This here story type deal magillycuddy was made especially for Ms. Mondie's birthday. Now go read Pretend (by Mondie, of course) before I soak ya.
Oh yeah, I don't own Mush or Mondie. They own each other (in their dream world, but it's a world nonetheless)
I own the Gearly's. They're cool. J
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Mrs. Anetta Gearly was the proud mother of a sometimes overzealous blonde two year old named Miss Amanda. Miss Amanda was the proud mistress of her house. Every occupant of the house either adored her enough or was scared enough of her to give her almost anything she wanted. Certainly everything and anything they could get for her.
Mr. Gearly was a worldly, traveling man. Though he was home but once a year, 'round Christmas, Miss Amanda looked forward to his visits immensely. He was a kindly man with a restless spirit. He had an interesting accent, but if you ever asked where he was from, he'd just say everywhere. He never wanted to limit himself, and spoke a great many languages, each of them adding their own special something to his accent.
Hans Gearly did everything his own way. Nothing conventional for him. If everyone at a party was to dress in black, he would dress in white. He sometimes wore African robes or Scottish kilts around the house, just because he was bored. Everyone drank wine; he drank milk with his daughter. Everyone ate steak, he ate salmon. Everyone called his daughter Miss Amanda; he called her Mandy.
One Christmas, when Miss Amanda was four (Almost five, she reminded everybody. Her birthday was in April.) her father decided that, like a tribe he had met in Africa who betrothed children at birth, it was high time for her to become betrothed. So he brought a little orphan from New Orleans, a mixed, boy, a quadroon. The little boy was so exquisitely beautiful that Mr. Gearly had swept him up from the orphanage the moment he saw him and pronounced him perfect for his daughter.
He boarded the train to New York City with the little boy's hand clutched in his on December 20. On Christmas Eve, the newsboys of New York City had a field day. Someone had tried to assassinate the Mayor as he was getting of the train at the station, but a middle aged man dressed strangely in some sort of robe had accidentally been shot instead. He had died instantly. The newsboys swooned about the hero who had saved their Mayor, inventing stories about how the strange man had bravely jumped in front of the Mayor to save his life. No one wrote about the little orphan boy who, upon seeing his guardian get killed, ran from the station in a panic.
Upon hearing that her husband had been killed, Anetta Gearly was distraught. Her husband was her only means of income. He sent them money every month on the dot, but now he was gone. She was forced to get a job as a seamstress, and managed to live decently with the money she'd saved.
Miss Amanda wasn't fazed. At least she didn't show it. She was her mother's strong point, her one remnant of her gone husband. She, at four years old, felt it was her job to take care of her mother.
And so she became strong. At the age of twelve, she had purchased two rooms from a Mr. Gordon Lockley, made the front room a used book store, and the back her bedroom. Her mother continued to live in their decent apartment as Miss Amanda insisted upon carving out her own living.
Miss Amanda made a good living on selling the used books she had procured, but she spent most of her time sitting in the back of her bookshop, writing. Her stories were mainly based on other's stories and characters, but held depth and character all their own. They were her best friends, the only people who she confided in fully.
Surrounded by fond customers and friends of the family, Miss Amanda was never alone. This, however, did not protect her from becoming lonely. Sometimes at night, she cried herself to sleep, wishing only for a companion besides her books and her writing.
.
The little orphan boy who had escaped had fully believed what Hans Gearly had said about him having a soul mate waiting for him in New York, and he promised himself he would find her. He was graciously accepted into the newsies' community as he had been found mimicking them, picking up used papers and offering them to strangers. The newsies welcomed him into the lodging house they lived in, and for a time, life was good. Life was hard, but life was good.
.
Mush chomped on his lip as he walked purposefully down the street. He rubbed his hands on his rough pants in an attempt to get the remnants of the newsprint from his papes off of them.
Suddenly, he stopped in front of DeCarlyne's Books, and looked at himself in the gleaming window. He had a smudge of dirt, newsprint, or something dark and unbecoming up the side of his cheek and on the side of his nose. He quickly lifted up the hem of his shirt and rubbed his face vigorously until he was satisfied that he looked decent.
He took a deep breath and continued down the street until he saw her. She came home from the errands she ran at the same time almost every day. And he watched her every day.
She watched him too, and he knew it. She wasn't rich, but was one of those rare citizens of the middle class. Out of his league, but not too far, and he knew that she knew he watched her every day. He watched the way she walked, full of reason and confidence and power. He watched her talk with her acquaintances, never shy, and never, never afraid to say what she thought or make jokes, despite her gender and age. And she never forgot to send a glance Mush's way. He even thought she'd sent him a ghost of a smile once, but that may have been wishful thinking.
This girl was a normal looking girl, long, dirty-blonde hair which was usually in a braid, and a pretty smile, but with enough fire packed in her to power a small city for a couple of weeks. She must have been about seventeen, a year Mush's senior, but he decided he didn't care. He was taller than her, and that was all that mattered to him.
Watching her part the crowd with ease, he let his eyes travel the length of her, savoring every curve from a distance. She was like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the damp, cloudy hum of the city with a refreshing slice. Mush wanted a piece of her power. Her flaming personality and bright attitude made her glow like a diamond in a crowd of coal.
Today, he wanted to talk to her. Well, he wanted to do more than talk to her, but he figured talking was the first rung of her trust ladder. He didn't want to suffer the wrath of an angry daddy, so he decided he better earn her trust first.
He followed about a half a block behind her, like he did every time he saw her. She threw furtive glances back at him every now and then, and for once, she didn't have a companion. To his immense surprise, one time, she turned full around and looked for him. He looked around to see if she could be looking at anyone besides him, but when he looked back at her, she was staring straight at him, beaming. He smiled at her, his eyes letting her know he fancied her. She gave him a half a mischievous smile, looked him once up and down, grinned the rest of the way, and slid into a dark shop that was barely visible in the crowded street.
Mush hurried over to the shop and found that it was a dingy bookstore, with a CLOSED sign hanging lopsided in the window. He toyed with the brass door handle a moment, and finding it locked, he took a step back to see if this was indeed the shop she had disappeared into. All of a sudden, he heard a voice.
"Mush!" it whispered urgently.
Mush twirled around and found her, beckoning him into a side door from an alley that couldn't have been more than three feet across. A smile split his face, and then was immediately replaced by a puzzled look.
"Hey! How'd ya know my—"
"Mushy darling, did you think I wouldn't do my homework?"
"Huh?" The girl, growing impatient with the perplexed newsy, grabbed his wrist and led him through the door. They entered into a comfortable looking room with newspaper clippings covering the walls. There was an excruciatingly luxurious looking bed, and a thick carpet on the floor, but the rest of the room was bare.
"Where…are….we?" Mush asked, looking around at the small room, which had no windows and was barely lit by a few candles placed strategically around the room to afford the most light.
The girl laughed a loud, teasing laugh. "This is my room, Mushy darling." She sat down on the bed and sank into it. Her eyes dancing and smiling, she beamed at Mush. "My one true treasure. Come," she called, patting the bed beside her. "Sit."
Mush made muddy footprints across the beautiful carpet, and sat tentatively on the bed. As soon as he had let himself relax into it, he sank in and fell backwards. The girl laughed at him. Mush was irked.
"Hey," he pouted.
"Oh, don't be a spoil-sport," she whispered, laying down next to him, and looking up at the canopy of her bed. She turned onto her side and propped her head up on her hand.
"I have newsy friends," she purred.
Mush looked at her and felt uncomfortable. He kicked off his shoes, feeling guilty that they were on this jewel of a bedspread.
"What?" he whispered.
"That's how I knew your name." She slid closer to him over the silk sheets, and locked him in with her eyes. They lay there, locked, for a moment until the girl broke her gaze a moment. When she looked back, her eyes looked lost for a fraction of a second, and Mush saw what had pushed her to be so forward. Suddenly, he wanted to know all about her, and not just her body or her name. He wanted to know everything, every in and out of this amazing girl's personality. A name, however, would be a good place to start.
"Really?" he breathed. "What's yo—,"
But suddenly the girl's soft, pink lips were lightly resting on his chapped ones, and he lost all thought. Mush was surprised. As soon as he got his brain back and started to enjoy the girl's kiss, Mush pulled her closer to him, feeling for himself her soft hair. He absently unplaited her hair and ran his fingers through it as he softly, slowly parted her lips with his tongue. She had initiated this kiss, yes, but Mush could tell that she hadn't kissed many others. He didn't think she'd be physically able; she fit so well next to him.
When he was next to her, he felt like the last puzzle piece had been suddenly found and slid softly into place. Every curve of her body fit into some in and out of his, every nook and cranny was filled. Mush pushed his face into her neck, trailing kisses down her collarbone as he slid her blouse away. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, and Mush slid one hand around the back of her head, and kissed back up her collarbone to her throat. He could feel her elevated pulse, and was a bit surprised to taste her salty tears.
Upon realizing that she was crying, Mush drew away, ashamed. I've gone too far, too fast, he thought. But then he saw her face, and he saw her reach out for him.
"What? What?" Mush brushed her tears away and she leaned into him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. She sobbed a few hurried words at him, and he felt a new side of her. This side was utterly vulnerable, utterly lost.
Mush was overcome with a sense of possession. He had wanted her, and now he had her, so to speak, she was his. Something was wrong with her, and now it was his business.
"Shhh, sweetie, shhh…" Her body shook with sobs all over again.
Mush himself almost cried for the sheer hurt and loneliness he felt in her sobs. After a while, when her sobs had slowed to a slow trickle and Mush was still stroking her hair and rubbing her back, he thought it safe to speak to her.
"Hey," he cooed. "What's ya name?" She didn't look at him, but Mush felt as though she were about to cry again and he held her close.
"Mnndhndy," she murmured.
"What?" Mush asked as gently as he could. She pulled her tear streaked face up to look at him. She looked like a lost little girl who had found her daddy. Mush let his hand rest under her cheekbone, and she nudged up against his hand like a grateful puppy, her eyes closed luxuriously. Mush almost melted.
"Mondie. Well, Mandy, but Mondie is a play on the pronunciation. My dad, when I was little called me, because he was from—," Mush shushed her nervous babbling with a finger on her lips.
"Mondie," Mush tasted her name. It felt good on his tongue. "You okay, Mondie?" She nodded mutely. Mush sighed. "I don' think so, fer some reason. What happened to the girl I saw on the street?"
Mondie cuddled up against Mush's toned chest. "She was strong, but she was lonely." She said this with such sadness that Mush could almost feel his heart breaking for her.
"Mondie." He took a finger and lifted her chin, bringing her lips to his, and leaving the softest, sweetest kiss he could. He couldn't think of what he wanted to say in words, so he wrote a novel for her on her lips, and her neck, and her palms. She in turn said thank you with kisses all over his body. She kissed her way through his thick abs, and as she told her story he told his. She kissed down the scars on his back that told her he'd been whipped. She traced the bones in his hand that had been broken and not healed properly. And for once, Mondie felt as though she were needed. Who was to take care of this newsy, who had obviously been through so much, if not her?
Mush, for once, felt complete. Here was someone to let his pent up emotions go to. Here was someone who needed him. Here was someone he needed. He remembered something faintly that someone had told him.
"Ye've got yoursalf a soul mate up in the city, boy, and sure it is, sure it is."
He looked at Mondie, and started laughing. She giggled at him, and soon the two were rolling in laughter, laughing from the sheer joy of being together.