(Because not every has read the Oliver Twist book, this is going to be closer to the musical and the Disney movie, though it will have a splattering of book and made-up stuff in between.)

Disclaimer: I absolutely own nothing except the wording and my made-up character.

Extra: No one has said anything yet about it but I have a feeling that someone or another is going to comment about a Mary Sue. The truth is, people, you can't have a girl main character without her having at least one likeable thing. Perhaps mine is a bit more likeable, but have you ever found a book with a main character girl who wasn't in the tiniest bit a Mary Sue? Another point, my character may be Mary-Sue-ish, but at least she doesn't go around wearing armor and carrying a large broadsword while still maintaining a small waist and perfect figure. Those are the ridiculous Mary Sues.

Welp, back to the story! Here is my rather descriptive and slow Chapter 1.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A small breeze drifted through the Dodger's strangled and tangled hair, trying to lift it into the cold air. After failing miserably, the naïve gust of air gave up and went to fly up the petticoats of a preposterously tall and heavy-weighted lady who, herself, was losing her silk purse to the thin hands of a dirty, gypsy-skirted girl.

The Artful Dodger's eyebrows raised slightly over his deep blue eyes as the grimy, immoral lass and lovely pink, silk purse disappeared into the deep throng of the mixed crowd of London. All kinds prospered here, but they all had a city air. The girl had the definite feel of a petty thief from a small village… But who was he to judge on pettiness? After all, Oliver turned out alright.

Do you know what peaching is?

Yes, Dodger. It's telling.

It's tattling. Peaching is the worst thing you can do.

I'd never peach on you, Dodger. You're my friend.

All friends is are backstabbers, Oliver.

Suddenly, one of the Dodger's hands snapped out and came in contact with a thin, fragile wrist attached to a tanned hand that was receding from his pocket with a handkerchief and a small, copper coin. He quickly whirled around to look down into the face of the girl he had seen.

"You're taller than I thought you were," his smooth voice sounded like one of a gentleman, not a tramp.

The black haired lass looked up in surprise. She tried to struggle free but soon gave up and began to beg in a chagrined, her almost non-existent Cockney accent pushing into her quiet speech.

"Aoow! I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to…I mean, it wasn't…Well, the truth is… I jest saw the thing a'lyin' there an' thought a fine gennle-man had dropped it and wouldn't need it."

Dodger rolled his eyes. "Then what was your hand doing in my pocket?"

"Ai…ummm…aoow….Ahh…"

"You're not very good at fibbin' are you?"

The girl looked slowly down at her feet and shook her head. "I'm 'fraid not, sir."

"Good. I hate not knowing whether people are telling me the truth or lying. Well, come on then."

The lass frowned slightly and looked back up, confused. "Wot?"

The Dodger sighed, his warm breath exciting the straight brown hair hanging in front of his tanned face.

"You need a place to stay for a bit?"

"Well yes, but how..."

'Then follow me."

The girl blinked gradually and then, glancing around a bit hurriedly, slipped after Dodger behind a large stall of fruit and into the inside world of London.

When you're in trouble, follow the thief, love. He always knows where to hide.