Reform
Specs/Dutchy, AU, Newsies fic
NekoShininigami
Disclaimer: Yargh. My father's computer SUCKS, and thus, I lost the first draft of this chapter. I apologize to youse. NO, I do not own Newsies. You can tell because Spot has yet to do the pelvic thrust for public viewing. Hopefully, this edition of the chapter (O_o;;) will be more (s)excellent (XD Oh, yes. Yes, that one is a keeper.) than before! Yay!
...God, I have to get some sleep. But first, the chapter! ::guzzles chocolate::
Chapter Two: Court
The first light of dawn had barely touched the cell window when a burly guard came in and shook Dutchy awake.
"C'mon, wake up. You see the judge today." Dutchy squinted at him in mild irritation. "Get dressed," the guard confirmed. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, so be ready." He left, closing the door behind him. Dutchy rubbed his eyes blearily and put on his glasses, looking at his suit, which hung on the single hook on the wall. The police had brought it for him, after their search of his apartment.
Dutchy dressed, then sat on his bunk, waiting for the guard to return. It had only been a few days, but Dutchy couldn't wait to get out of the jail. It gave him a creepy feeling. He had talked with his lawyer, Bryan Denton, [1] who had told him that; as it was his first criminal offence, he would most likely be released with a minimum of six months parole. [2] He didn't expect the court case to last long at all.
The guard returned, and escorted him to the courtroom, where he sat beside Denton. Across the hall, a young policeman caught Dutchy's eye. He looked extremely familiar, with his curly brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. Dutchy finally placed him as the cop who had arrested him those two nights ago. Dutchy studied him with mild interest for a few moments, before returning his attention to the judge.
As Denton had predicted, they weren't in court two hours before the sentence was passed. Dutchy was assigned an eight-month parole period. The familiar policeman had been assigned as Dutchy's parole officer, meaning he would be living with Dutchy for at least the next four months. [3] Denton ushered Dutchy outside, the policeman following close behind, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Denton hailed them a cab, and Dutchy hugged him.
"Thanks, Denton," he whispered. "You really saved my butt, man. I owe ya one, and don't let me forget." Denton grinned at him.
"It isn't a problem, Dutch. I was glad to help. Now, be good for the nice parole officer." Dutchy bopped him on the head. [4] The cab pulled up, and Denton opened the door for him. "Bye, Dutch. I'll be in touch." Dutchy slid into the backseat, the spectacled man close behind. The door shut, and the cab sped away from the courthouse.
"An' good riddance!" Dutchy whispered furiously to the receding building. He turned his attention the police officer, who had remained quiet the entire time. "So, you got a name?" he asked, poking the man in the shoulder.
"Specs," he responded. Dutchy blinked, awaiting a last name.
"And....what's your last name?" he prompted. Specs shrugged.
"I don't know," he answered truthfully.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Everybody knows their own last name," Dutchy insisted.
"I was in a car accident with my family when I was just a kid. I was the only survivor," Specs said quietly. "The price was amnesia. I don't remember a thing from my life before. I didn't know my name, so the doctors just called me Specs." [5] Dutchy gaped at him.
"Wow, that's rough, man! Didn't any family come to get you?" Specs shook his head. The conversation was cut short by the cab pulling to a stop in front of Dutchy's apartment building. Dutchy paid the driver, and stepped out of the cab, stretching his arms. "Coming, Specs?"
"I'm coming," the brunette confirmed, also exiting the cab. They walked inside, and Dutchy led the way up to his apartment. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, unlocked his door, and held the door open wide so Specs could see.
"This is it! Home sweet home," he announced. "The guest room is the second door to the left, if ya wanna put your stuff in there." Specs headed off to do just that, and Dutchy walked over to the blinking answering machine.
"Dutchy? It's Race! Where are you?? Listen man, the cops busted Skit. He's gone, Dutch! Listen, I'm going slightly crazy, so call me when you get this mess-" Dutchy hurriedly pressed the erase button, praying that Specs hadn't heard the message.
"Who was that?" Specs asked, coming from his room.
"Uh, just some guy from work. Wanted to give me a tip on this hot story. I'll call him when I get back to the office on Monday," Dutchy said, lying through his teeth. Specs blinked at him.
"You're a writer?" he asked.
"A journalist," Dutchy corrected with a grin. "I work for the New York Sun."
"What can I call you?" Specs asked, changing the subject. "Alex? Alexander?"
"Dutchy. Just call me Dutchy."
~End Chapter~
Author Notes: WEE!! I finished!
[1]: Ha! Who can't see this? Who?
[2]: I don't know if this is really what can happen. O_o;;
[3]: I doubt parole officers *really* live with the people. It's just for the story.
[4]: Little Dutchy Foo-Foo, hopping through Manhattan. Pickin' up the scabbers and boppin' 'em on da head! ...God, I need sleep.
[5]: In other words, "CRAP! I have NO idea what Specs' real name is! ANGST POSSIBILITY TIME!!"
I go now. Sleepy-time. I'll be sane in the morning. I promise. Please R+R, I love the feedback, and feel insecure with out it. It's my security blankie. Pleeease review!
Specs/Dutchy, AU, Newsies fic
NekoShininigami
Disclaimer: Yargh. My father's computer SUCKS, and thus, I lost the first draft of this chapter. I apologize to youse. NO, I do not own Newsies. You can tell because Spot has yet to do the pelvic thrust for public viewing. Hopefully, this edition of the chapter (O_o;;) will be more (s)excellent (XD Oh, yes. Yes, that one is a keeper.) than before! Yay!
...God, I have to get some sleep. But first, the chapter! ::guzzles chocolate::
Chapter Two: Court
The first light of dawn had barely touched the cell window when a burly guard came in and shook Dutchy awake.
"C'mon, wake up. You see the judge today." Dutchy squinted at him in mild irritation. "Get dressed," the guard confirmed. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, so be ready." He left, closing the door behind him. Dutchy rubbed his eyes blearily and put on his glasses, looking at his suit, which hung on the single hook on the wall. The police had brought it for him, after their search of his apartment.
Dutchy dressed, then sat on his bunk, waiting for the guard to return. It had only been a few days, but Dutchy couldn't wait to get out of the jail. It gave him a creepy feeling. He had talked with his lawyer, Bryan Denton, [1] who had told him that; as it was his first criminal offence, he would most likely be released with a minimum of six months parole. [2] He didn't expect the court case to last long at all.
The guard returned, and escorted him to the courtroom, where he sat beside Denton. Across the hall, a young policeman caught Dutchy's eye. He looked extremely familiar, with his curly brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. Dutchy finally placed him as the cop who had arrested him those two nights ago. Dutchy studied him with mild interest for a few moments, before returning his attention to the judge.
As Denton had predicted, they weren't in court two hours before the sentence was passed. Dutchy was assigned an eight-month parole period. The familiar policeman had been assigned as Dutchy's parole officer, meaning he would be living with Dutchy for at least the next four months. [3] Denton ushered Dutchy outside, the policeman following close behind, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Denton hailed them a cab, and Dutchy hugged him.
"Thanks, Denton," he whispered. "You really saved my butt, man. I owe ya one, and don't let me forget." Denton grinned at him.
"It isn't a problem, Dutch. I was glad to help. Now, be good for the nice parole officer." Dutchy bopped him on the head. [4] The cab pulled up, and Denton opened the door for him. "Bye, Dutch. I'll be in touch." Dutchy slid into the backseat, the spectacled man close behind. The door shut, and the cab sped away from the courthouse.
"An' good riddance!" Dutchy whispered furiously to the receding building. He turned his attention the police officer, who had remained quiet the entire time. "So, you got a name?" he asked, poking the man in the shoulder.
"Specs," he responded. Dutchy blinked, awaiting a last name.
"And....what's your last name?" he prompted. Specs shrugged.
"I don't know," he answered truthfully.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Everybody knows their own last name," Dutchy insisted.
"I was in a car accident with my family when I was just a kid. I was the only survivor," Specs said quietly. "The price was amnesia. I don't remember a thing from my life before. I didn't know my name, so the doctors just called me Specs." [5] Dutchy gaped at him.
"Wow, that's rough, man! Didn't any family come to get you?" Specs shook his head. The conversation was cut short by the cab pulling to a stop in front of Dutchy's apartment building. Dutchy paid the driver, and stepped out of the cab, stretching his arms. "Coming, Specs?"
"I'm coming," the brunette confirmed, also exiting the cab. They walked inside, and Dutchy led the way up to his apartment. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, unlocked his door, and held the door open wide so Specs could see.
"This is it! Home sweet home," he announced. "The guest room is the second door to the left, if ya wanna put your stuff in there." Specs headed off to do just that, and Dutchy walked over to the blinking answering machine.
"Dutchy? It's Race! Where are you?? Listen man, the cops busted Skit. He's gone, Dutch! Listen, I'm going slightly crazy, so call me when you get this mess-" Dutchy hurriedly pressed the erase button, praying that Specs hadn't heard the message.
"Who was that?" Specs asked, coming from his room.
"Uh, just some guy from work. Wanted to give me a tip on this hot story. I'll call him when I get back to the office on Monday," Dutchy said, lying through his teeth. Specs blinked at him.
"You're a writer?" he asked.
"A journalist," Dutchy corrected with a grin. "I work for the New York Sun."
"What can I call you?" Specs asked, changing the subject. "Alex? Alexander?"
"Dutchy. Just call me Dutchy."
~End Chapter~
Author Notes: WEE!! I finished!
[1]: Ha! Who can't see this? Who?
[2]: I don't know if this is really what can happen. O_o;;
[3]: I doubt parole officers *really* live with the people. It's just for the story.
[4]: Little Dutchy Foo-Foo, hopping through Manhattan. Pickin' up the scabbers and boppin' 'em on da head! ...God, I need sleep.
[5]: In other words, "CRAP! I have NO idea what Specs' real name is! ANGST POSSIBILITY TIME!!"
I go now. Sleepy-time. I'll be sane in the morning. I promise. Please R+R, I love the feedback, and feel insecure with out it. It's my security blankie. Pleeease review!