot. Da one you wouldn't make."
"An whats that suppose ta mean?"
Manca picked himself up unexpectadly, a strange bitterness creeping into his rapidly-strengthening voice. "It means ya loosing your touch, Spot. You use ta be invincible, but now, yoah distracted. You're always worryin' about ya girl, or ya personal issues, when ya should be lookin' aftah da Burough. You weren't doin ya job, so I stepped up to da plate. I stepped in. Dat's right, me. Manca, Spot's stooly; Manca, spot's poisonal lap dog. I'm tired a jumpin' when you say jump."
"I t'ought you was my friend, you liddle bastid!" Spot clenched his fists, anxious to stop the onslaught that was hitting just a bit too close to home.
"Soah, I'm ya friend, but dat's all I'm evah gonna be, isn't it? I aint nevah gonna be good enough fa you, noone is! Not even Doll Face. . ." Spot's fist struck like a bolt of lightning, soundly knocking Manca upside the jaw with a sickening THWAK! The boy dropped like a stone into a crumpled pile at Spot's feet, as he stood trembling with rage.
"I'd kill ya wid me bear hands, Manca, but you aint woith it. You aint woith anythin'." He spat. Manca rubbed at his jaw and looked up, strait into Spot's eyes, haulting him in his tracks. He was no longer the vengeful boy of the last few seconds, or the frightened boy of the last few moments. He looked. . . sorry. He looked tired, and sorry, and young.
"Spot. . . Spot, I dunno why I. . . I didn't mean. . ."
But Spot wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he felt sick. As sick as Manca looked. Where was he supposed to turn, who was he supposed to trust, when the one person he'd believed in had turned on him?
Shaking his head sadly, drained of his anger, Spot turned and staggered from the room, trying to make sence of it all. As he stumbled down the staircase, with Manca's sobs reverberating behind him, it struck Spot that there was only one person left to turn to. That is, if she hadn't abandonned him too.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oh wow, that was Uber angsty. And I wonder who the 'she' at the end is. . .yeah, right. Ok, so if you haven't given up on this story by now (sorry again!) REEEEEEVVVVVVIIIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!! ;)
Doll Face- Yes, poor Spot can't even find a break. Even when he's finding religeon. Ok, so he wasn't REALLY finding religeon, but it's a shame none the less. . . Thanks a bunch! I'm glad you like! And I think I already told you this, but NO, DON't ABANDON IT! And where's my update, huh? I want a one sweet day update! But no pressure. BTW, it's kindof silly to ask you, but do you wan't to see a spot-grows-to-love-Doll Face development? I know, ask a stupid question. . .
Kaylee- Race? Who doesn't love him! Well, I'm not too sure, maybe I can have him make a cameo for you later, we'll see! Thanks for the review!
Ali- Oh, no, swearing doesn't offend me. . .I do it far too often. And I agree, Manca is a bastard. *takes a swing at a passing Manca-muse* Oh, yes, and there's this spontanious little reference to you in the chapter, since you were half- in the story already, or sort of, but you don't get to kill Manca. Oh well, don't worry, he's not purely evil yet. Oh, yeah, you . . . love. . .SOB! Crunch receives your high five. Thanks for the encouragement! Oh yes, and I'm polling the audience. . .what do you think of a Spot-learns-to-love-Doll Face development? Just a cornball little thought, but I think they're kind of cute too!
Derby- Hah, what do you think of update girl now? Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks a bunch, I'm glad you like it! Oh, Manca? Hmm. I was real proud of that one. I think it was a combination of a bunch of names. . . Mondie's might even have been in it. . .I'll have to think about that one. I love newsie names! Anywhoo, thanks for the review!
Misprint- Oh, lead to naught? That is one hell of an elloquent. eloquint.eloquent? Statement. Hee hee, now I've just pictured a doll face flying through the air, like from one of those catapults in ROBIN HOOD, MEN IN TIGHTS. And it is quite funny. Hee hee, vile wench? VILE WENCH? BUAHAHAHAHAHAH! Well, since you flatter me so, here's an update! Ps - what do you think of Apot growing to love DF? Just a thought. . .
Fanfiction420- I knoew what you mean, I was just starting to like Manca a lot too! Which is kind of weird, because, I made him up. Hmm. Anyways, yes, it is on, and stay tuned to see where Manca's foolishness will lead. Dun Dun DUN!!!!!!!!!
Vioshine- No, sadly you are not mistaken, and neither is Spot. But don't worry, Manca's not totally evil yet, oh, but the day is young! (No, really, he's not evil. Don't cry.) Yes, I love the Spot and Doll Face relationship, it's so fun to write, in a kind of twisted way. Jeeze, you've hit the nail right on the head with that! You're good at this! Anywhoo, I'm hoping their little rendez-vous will progress, but we'll just have to see where the mood takes me! Btw, what do you think of that idea- I mean Spot growing to love Doll Face? Your opinion is much needed and very welcome! Anyway, thanks for the review, and if you're even reading this after all this time, you have my eternal gratitude!
Mondie- #1 oh, I understand, my updations are few and far between. Sometimes I even miss them
#2 No, I don't think it is either, but as a frequent user of the world 'muchly' who am I to judge?
#3 Oh, Manca. I hated to do it. Really I did. He's just too darn cute for this. Shame on me.
#4 hee, piper, he's so small and insignifacantly cute. I love him muchly.
#5 Yes, Spotty finds religeon. Chuckles all around
#6 Don't remind me!
#7 oh, poor vulnerable Spot. It's alright, I'll comfort him *tries to embrace a very un-vulnerable Spot-Muse, and ends up with a black eye*
#8 This is a fun review! Luffle ya back! And, I have to ask, what the heck do all those little letters mean? It's been bugging me for evah!
Sorry everyone about the late update! Yes, laziness, thy name is Crunch. Anyway, enjoy!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spot could barely hear the sobs of his fellow newsies around the blood pounding in his ears and rising behind his eyes. 'Anyone else. . .' he pleaded against the rage he could feel simmering inside of him. 'Why couldn't it have been anyone else?' He'd trusted Manca, he'd confided in him, he'd loved him like a brother. Now he would kill the son of a bitch.
He wasn't hard to find. After all, Manca was so predictable, just your average working boy of New York. So Spot knew exactly where he was headed as he stormed across the cobblestones, deaf to any protests or pleas. The boy couldn't go home, and he couldn't hide, because Spot knew him inside and out, knew every trick and every crevice of Manca's world. No, he couldn't hide from Spot Conlon. He could run, but he could never hide.
Deaf to the indignant cries of bystanders as he barreled through them, Spot turned onto the street he knew well from many post- curfew adventures. With his footfalls thundering against the gritty cobblestones of a back alley, strewn with blacken clumps of snow and broken beer bottles, it was only minutes before Spot found himself at his destination. The rage inside of him boiling over with every step, he ducked through the entranceway under a sign that read 'Girls Brooklyn Lodging House'. Ignoring the mingled protests and cat calls of the newsgirls, he stormed up the rickety old staircase, pushed past a flurry of anxious females, and stepped into the bunkroom he knew like the back of his hand. And there, huddled on a bunk with his head in his hands, just as Spot had suspected, was Manca.
At the sound of his labored breathing, the petite girl bent over Manca's shivering form looked up with dread in her eyes. "Spot. . . don't hoit 'im, please. . ."
"Get out, Ali."
"He didn't mean. . ."
"Get OUT!" her face drawn with worry, Ali nodded and squeezed her boyfriend reassuringly on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the bunkroom deserted save for the two newsboys.
"What did you do, Manca?" He turned to his leader, dazed and sick at heart.
"Spot. . .please. . ."
"What did you do?"
"Please, I didn' know. . ."
"Do you have ANY idea how much shit youse put me in?"
"Spot, don't. . ."
"DO YOU?" Spot dragged him off the bunk and flung the ashen boy against the wall with the ease of a child hurling a ragdoll, despite the four inches and 30 pounds Manca had on his leader. He didn't look remotely handsome now, with his bouncing raven hair hanging over his forhead, painted and clotted with blood, his twinkling sable eyes dull and frightened, and his normaly tanned skin the color of bleached ashes. More than anything, he looked sick.
Spot tried to keep his furious glare; tried to clench Manca's collar in anger; tried to hate the shell of a boy quaking in front of him, but he suddenly found that he didn't have the energy, or the heart. He relaxed his fists and staggered backwards as Manca slid to the floor, and spoke in a voice void of anger, or forgivness, or emotion.
"Why, Manca?"
"Spot. . ." He nearly sobbed, and Spot could detect the sadness clutching his body. After all, he had always prided himself on knowing exactly what Manca was thinking, and exactly what Manca was planning. But this. . .
"Tell me why you did dis ta me."
He looked upwards, sorrow burning in his eyes. "I know I'm not suppose' ta wanna be youse. You been me friend forevah, you took me in an gave me a place in dis woild. But dat was a long time ago. T'ings have changed, Spot. You've changed. An so have I, but you was too busy ta notice."
"I. . .I don't know what yoah tawkin' about."
"I aint da half dead liddle boy who came crawlin' inta da lodgin house seven yeahs ago, shoeless an shirtless. An' you aint da same leader you was a few weeks ago. You use ta be fearless, but now, you dunno what you want anymore."
Spot stiffened under his friend's accusations. "I didn't want dis."
"But you SAID, Spot."
"What?"
"You said we'd show em, remembah? Show em dey couldn't mess wid Brooklyn."
"I'm not ready fah war!"
"Well ready or not, here it comes." He cocked his head, no longer trembling. "I made a call, Spot. Da one you wouldn't make."
"An whats that suppose ta mean?"
Manca picked himself up unexpectadly, a strange bitterness creeping into his rapidly-strengthening voice. "It means ya loosing your touch, Spot. You use ta be invincible, but now, yoah distracted. You're always worryin' about ya girl, or ya personal issues, when ya should be lookin' aftah da Burough. You weren't doin ya job, so I stepped up to da plate. I stepped in. Dat's right, me. Manca, Spot's stooly; Manca, spot's poisonal lap dog. I'm tired a jumpin' when you say jump."
"I t'ought you was my friend, you liddle bastid!" Spot clenched his fists, anxious to stop the onslaught that was hitting just a bit too close to home.
"Soah, I'm ya friend, but dat's all I'm evah gonna be, isn't it? I aint nevah gonna be good enough fa you, noone is! Not even Doll Face. . ." Spot's fist struck like a bolt of lightning, soundly knocking Manca upside the jaw with a sickening THWAK! The boy dropped like a stone into a crumpled pile at Spot's feet, as he stood trembling with rage.
"I'd kill ya wid me bear hands, Manca, but you aint woith it. You aint woith anythin'." He spat. Manca rubbed at his jaw and looked up, strait into Spot's eyes, haulting him in his tracks. He was no longer the vengeful boy of the last few seconds, or the frightened boy of the last few moments. He looked. . . sorry. He looked tired, and sorry, and young.
"Spot. . . Spot, I dunno why I. . . I didn't mean. . ."
But Spot wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he felt sick. As sick as Manca looked. Where was he supposed to turn, who was he supposed to trust, when the one person he'd believed in had turned on him?
Shaking his head sadly, drained of his anger, Spot turned and staggered from the room, trying to make sence of it all. As he stumbled down the staircase, with Manca's sobs reverberating behind him, it struck Spot that there was only one person left to turn to. That is, if she hadn't abandonned him too.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oh wow, that was Uber angsty. And I wonder who the 'she' at the end is. . .yeah, right. Ok, so if you haven't given up on this story by now (sorry again!) REEEEEEVVVVVVIIIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!! ;)