Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.
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A/N: Agh! It is snowing here! Snowing! Like the fluffy white stuff that makes everything pretty! Yum, I love snow! We have about two inches and it is still falling really hard! I am going to build an igloo after I write this chapter! Or maybe after it stops snowing… whatever comes first!
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild language.
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Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement
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//Sometimes,
The simplest answers,
Are the hardest ones,
To give…//
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"Whot?" Spot asked dumbly as he watched the lamplight flicker across her face.
"Why weah yous goin' ta jump?" Frost repeated her question, asking her one granted inquisition.
"Whot do ya mean why?" Spot stalled and Frost frowned at him, brushing her long chestnut hair behind one shoulder.
"You knows whot I means," she reprimanded. "No one jumps foah no reason," she assessed and Spot turned away from her, looking down at his hands as they sat in the bitter silence.
Their breathing was the only noise in the room as the light flickered over the walls and their faces. Creating a rather eerie form of shadow play over the quiet duo. One's face was relatively normal, save a few fading bruises, the other was worse for wear, his face swollen, cut, and disfigured.
"Is'll ansah youah question," Spot started, pausing slightly, then looking back at her. "But I nevah said when," he reveled secretly in the look that flashed across her face as he used her response.
"Fine," she said coolly. "But you ain't goin' ta know who dat man wos," the ice in her tone was laced with fire.
"No, I is," Spot informed and she asked him why with the look on her face. "Somet'ing tells me dat yous got a problem wit' dis man," Spot said with sore lips. "An' if yous got a problem wit' him, he's pro'ly got a problem wit' yous," he clarified. "An' dat means he's got a problem wit' da Brooklyn newsies," he continued. "An' if he's got a problem wit' dem, I needs ta know," for a moment he let this information sink in.
"Stanton was differ'nt dan da oder boroughs," she diverted quickly. "Moah hoity toity I'se guess yous could say," she continued before Spot could protest, weaving the story that would do her less harm for him to know. "I gots dere eahly in da moahnin' an found da Distahbution office fastah dan noymal. Even dough doe's folks ah snobs, dey give good diahrections…."
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Stanton Island, Distribution office
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A small crowd of newsies was already at the distribution office when Ice arrived. It was different from the usual rough crowd she was used to. Instead of the rowdy troublemakers, these were calm, almost as though sedated. Their tattered clothes were clean as they could be, all of the boys' hair was slicked back and none of them wore the traditional caps. There were no girls.
You can imagine their surprise when Ice walked up to the group, her clothes filthy. The cap she wore was too large for her, and tugged down low over her soiled face. A strange medallion hung from her neck along with a gold cross. Probably one of the most befuddling things about her was she dressed as a boy. Something clearly unusual, almost blasphemous to the boys as they surveyed her like she was a freak. Obviously her street smarts wouldn't impress this crowd, she would need something else.
"Who ah yous?" Came the anticipated question from one of the crowd.
"I'se a newsie," she announced proudly, not showing her discomfort with the situation.
At her proclamation, a murmur ran through the crowd of lads. No one laughed, but more of a collective whisper rushed through their numbers. Instead of shrinking under the hard gazes and calculating glares, Ice straightened her thin shoulders and met each of their stares boldly. She broke the gaze only when they did. A very tall boy with a cloud of golden blonde curls approached her and scanned her with indignant eyes. Ice bristled inwardly.
"You, my friend, ain't no newsie," the blonde boy addressed her with a condescending manner and put on airs.
"I am a newsie," Ice replied in perfect grammar, that she was now thankful she still knew. "And you, sir, are quite rude," she challenged. "By what name goes your arrogance?" she had to concentrate immensely to perform as clearly and efficiently as she did.
"Dey call me da Duke," The blonde boy announced proudly, and Ice took a step forward so they were very close and looked up. Meeting his aloof gaze with one of her own, she twisted her lips upward in a small smirk of inward mirth.
"Well Dukie," she mocked his name slightly, and watched his eyes harden with pleasure. "You can call me Duchess, and I'm a newsie."
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//No matter how many times,
You re-invent your self,
You will always be,
The same person underneath…//
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After that meeting, the Ice of Harlem melted into the Duchess of Stanton. Wishing away her past and the memories of yesterday with her new image. Though she had much trouble being accepted into this group, she managed to carve out a nitch for herself.
After establishing her place in the group, the boys didn't seem as stiff as they once had. Maybe they were human after all. The Duke mainly kept his distance from the aggravating girl, he was the only one that really continued to shun her. One thing that persisted to pester the boys was the fact that she continued to dress as a boy. That and she knew very little about the game of Chess.
The beaten and broken set of men and the checked board was one of the main forms of entertainment on their island home. Just as poker was the established pass time of the other boroughs, chess was Stanton's game of choice. All of them were quite appalled that she knew practically nothing of the strategies and rules of the game. The last straw probably had been when she asked if they ever betted on the games.
"Don't yous know nuttin'?" Duke exclaimed, rising to his feet.
"I'se jus' tryin' ta add some excitement," Duchess retorted hotly in her street dialect, standing also. "Yous all so stiff 'round heah, yous ain't got no idea 'bout how nuttin' in da high society woyks!" She accused. "But yous act like da damn queen o' England!"
"An' yous know somet'ing 'bout it den?" Duke shot back quickly, his temper just as fast as hers.
"Moah dan all a yous jokahs," she answered confidently. "Yous all nuttin' moah dan a buncha street trash an' actin' differ'nt ain't goin' ta change dat," she spat out, insulting the group and before she knew what was happening, something slapped her across her cheek. It didn't hurt in the slightest, but it surprised her.
"Whot da hell wos dat?" She asked.
"Day, my good Duchess, wos a challenge to a duel," the Duke replied, tucking the handkerchief he had used to strike her back into his sleeve.
"Whot, yous really t'ink yous can beat me in a fight?" She asked laughingly.
"Not a fight," Duke corrected. "A duel," he spoke proudly. "A battle o' honah."
"A battle o' honah?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him as through he had grown another head.
"Yes," he sniffed slightly, the false airs he tried to put on almost musing.
"So we'se goin' ta do it now oah whot?" Duchess inquired impatiently.
"Tamarra," he said curtly. "At dawn," he added.
"Dawn?" Duchess snorted. "Ain't we da dramahtic one?" she rolled her eyes and started to turn away when his next words froze her in place.
"Bring youah knife," he instructed. "An' meet me at da docks," he ordered as she turned back.
"Knife?" She asked cockily, but underneath she was terrified. "Yous not man enough ta fight me da noymal way?" She raised on eyebrow curiously.
"Foist one ta draw blood wins," he didn't answer either of her questions directly. "Don' be late," he growled menacingly and the conversation was over. Being the mock gentlemen that they were, no one said anything about what had just occurred, but returned to watching the game that had continued to progress during the argument.
Duchess on the other hand went to her bunk and reached under the pillow where she kept the few possessions she held on this earth. Drawing one out of the woolen sack she held, she fingered the leather sheath lovingly. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she drew out the blade for the first time since the fateful night in the Bronx.
Hook's dried blood still stained its silver surface. As quickly as she had washed away the memories, they came flooding back. Bowing her head, she let a single tear fall. Watching it splash on the shining surface of the blade, the salty liquid turned the flaking dark brown blood a dangerous crimson. She thought no one was watching her, and she was almost right, but there was one who was watching her, and he was watching her very closely.
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Unfinished room, Brooklyn Lodging house
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"You's got in a knife fight wit' da Duke?" Spot interrupted, he had long since forgotten his other question, so caught up in Frost's story was he.
"Yeah, an' guess who won?" She laughed caustically.
"Not yous?" he took a swing and she looked at him coolly.
"T'anks foah da compliment," she said coldly, but didn't give him a chance to respond. "Yeah, he won, I'se still got da scah from weah he cut me," She smiled faintly.
"Wheah wos dat?" Spot prompted and she looked at him quickly then ducked her head.
"On me chest," she admitted and Spots eyes shot open.
"So yous ain't goin' ta show it to me?" he asked, semi-hopefully and Frost sent him a withering glance.
"No," she replied quickly.
"It ain't like yous got anyt'ing ta hide," he jibed playfully, but her hand automatically went out ad slapped him in the chest. The painful gasp that came from him would normally be warrant for an apology, but Frost ignored his pain coldly.
"Anyways, Duke beat me pretty fast an' cut a hole in me only shoyt," she started her story again. "Cut a hole dis long right about heah," she indicated to a place on the right side of her chest about three inches long right above her breast. "An' I'se tellin' you whot, it hoyt like hell an' woise," she cringed at the memory. "Aftah a few days, Duke came up ta me an' stahted talkin' an' I knew dat somet'ing wos goin' on…."
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Bunkroom, Stanton Lodging House
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"Look Duke, whot do yous wont?" She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him suspiciously.
"I'se heah ta give ya somet'ing," he squirmed uncomfortably, but did his best to hold his character as a gentleman.
"Yous goin' ta give me somet'ing?" She arched one eyebrow. "Whot is dis? A trick oah somet'ing?" She lowered her arms, waiting for an attack or something.
"No it ain't nuttin' like dat," He cleared his throat and looked around the room, all of the other boys were watching expectantly.
"Den whot?" Duchess asked, staying on guard.
"We'se decided dat since yous a lady," he started, then paused. "Since yous a lady an' yous don' dress like," he stopped again. "We'se got yous a gift so yous can look like a goil," he finally managed, the normally articulate boy took painfully long to get out what he meant to say. Motioning with his hand, Duke summoned a young boy named Pepper who came forward instantly and presented a package.
It wasn't wrapped well, in fact it was simply bunched up in old newspapers, but it was the thought that counted, right? Still suspicious, she opened it slowly, half expecting something to jump out and grab her, but no such surprise waited for her. Rough, woolen material met her fingers and she drew out a dark navy blue skirt. It was floor length, and made of fairly cheep material, but it would serve her much better than the worn old pants she was wearing. The second thing in the paper was a new shirt that was cut to fit a girl, made of the same rough, tough, woolen material. This was one of the nicest gestures anyone had ever bestowed upon her in a long time, but she was automatically suspicious.
"Why ah yous givin' dis ta me?" she tested.
"Because yous needed new clothes," Duke explained. "It ain't right foah a lady ta dress like a boy," he added.
"So now I'se a lady?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'se t'ought I was a newsie."
"Dere ain't no excuse not ta weah a skoyt if yous a goil," Duke informed. "An' we'se got dis foah yous cause we t'ought dat yous needed dem," he motioned to the group around him.
"Well, t'ank you," She answered, smiling slightly. "Should I goes try 'em on now?"
"Yeah, why not?" Duke acted uninterested.
"A'ight, I will," She walked towards the door that led to the small shared bathroom. Shutting it behind her, she held up the garments for further inspection. It was true that fall was quickly fading into winter, and she was terrible underdressed, having lost her winter garments in the fire. It was highly strange to her though, that these boys would go out of their way to purchase these things for her. As far as she knew, they hated her. Well, at least Duke hated her, but he had been the one to present these things to her.
It's cause he's da leadah, dats why he gave 'em to ya, she reasoned as she changed quickly. The skirt was too big, and so was the skirt, but she was very small, so it was an honest mistake. Taking the rope belt she had from her pants, she looped it around her waist a few times before tying it in a firm knot. Collecting her other garments, she folded them carefully, then returned to the bunkroom. When she opened the door, the boys all clapped and she blushed, ducking her head.
"Now ya look like a Duchess," A boy with dark curly hair told her smiling. Even though the boy was a few years younger than she was, he was a few inches taller, and she had to look up to thank him.
"They look very nice on yous," Duke offered stiffly and she turned to him.
"Ya t'ink so?" She span in a quick circle to show off her new clothes and Duke cleared his throat.
"Very nice," he repeated, looking uncomfortable at actually admitting it.
"Well t'ank yous," she smiled broadly, her dark eyes twinkling. "T'ank all yous," she raised her voice and called to the boys and she figured that he wasn't the lady like thing to do, but then again, she wasn't a lady.
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Three months later, New Years Eve, Stanton Island
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//Move on,
Short time that we have,
But nothing,
Lasts forever…//
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"So tamarra is da new yeah," Duchess thought out loud to herself.
It was in the dead on winter right now, and in New York, winter is as cold as summer is hot. Duchess now expected the temperature extremes, as she was entering her second year in New York. Selling papers on Stanton was much different than anywhere else she had sold though. Just as the new-year represented changes, she had been considering a change herself.
Though the experience here on the island had been fun, she couldn't stay here any longer. She hadn't played poker in so long she laughed that she wasn't going to know a straight from a flush the next time she picked up the cards. Ever since the day that the boys had given her the new clothes, she had been considered much more of an equal that she ever had wearing pants. While in most situations, it would be the opposite situation, she laughed to herself. These boys were quite different, and she would have to readjust to the more harsh life of the other boys. This didn't worry her though, what she was worried about was leaving. How would she get off of this island without going back to Harlem.
Though she had been watching the ship schedules and listening the word around the docks, she hadn't heard of any other ships going anywhere besides Harlem and the Bronx. Didn't the captains know how to go anywhere else? A few of them would go to Coney Island once in awhile, but it would be hard to stow away on such rides.
After she had sold her papers, she returned to the lodging house, her mind full of thoughts. Though she didn't show that she was brooding, several of the boys noticed that she was more withdrawn than normal. A few of them had become fairly good friends with this strange Duchess girl, and even taught her how to use a knife correctly. If she was going to be on Stanton, she at least needed to know the basics. For on Stanton, when people fought, they used knifes.
After all the time she had spent here, it was strange to think that she would be leaving. Most boys were content to stay in one place their whole life as a newsie, but not Duchess, she had the urge to move. True, there was an acceptance for the girl now, but she still knew that they didn't consider her an equal. No boy had ever really considered her an equal, but these boys acted as though she might break if they were too rough with her. Like a china doll, if you will.
So, she decided that the next day, the new-year, she would make a new start and leave Stanton. That night, she went up on the roof of the lodging house and looked out over the island. They were fairly close to the wharves and she could smell the fresh crisp scent of salt water as it caught on the wind. Wrapping her arms tightly around her, she watched the people move around the streets at this unusually late hour. Since it was the night before the new-year, many young couples were out, passing time before the large city clock rung out the twelfth hour, signaling the turning of the time.
Now she let herself reflect on the past. Had it really been almost two years since she had run here to New York? It didn't seem possible that it had been that long, but it had. The time had made its changes on the girl, now a young woman. Though she was still no beauty, there was a grace and honesty about her that was strangely alluring.
It was absolutely freezing out on the roof that night, but Duchess didn't care. She didn't have a coat anymore since the fire so she had been building immunity to the cold as the days progressed from autumn to winter. Though no one could be completely immune to the biting weather in which she stood.
It wasn't until someone joined her on the roof that she realized that she was cool. The Duke had come out of the safety and warmth of the rooms below them. At first he had been startled to see her up there, but there really wasn't any reason why he should have been. Duchess had every right he had to be up on that roof, even at this late hour. Walking up, he stood beside her and lit his cigarette, neither said a word.
Long after his cigarette was gone, he remained on the roof with Duchess, neither of them said a word, but surveyed the various partygoers on the street. Never before had he been up here on the night of New Year's Eve. It was actually quite interesting as the streets were relatively bustling with activity. Finally, Duchess broke the silence between them by pointing her finger at a couple as they strolled the streets late at night.
"See dem?" She asked, and Duke nodded. "De's goin' ta be in trouble in da moahnin' cause her faddah don' like dat boy," she explained. "But de's in love an' dey don' cahah, but she shuah as hell is goin' ta cahah in da moahnin'," she chuckled to herself and Duke looked at her.
"How do ya know dat?" he asked curiously.
"I don't," she continued to giggle. "I'se jus' makin' it up, heah, yous try," she pointed to another pair as they walked down the streets. "Whot is dere stoahy?" She asked and Duke thought for a little bit.
"Dey ah goin' ta a pahtay, but dey got lost an' dey don' know wheah de's goin' now," he speculated. "So de's jus' wand'rin' 'round till dey find someweah's ta go," he finished his little summery and grabbed her hand. "Come on, dere is moah people down by da clock towah," he said and pulled her towards the fire escape. They climbed down together and they headed towards the Town Square that held a large tower with a clock that rang out the hours. True to his word, there were dozens of couples milling about, talking and laughing in the open area.
"Whot about dem?" Duchess asked, pointing with one hand, still holding his with the other.
"Dem?" The Duke saw the girl with a large frilly gown with a boy who was dressed similarly to he. "I ain't veahy good at dis game, why don' yous tell me," he prompted and she looked at the pair more closely.
"Well, da boy ain't got no money, but da goil does, an' neither one o' dere families know dat de's in love," she wove the tale. "But dey ah, an' de only way dat dey can see each oder is if dey sneak out like dis," she said. "And dem," she pointed to another pair. "Dey jus' got mahied, an' de's in love," she made her voice rise above its normal pitch as she said love. Duke laughed.
"So ya do dis often?" He asked, just now realizing that their fingers were locked.
"Whot?" she asked.
"Do ya make up stoahies 'bout people like dis all da time?" He asked and she smiled.
"Evahy day," she answered. "Sellin' papes is boahin' if ya don't," she explained.
"It ain't polite talk 'bout people behind dere backs," he pointed out, his attempt to be a gentleman.
"We ain't talkin' 'bout dem behind dere backs," She pointed out. "We'se don' even knows dem, we'se jus' makin' up stuff 'bout dem," she clarified. "Dat ain't gossipin' is it?" she asked and he shrugged.
Just then, the clock began to strike out the hour of twelve and a roar was heard from the crowd. All of the couples turned to their partner and kissed them soundly. The observance of this was slightly discomforting to the two standing with their fingers still locked. It was then that Duchess noticed that they were still holding hands and she flushed as she looked up at her curly hair companion.
"Ya know it's a trahdition ta kiss someone at da new yeah," she said softly, barely audible over the shouts of joy and the ringing of the clock's bells.
"I'se hoyd dat afore," The Duke swallowed heavily. "I'se also hoyd dat it's bad luck ta break a trahdition," he hinted, clearing his throat nervously.
"I'se got enough bad luck as it is," Duchess smiled. "I don' wont any moah," she turned up her face expectantly, and when Duke didn't move, she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Whot da hell, she thought as she pressed her lips against his. The kiss wasn't long, or did it really amount to much, but it sent of course of warmth through both of their bodies and they pulled apart just as the clock hit the stroke of twelve. For a few long moments, they just stared at each other, then Duchess stepped back and let go of his hand.
"I guess dat wos a t'ank you," she smiled half-heartedly.
"Foah whot?" Duke looked dazed.
"Foah evahy t'ing, specially dese clothes," she motioned to the skirt and shirt she was wearing.
"It weren't nuttin'," he shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, the chill of the air slowly returning to his body.
"Well t'anks anyway," she looked down at her feet and an awkward silence passed between them. "I'se leavin' tamarra," she finally said.
"Whot?" he asked, lifting his steely eyes to hers.
"I'se leavin'," she repeated.
"Wheah ya goin'?" he questioned.
"I'se t'inkin' bout goin' ta Manhattan," she admitted.
"So yous leavin' Staten?" she could have sworn he sounded sad.
"Yeah, I need somet'ing new," she nodded. "An' I needs someone dat knows how ta play a mean game o' pokah," she laughed slightly and he chuckled along with her.
"Well, it's been nice ta be know yous," Duke offered politely.
"Yeah, well I ain't gone yet, yous still got me 'round till tamarra," she teased and he smiled wryly.
"Dat's true," he nodded, seeming to consider this. "So dat means we'se got all night foah yous ta teach me how ta play pokah," he smiled and she cocked her head to one side.
"Yous wont me ta teach ya how ta play pokah now?" She asked in disbelief.
"Shuah, why not?" he asked, uncharacteristically spontaneous.
"A'ight," she shrugged. "If yous wanna know, I'se gotta be one a da best teachah's outs dere," she boasted and reached for his hand again. "But lets go inside ta loin how," she suggested and he took her hand with an affirmative nod. That night, the Duke of Stanton learned how to play poker and at the dawn of the New Year, the Duchess of Stanton sneaked onto a boat to Manhattan and sailed from the island forever.
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"So how'd ya get his handkahchief?" Spot asked and a slow smile crept onto Frost's face.
"I stole it," she giggled and Spot gaped.
"You stole Duke's handkahchief?" he exclaimed.
"Yeah," She nodded vigorously.
"Damn," Spot muttered and he looked down at his hands, his knuckles were all swollen, cut, and bruised, just what his face looked like. "Do ya still do dat?" he asked suddenly.
"Do whot?" She frowned, unsure what he was talking about.
"Do ya still make up stoahies 'bout people," Spot clarified. "When yous sellin' youah papes?"
"Yeah," She nodded. "Sellin' papes still gets boahin' wit'out it," she yawned widely. "But I'se goin' ta bed now," she stretched her arms over her head, slowly bringing them back down to her sides.
"No ya ain't, yous goin' ta tell me whot happened in Manhattan," Spot ordered in his normal bossy way.
"No I ain't," She shook her head firmly. "I'se goin' ta bed, an' you ah too," she commanded, starting to stand.
"I took dis bustin' foah yous an' now yous goin' ta tell me da rest o' da stoahy, now!" Spot's voice rose and she motioned him to be quiet.
"Yous didn' havta take no bustin' foah me, but ya did," she answered quietly. "An' because ya did, yous need ta get ta bed now so yous can get bettah fastah," she told him in a motherly tone. "You ain't as much fun when yous all beat up," she lamented as she offered him a hand to help him to his feet and he stood up with a muffled groan, his ribs still hurting terribly.
"I sweah yous like ta hoyt me," he growled as she leaned over and picked up the oil lamp.
"Yous really t'ink dat I'se would do dat?" she pretended to be grossly offended.
"Shuah as hell I do," Spot grumbled and moved towards the door with Frost trailing behind him.
Softly, they tread down the hall to the door of the bunkroom, blowing out the lamp, they entered as silently as possible. The process of moving to their respective bunks was hard in the semi-darkness, the only light coming was from night sky through the few windows. They managed however, and were soon lying in their own beds, sound asleep.
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A week came and went. The March weather unusually harsh as it pelted the New York area with snow and ice. It was days like these that made Frost wish she was had picked a warmer city to call home. The bruises from her fight with Spot had faded, but she couldn't say the same for him. The wounds that the Pullvines had given him were deep and though the bruises weren't as dark, and the swelling wasn't as bad, the cuts he had received had scabbed over nicely, but were still there. His lips still looked painful and cracked, and he resented the fact that Frost made him keep his ribs wrapped.
The story from several nights prior had left several questions in Spot's mind, but he hadn't been able to find a time to confront Frost about it. Being around the girl made him uncomfortable and he didn't like it. Spot Conlon didn't get skittish around girls, but this girl was different. Maybe she wasn't a girl at all, that would make his life a lot easier… or would it make it more complicated?
Swearing under his breath, Spot headed back to the Lodging house. He had sold his papers, and he was done for the day. The cold weather made his ribs ache more than anything and he longed for the warmth to seep into his bones, comforting him. That wasn't the only thing that he thought of when he thought of warmth and comfort. Strange how a girl whose name was that of ice and snow could make him feel like he was in the middle of a heat wave. Strange, funny, and very discomforting, that is.
Using the years of practice he had, he tried to get his thoughts under control. Now wasn't the time to be focusing on silly little girls or his silly little feelings for them. Pushing open the door, he smiled at the raven-haired girl who was scrubbing the floor in the front hall. A sweet girl; that is what she was, probably sheltered from the evils of the world. It was then that Spot realized that his shoes were filthy as he treaded on her clean floors.
"I'se sorry," he muttered, leaning over and peeling off his boots.
"That's all right," she smiled softly, her soft Irish accent playing in his ears.
With a nod, Spot headed up the stairs, boots in hand. To his surprise, Frost was already up there. Had she outsold him today? She hadn't heard him come in, and he tiptoed silently to his bed and then purposefully dropped his boot on the ground, making a loud clatter. Frost jumped and he laughed. Shooting him a venomous glance, Frost turned back to her observation out the window, her fingers busy playing with something that hung around her neck.
"Did yous sell all youah papes a'eady?" Spot asked and Frost shook her head, pointing at the pile that was on her bed, at least twenty were still there, but she didn't stop looking out the window.
"Why'd yous stop sellin'?" Spot asked, walking over to her, noticing that the necklace she wore was a gold cross. It looked expensive, she probably stole it, but he said nothing.
"I had to," She answered cryptically.
"Why's dat?" Spot asked. "Ya get too cold?"
"No," she shook her head slightly and kept looking out the window like she was waiting for someone to come to the lodging house.
"Da Pullvines boderin' yous?" Spot figured this was a valid reason for her mood.
"No," She sounded distant and Spot looked out the window with her. There was no one on the street in front of the lodging house, but she kept staring.
"Whot ah yous lookin' at?"
"Nuttin'."
"Is dere supposed ta be somet'ing?"
"Nope."
"Ah you's a'ight?" Spot finally asked, hitting dead ends at every turn.
"Yeah, I'se fine," She paused, her fingers stopped fiddling with her necklace and she looked at him. "Why?"
"Why?" Spot gaped. "Cause yous ain't actin' like youah self!" he proclaimed the obvious. "You ain't told me ta shaddup once since I'se got heah," he continued. "Ya ain't been hittin' me eider," he joked, trying to break her solemn mood, but she didn't even give him a token smile. Turning back to the window, she looked outside again.
The sky overhead was swirling with snowflakes as they fell from the gray clouds that covered the heavens. The streets were covered with dark sludge that seemed to absorb all of the white purity right out of the flakes as they landed. Few people dared to venture out on such a cold day without good reason. The cold was not only on the outside, it was on the inside, and Spot realized that is was freezing up here. Frost hadn't stoked the fire when she had arrived and it was icy upstairs.
"Ain't ya cold?" Spot asked as he stooped to bring life to the fire in the stove.
"No," she said distantly, continuing to look out of the window. Her coat, boots, gloves, hat, and scarf were all still in place on her body. The gloved fingertips moving aimlessly over the small gold cross.
"You saw dat man again didn't yous?" Spot asked, sudden realization striking him.
"Whot?" Frost turned from the window this time and gave him her full attention.
"Dat man dat we'se saw awhile back," Spot straightened from his work at the hearth. "Da one wit' da eye patch," Spot clarified. "Yous saw him again didn't yous?"
"I don' knows whot yous talkin' bout," she turned away suddenly and moved over towards the door. "I'se goin' out," she told him and Spot caught her quickly.
"Like hell yous goin' out," he growled, blocking the door. "Yous goin' ta tell me who dat bastahd is," he ordered. "Now!"
"I don' havta do anyt'ing you says Spot Conlon, now move afore I makes ya!" She yelled moving towards him, but Spot straightened to his full height and glared at her.
"No," he denied her passage and she turned away from him, disgusted.
"Fine," she answered, moving towards her bed. "But I ain't gotta tell yous nuttin'," she spoke through clenched teeth.
"No, yous gunna tell me now," Spot followed her. "Oah," he took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "Oah yous goin' ta havta leave," Frost turned at looked at him with disbelief.
"Leave?" She asked sarcastically. "You ain't got da powah oah da noyve ta do dat Conlon," she spat.
"Oh yeah I'se do," he said in a dangerous tone. "I'se da leadah heah an' whot I says - goes," he emphasized the last phrase.
"Damn ya Spot Conlon!" She yelled. "Yous can't do nuttin' ta me, I'se paid foah my boahd heah, an' I'se can stay wheah I'se want," she retorted, not falling into his game of intimidation.
"Shuah, I'se guess yous could stay," Spot changed tactics. "Ya jus' might not want ta," he threatened.
"Whot's dat supposed ta mean?" She fired back, her eyes flashing.
"I guess yous could say dat ya ain't goin' ta have no moah insuahance 'round heah no moah," he sneered. "Da Pullvines got a problem wit' yous an' if dey evah wont ta get'cha, ya ain't goin' ta have no one 'round ta stop dem," His tone held a dangerous low growl to it.
"I ain't stupid a'ight?" She was at her bunk now, rummaging around. "I knows whot yous mean by insuahance," she picked up a small bundle of things.
"All yous gotta do is tell me whot dis man's gotta do wit'choo," Spot reminded. "Dat's all."
"Dat's all?" Frost asked turning, knapsack in hand.
"Yeah," Spot nodded.
"Really?" Frost asked sarcastically.
"Yeah," Spot nodded again.
"Really?" Frost's question had a hard edge to it.
"Yeah," Spot shoved his sore hands into his pockets.
"Really?" She asked a third time. "Dat all I'se has ta tell yous?" She laughed slightly at the end, but it was mirthless. "How truly kind o' yous mistah Conlon," She bowed regally from the waste, practicing the mastered art of sugar coated sarcasm. "You foahget though mistah Conlon, one t'ing," She walked up very close to him.
"Whot's dat?" he asked hesitantly as she motioned him to bend over slightly. He did so and she got very close to his ear before speaking again.
"Yous foahgot dat…" she whispered, trailing off slightly before yelling in his ear. "I don' havta tell yous nuttin'!"
Gripping the assaulted ear, Spot took a few steps back, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were burning with rage. Approaching her, she didn't back down from his hard steps.
"Tell me oah get out," he growled through clenched teeth.
"I'se a'eady gone," she answered sassily, brushing past him smoothly.
"Wheah ah ya goin' ta go?" Spot called after her. "You ain't got nowheah ta go in New Yawk," he reminded.
"I never said I'd stay in New York," She called back, dropping her street accent.
"Den wheah yous goin' ta go?" Spot asked, curious.
His question was answered only by a cruel, caustic laugh.
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Emily heard the exchange upstairs, the shouting and yelling hard to miss in the otherwise quiet lodging house. Whatever was going on up there sounded bad. The next thing she remembered was the sound of someone's heavy boot clomping down the stairs and the girl she remembered was named Frost appeared.
"I ain't stayin' heah no moah," she mumbled as she made her way to the door. "So yous got a free bed," she informed. "An' don' woahy," she comforted from the door. "I'se up ta date on me boahd," with that the girl swung open the door and left, slamming it behind her.
Confused beyond all reason, Emily knelt, looking up from her work of scrubbing the floor. If she had looked on the shadows of the stairs, she would have seen a boy standing there. He was a short boy, but one of power and distinction. If a lamp had shone on his face, you would have been able to see a world of emotions in the boy's dewy orbs. But the raven-haired girl didn't look up and see him there. She went back down on all fours and continued to scrub.
Silently, the boy returned to ascend the stairs, his sock-covered feet not making any noise as he climbed. As he reached the top, he looked around the room, stopped at the stack of papers that lay on the bed that was now unoccupied. It took every ounce of willpower not to go over to the window and watch her leave, and every ounce of control not to break down and cry for a reason he didn't understand.
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A/N: Wowie! So Frost and Spot actually got into a big ol' fight and now you guys don't know what is going to happen do you? Don't you just hate me? Is Frost going to come back? Are we ever going to know what happened with Jack and Frost? Is Spot ever going to realize that I am madly in love with him? Am I ever going to realize that I am obsessed with a character in a movie? Well, I have the answers to these questions (well some of them) and you don't! Ha! . : * Sticks out her tongue at all of you * : . Nah, I don't really mean that, because honestly, I am not sure what is going to happen either, but don't tell anyone that. It is a secret! So yeah, anyway, this update was delayed and I am sorry! There have been some issues in my life lately that have been completely out of my control and have kept me away from my writing. . : * Tear * : . Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if I left you hanging, so here are a few notes for my lovely reviewers.
Ireland O'Reily: Actually, my keyboard is black, not gold… but a gold keyboard would ROCK! Yeah, harassing people can be bad for your health, and for your grades. Ooh, Midterms, lucky you. Well maybe this chapter will help give you a little break from all of your intense studying. Since you are also reading Blind Spot along with this one, you really can see the attraction Emily has for Spot, even if it justs a little. Ha, ha, well I am glad that my sad stories don't make your day bad, but instead, glad! I hope this update didn't leave you too mad at me…. Take care. ^_^
Kaylee: Ha, ha, I totally understand the whole sharing the computer with sisters and mom thing. I finally got so sick of it, I took out my savings and bought an old used laptop so I could type and get more than two or three sentences out without being kicked off! I can't tell you what a blessing it is to have this laptop! If I didn't have it, you guys would be getting monthly updates instead of weekly. -_^ And I don't mind you asking for more, it lets me know that you want to more which is a big deal to me because I don't want to write something if everyone hates it and just wants me to stop! Well, tally-ho and good luck on all of the reviewing. I am pretty new to FF.net myself, I've only been here a few months, but just like you I am totally hooked!
Skittles: Yum, Squid dissection, my favorite. I actually like the dissection part of lab, but we never had to do a squid. We had to do a baby pig and that was kind of sad because it was little and kind of cute, but it was dead and we had to cut it open and everything. Oh, so you are editing all you works? Too much sex? Maybe I am too young to read your stuff! -_^ Ooh, vampires, I've always wanted to write a supernatural fiction, but I am not allowing myself to write anything but Frostbitten and Blind Spot until they are completely done! Darn it! Well it sounds like you have a lot of fictions and a pretty good start on a lot of ideas. My suggestion is to pick one of two to be your 'babies' and work on them exclusively until they are done. Post those, then work on others. It is a lot less overwhelming then! But tell me when you post them so I can come check them out. Take care, ^_^
Fallen Phoenix: I admit that I thought it might be your last review, but I wasn't sure. You never know until you post another chapter! Well here is the next chapter and maybe you will review this one too. ^_^ If your flattered, that I am flattered, then I am flattered because you are flattered that you flattered me? Whoa, that last sentence made my head hurt to think out before I typed it! Yeah, the Pullvines are in trouble, but I can't promise that they will go away… because they won't. Yeah, I would totally love to beta read for you! What an honor! My email is on my profile and I am pretty sure I emailed you once, maybe you didn't get it? Well take care, and a dedication of an evil charry to me? . : * Blushes * : . Wow that would be an honor!
Silent Breeze: Congratulations that was the funniest review I've ever gotten! I laughed so hard I actually fell out of my chair. My mom freaked out, she was like, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU READING? So I said that a friend was just being really weird. Or should I say my love-child sister was being really weird? O_O You think that young boys trying to kill each other is cute? What kind of weird person are you? No, I am just kidding, yeah, little Jack and little Spot was really fun to write. I am sure you are not the only one that thought Kid Blink, but it isn't, it is a scary guy! Dun, dun, dun! . : * Cue the scary music * : . But oh well, he has been in the plans to come into the story since the beginning. Sorry, but you can't come into the story. . : * Tear * : . And if you don't like what happens, blame the muses. I am nothing, they are the ones that control me. I am helpless against their bidding! Frost and Spot's 'moment'? Ha, ha, I never thought of it as that, but cool. ^_^ Well we still aren't sure how he is going to answer her question, but we don't even know if they are ever going to talk to each other again either! AGH!
Red Cinnamon: Welcome to the review board! I have now successfully sucked another helpless soul into my story! . : * Laughs maniacally * : . I am on your favorite other's list. I am so honored! . : * Dries a tear in the corner of her eye * : . You didn't think Frost was a Mary-Sue? Good! I really tried not to have her be that and I tried to make Spot believable. Sure he is a smart and strong, but he isn't a god either! Pulling off an all-nighter for this story, eh? Well that is an honor! Yep, I am 16, hello fellow 16 year old! So you liked the 'beat-up Spot chapter?' You woke up your family? Oops? Yeah, don't we all wish were Frost though? . : * Wistful sigh * : . Ha, ha, well I liked writing about Spot getting beat up because that meant a little bit of kind of angst-fluff with Frost. You read it twice? Go you! Yeah, she did do some damage, but we still love her anyway. Take care and thanks for your reviews. ^_^
Anyway everyone, reader count is down to… no wait! It is up to . : * 6 * : . whole readers! Not 6 half readers, but whole readers! That is 2 more readers that before! . : * Dies of shock * : .