Author's Note: Instead of having a CC (for now), I'm gonna just put in people I know who fit the parts. If you read this story and review it a lot, you will most likely make an appearance in this story (please leave a nn in your review as well as an e-mail so I can contact you). Rae-zin, you will make the first appearance in the story. Hope you like it :D
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Newsies. Period. The original newsies (Spot, Jack, etc.) are property of Disney. I own both Tarah, her family and Stress. Anyone else is property of themselves.
Summary: She's been wandering around New York for the past three years, making no friends and leaving only countless customers behind. Will the arms of a Delancey or the embrace of a Conlon be enough to settle this stray?
chapter one:
"But, Nana, why? Why are you sending me away? Especially now that you and Grandda have fallen ill due to the famine?"
"It's simple dear. With your parents already claimed by the poor harvest, you are the last remaining member of the Morgan clan. It is only right that we give you the opportunity to make it in this world. America is the land of opportunties. There the streets are paved with gold and a fair Irish lass like yourself can be given the chance to succeed. There you will flourish. There you will make your poor parents proud. You will make me proud."
"But, Nana..."
"Remember this, child, above all else: America will make all of your dreams come true. Promise me that you'll succeed over there."
"But, Nana, what about Shane?"
There was a pause.
"Shane is dead to us and should be to you as well. You are the last remaining Morgan, Tar. Therefore you must make something of yourself. Can you do that? Will you promise me?"
"But, Nana-- Yes, I promise. I will make you proud, Nan. I will make you all proud. I promise..."
Shifting a tattered leather bag onto her back, sixteen-year-old Tarah Morgan took one last drag of her cigarette before tossing it to the ground. Ha, she snorted, stubbing the smoking cigarette out with the tip of her cracked brown boot, Promises are just as easy to break as they are to make. It seemed like only yesterday that she was boarding the crowded steamship heading for America, while waving goodbye to her ill grandmother. But it hadn't been yesterday. It had been nearly three years to the day since she arrived, a small, frightened, lonely child, on the shores of New York. And, nearly three years later, she had grown to be a cold, indifferent, tough lass with a sour outlook on life and no ties to anyone or anything.
With a set face and a wistful look in her hazel eyes, Tarah looked down upon the foreboding bridge in the distance. During her three year tenure in the New World, she had called almost every dirty alley and forgotten nook and cranny in New York home except for the one tucked away inside the borough of Manhattan. The devil city, she remembered, a smirk playing out on her thin, chapped lips. For some reason, one that Tarah had long since forgotten, her nana had hated the city of Manhattan and had made Tarah swear on their family's name that, no matter what, she would not set foot in Manhattan upon arrival at Ellis Island. In respect to her grandmother's wishes, Tarah deftly avoided that area.
But it no longer mattered. With a sigh, Tarah pushed back a strand of light brown hair and removed her bag from her shoulder. After rummaging through it for a moment, she pulled out a worn piece of paper, yellow with age.
Dear Miss Morgan,
Hopefully this will be the notice that reaches you. As I've written countless times, only to have the letter returned due to your absence at the residence it was sent to, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the death of your guardians, a Mr. and Mrs. Seamus Morgan d. 11 October 1896 & 18 January 1897 respectively. Due to owed taxes on your property, the Bank of O'Donnell & Duggan has seized the land. Enclosed is $37.14, the amount left after the bank received it's due. As you are the next of kin, it is yours. If this letter has reached you, please send back this additional sheaf of paper inside the enclosed envelope as soon as you can. Thank you.
Thomas A. O'Malley
First Cleric of the Bank of O'Donnell & Duggan
She paused for a moment after replacing the letter in her bag and gazed longingly at the bridge. Maybe Manhattan would be the place to settle down. Maybe in Manhattan she would find friends -- and, perhaps, a place to sleep. A place that wasn't another man's bed.
* * *
"Ahh, that's better," Tarah murmured to herself as she emerged from the back alley she had used as a changing room. Normally she would be wearing one of her two dresses, as her goal was to attract as many men as possible. A girl does not find clients and, therefore, does not make any sort of money while parading around in boys' clothing. But, when the heat of the city got unbareable and she chose to put off her work until the fall of night, Tarah wore the only clothes that didn't make her feel like a dirty tramp : a pair of brown knickers and a tan button-down shirt, two buttons shy of being completely fastened. Making sure that her dress was stowed safely inside her bad -- a dress would cost her three night's work if she lost it -- Tarah head off towards the docks of Brooklyn, with the intent of a good, long bath in the water. No matter how many times she waded in water or splashed her face at the pumps, though, she still couldn't shake the dirty feeling she carried with her.
Keeping her path straight and her gaze down, Tarah made her way down to the docks. Once she could make out the wave of the water underneath the wood of the dock, she sat down and removed her boots. Adding them to the bag she carried, Tarah stowed it to the side and dared a glance up. Once she did, she swore under her breath. After living in Brooklyn for three months, one of the things that Tarah, being somewhat observant by nature, noticed that was that after the afternoon edition of the newspapers had all been sold, all the newsboys in the aread stripped away their sweaty clothes and went swimming in their undergarments. Tarah must have been reminiscing about her grandmother longer than she had thought, for it had felt like early afternoon to her instead of later.
But it had to be at least past three by the look of the twenty or so nearly naked boys that were running and jumping off the dock without paying her any notice -- which, of course, was just how she liked it. Again she swore under her breath. It made no sense to wait until they left -- and she most definitely wasn't going to miss a chance to wash herself -- but did she want to frollick around with these boys? Tarah had had accounters with newsies before -- including one in Harlem that would kill to get his hands on her again -- but should that stop her?
Of course not.
Checking to make sure that her bag wasn't in an ovbious spot or a spot that could be seen by a pickpocket, Tarah held onto her nose, crossed the other arm around her chest and jumped in.
* * *
"Gorgeous day, eh, Conlon ?"
The short boy looked at the blonde girl perched on the edge of the dock. "Rae, what are you still doing in Brooklyn? Don't your Manhattan pals miss your ugly mug?"
Rae picked up one of his slingshot shooters and threw it at his arm. "You know you love me, Spot," she smiled when she saw Spot wince as the shooter hit his arm, "and I'll stay in Brooklyn until I'm ready to go back home."
Spot reached for the same shooter and, in one fluid motion, tossed it right back at Rae. "You mean, you'll stay right here in Brooklyn until 'Sip comes back from wherever he went and takes your butt back to Manhattan, eh, Rae?"
At the mention of her more-than-friend, Rae got an evil glint in her eye and reached for a handful of spent shooters. Spot, never one to show his fear, or be afraid for that matter, gulped and began to back away, holding up his hands in retreat. "I'm sorry, Rae, I didn't mean it. You know I'd never poke fun at you and 'Sippi."
Rae raised the hand with the shooters clenched inside and winked at Spot. "Scared, Conlon?"
Spot opened his mouth to reply but stopped when something caught his eye. "Blue, what are you doing?"
Rae dropped the sinister smile she was wearing and turned to face the shivering, wet newsboy that had just arrived at the edge of the dock. When she realized that, not only was he we but he was standing there wet in his underwear, Rae stood up from her perch and averted her eyes. "Yeah, Blue. Couldn't you have put some clothes on first?"
The brown-haired newsboy rolled his eye at the petite newsgirl in front of him. "Stow it, Kelly. I'm having enough problems with you females today."
Rae bristled and turned around, careful to look him in the eye and not elsewhere. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Spot, sensing trouble brewing between the two, and curious as to what brought Blue up to his "personal space" during prime swimming time, stepped in between Rae and Blue and pushed them apart. "Cool it, Rae. Now ain't the time to get all up in one of my boys' face. I want to hear what he's got to say. Blue?"
Blue stared at Rae a moment longer, daring her to say something. When she didn't, her turned to face Spot. "I wanted to tell ya something, Spot. You know the number one rule of the docks?"
"Yeah. None of you boys are allowed up in me space up here without me permission."
"That's true. The second rule?"
Spot thought for a moment and looked up at Rae. "No girls are allowed to swim when the newsies are in the water."
Blue nodded. "Now why don't you tell it to the little tramp that's splashing it up down there."
At his words both Spot and Rae ran to the ledge that overlooked the river. Spot shook his head while Rae stared in awe. There, at the edge of the river, just outside the dock, was a brunette, washing her arms lazily, like she didn't have a care in the world.