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: I'm sick of writing this story, I'm sick of researching this story, I'm sick of trying to make Spot fall in love with a girl that isn't me! Most of all, I'm just sick of writing this. I don't know, I just don't feel like people actually want me to finish or anything, I don't know. I really don't like the plot, I kind of sort of hate Frost, and I'm sick of trying to think of how to fit all this together. Now I remember why people figure out how to resolve stories before they start writing them darn it.
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for some language and a little violence.
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Chapter 9: Repercussions
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//The human race never fails,
To amaze me,
With their stupidity,
And their blind pride…//
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"How ah we'se goin' ta break Cowboy out?" Kid Blink asked.
"We'se goin' ta figuah a way out now," Spot told them all, stepping over the offended Racetrack who was still on the floor rubbing the bump on his head.
"We ain't goin' ta be able ta get da boy outta dere!" A small blonde boy with glasses protested.
"Who ah yous?" Spot pointed his cane at the boy who claimed the impossibility of the situation.
"D-Dutchy," he stuttered and Spot frowned.
"Youah new ain't yous?" Brooklyn asked and the boy nodded. "Well lemme tell yous somet'ing Dutchy," he walked over and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders, they tensed at the contact. "Ain't nobody evah goes against me," Spot informed. "Unless yous wanna look like youah pal Race ovah dere," he pointed with the gold-tipped cane again as he released his shoulders. "Got it?"
"Got it," The blonde boy answered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
"Good," Spot let his cold eyes roam the group. "Anybody else gots any questions?" He asked and everyone shook their heads readily. "Good," Spot smiled again. "Cause I'se gots a plan."
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Spot went to the bed with all of the papers on them and took them in hand. He felt the weight of them in his hands and gripped them firmly. His grip tightened until his arms were shaking with the pressure that he used, with an angry shout, he flung the papers on the floor. Sending them to scatter everywhere, he watched the slide across the floor and his eyes darted to the window. She was probably out of sight now, so it didn't matter if he went and looked out the window, did it?
Stalking over to the glass pane, he felt the draft and shivered as he looked out. Nope, no chestnut haired girl on the streets. Swearing under his breath, he frowned. Why had he lost his temper so quickly? Maybe if he had controlled it, she would still be here. It wasn't his fault though. If she hadn't been so stubborn, none of this would have happened! It was all her fault! He convinced himself of this. Then a sobering thought struck him. Why did he care?
Shit, was the next thing that reached his mind and it replayed in his mind again and again. No, followed the trail of profanity as the truth of the thought struck him. I'se cahah cause she hoyt my pride, he reasoned, but knew that it wasn't true. The reason he cared ran much deeper than mere pride, or the physical attraction. Though the realization had come, the acceptance hadn't. It would be awhile before Spot would allow himself to admit that he was in love.
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Yous don' have nowheah ta go in New Yawk, Frost thought with mockery. Dat shows whot he knows, she added bitterly, looking behind her for the millionth time.
Why was she looking behind he so often? She wondered. There was very little reason to. Did she really expect Spot to come after her? Or maybe there was something else that was nagging her. Of course that was it, it had to be something else. There was absolutely nothing between her and Spot besides the occasional witty conversation and the rare laugh. Everything else was pure aggravation, irritation, and purposeful harassment.
Pressing him from her mind, she trudged along, she had a long way to get to where she was going. It was true that she still didn't have enough for an entire fare to any of her select locations, so where could she go? Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, even Stanton were all closed options. Where else was there? Well there was one place that Frost knew of, a place that she had hoped to avoid. Going to this place would mean cutting through Harlem and Manhattan, two hostile territories, but she would be away from Brooklyn, and that is what mattered now.
This place was different from the other newsie circles. They played by their own set of rules, followed the beat of their own drummer. Living the life of wild woman and cheap booze was their way, but she would have to learn to get by. Horror stories had come from the few female newsies that had tried to make their living there, but Frost wasn't one to listen to tearful stories. Everyone had a story like that, even if it was exaggerated, or even if it was true. True or not, she didn't have a choice this time. Right now, Frost was walking through the sludge and the snow making her was to a place she never thought she would go.
Frost was going to Coney Island.
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Maybe it was divine fate that hustled Frost out of the door that night after the spat with Spot. Maybe it was something uncontrolled by the masses of humanity that swarmed the streets. Maybe it was pure chance that she escaped that day before the man with the eye patch came. Maybe it was all of these, but whatever it was, it was a good thing that she was gone.
The fire was blazing in the small heating furnace in the boy's large bunkroom where the main population of the newsies had gathered. Spot was sitting on his top bunk with a knife in hand, his slingshot in the other, as he carved patterns over the wood. The trademark of Brooklyn already had several marks and designs cut into its surface, but Spot made more. No one bothered him as he sat up there with a knife in hand. It was clear he was brooding, and the possibility of angering him was high. An angry Brooklyn with a knife wasn't a pretty picture, especially with the wrath was turned against you.
This was a rule that this man with the eye patch obviously didn't understand as he came barging into the bunkroom, Emily trailing behind him. Angrily, he looked around the room with his one eye as the raven-haired girl came around in front of him.
"Sir, you can't come up here," she planted the rule in front of him.
"I can do what I want," he sneered and Spot looked up from his work, scowling.
"Please, sir, come downstairs now. Only newsies are allowed up here," she pleaded, and he pushed past her without a second look.
"I don't care," he growled, prowling around the room. It was then that Spot jumped down from his perch and confronted the man, knife still in hand.
"Excuse me suah," He pulled himself to his fullest height and place his overly confident smirk on his lips. "But da lady heah said dat yous need ta leave," he spat on his knife and rubbed it slowly with the filthy handkerchief he kept. Slowly, the large man turned and scanned Spot with his one eye.
"I know you," he pointed and Spot pretended to look surprised.
"Do ya now?" He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Lotsa people claim ta know me," he boasted, knowing that the whole room was now watching him.
"You were on the street that day with Lois," he accused and Spot's mind leapt onto the information offered him. Was Frost's real name Lois?
"Nevah known no one by dat name," Spot shook his head and slid the cloth over the silver blade in his hand one final time. "But I do remembah somet'ing 'bout a lady askin' yous ta leave," he reminded, pointing the knife in Emily's direction as she stood demurely waiting. "It ain't polite ta keep a lady waitin'," Spot informed and the man looked irritated.
"I'm not leaving until I get what I want," the man growled and Spot didn't bat an eyelash at the unlined threat.
"No yous goin' ta leave when I'se say yous goin' ta," Spot corrected and the man took a step closer, attempting to intimidate Spot, but he didn't budge.
"And who's going to make me go?" he sneered. "You, little man?" He looked Spot up and down, obviously making fun of his size and a dark fire jumped into Spot's eyes, but that was the only change in his appearance.
"Me an' me friends might have a t'ing oah two ta say bout it," Spot snapped his fingers and four or five of the larger boys all stood and came up behind him. "Dese boys heah ain't much foah talkin', but dey shuah as hell like ta fight," Spot smiled wryly. "Specially when da woyd of a lady's bein' ignoahed," he informed and the man looked over each of his possible opponents.
"Are you too chicken to fight me yourself, little man?" The man teased maliciously, trying to play to Spot's sense of pride.
"Nah, I ain't too chicken," he shook his head. "Jus' wouldn't be fayah ta yous," he sheathed the knife that he had held and put it in the top of his boot. "Now ah yous goin' ta leave all friendly like, oah ah we'se goin' ta havta show ya ta da door?" Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously and the whole bunkroom was absolutely silent.
The man looked at Spot, then at his small army behind him, then around the whole room. Slowly, he scanned every inch of the large area with his one eye as black as pitch. Then taking a step back, he gave Spot one more venomous glance.
"I know how you newsies work," he informed. "And I know that Lois is around here somewhere, so you can just tell her that I am going to find her," he said finally and then turned to leave.
"Escoyt him down da shahs boys, make shuah he don' get lost on da way ta da doah," Spot told those that stood behind him, and they moved as one to do their leader's bidding. Walking over to the lodging house owner's daughter, he nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thank you," she said, smiling softly.
"Nuttin' ta t'ank me foah," Spot smirked. "If yous evah have problems wit' him again, jus' lemme knows an' Is'll make shuah he won' boddah yous evah again," Spot promised, smiling slightly through his damaged lips.
"Thank you," she said again, then turned and went out the door quietly, Spot watched her go, then turned to return to his previous activity.
Already, the room was active again. The man had been ushered out of the room only a few moments before and everyone was back to what they had been doing before. A few of the younger newsies had hurried over to the window to see the man be thrown out, but the rest didn't care.
Scanning the room quickly, Spot sighed as deeply as his sore ribs would allow. Reaching for the knife at his side, he went back to his bunk and climbed up onto the top. Picking up the slingshot that had won him a large amount of his reputation, he returned to carving. The pattern he was creating was a complex assortment of delicate lines around the very base of the handle. The lines looked like a lacy spider-web etched into the wood, but if one looked closer, they could see that it wasn't a spider-web he had created. It was the pattern of the ice crystals frozen onto the windows in the cold of winter's morn.
Spot had carved frost onto his slingshot.
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//We live for the moment,
Try to seize it and own it,
Squeeze it and hold it,
Cause we consider these minutes golden…//
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Frost made it to Coney Island around three in the morning, she had walked all night and was tired, cold, and hungry. Stumbling into an alleyway, she found an empty crate and crawled inside. So tired, she was so very tired, and even if she never did wake up, she didn't care. Now all she wanted to do was catch a few hours of precious sleep. Unfamiliar with the area, she didn't know exactly where she was on Coney Island, but she knew that she wasn't in the Gut. At least not yet, but she had a feeling she would be there sometime.
The Gut of Coney Island was as place of rampant gambling, prostitution, drinking, gangs, and any other underhanded greed driven crime ever committed. If you wanted to find the scum of the earth, you need not look any further than the Gut. Though it was said it had been worse before it had burned thirty years prior, it was hard to believe.
Coney Island was not known only for its disreputable establishments, it was known for its racetracks. Sheepshead races, along with two other tracks made up majority of the racing in the city. Though there were trotting races on the streets, there was nothing like watching the pure and unadulterated power of the galloping stallions coming around the bend. Though gambling on such races was illegal, the law was mainly over looked by the establishments and bookie operated freely amongst the crowds.
Being the holder of several resorts, Coney Island also was the perfect place for the wealthy to vacation. Often the wealthy would come here and walk the streets freely with their purses at their sides. Purses that would end up empty by the end of the day or gone completely and almost always not because they'd spent their money. Pickpockets were one of the numbers of criminals that made their living here.
Tonight though, the streets were fairly quiet except for the taverns that were open through the night. Spawning underage intoxication, loud calls, and the occasional drunkard stumbling down the streets singing some bar melody in a terrible off-key voice. All of these noises though, fell on dead ears and Frost curled up into herself and fell asleep.
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"I'se still don' gets it," Skittery said scratching his head. "Why's can't we'se jus' bust in dere an' gets 'im out?"
"Dat's a great idea Skit, an' whiles we'se at it, why don' we'se go out an' buy ouah self some handcuffs so we'se don' havta waste dere's?" Spot asked sarcastically and Skittery's face fell.
"Don' mind him Spot," Kid Blink offered.
"Yeah, dumb an' glum, dats all dis boy is," Racetrack added under his breath.
"I ain't all dat dumb," Skittery muttered, as he moved off to sulk in a corner.
"So yous sayin' dat in 'bout a week oah so da mayoah is goin' ta be goin' ta da Refuge?" Dutchy asked respectfully.
"Yeah, he's goin' ta be dere ta inspect da place, an' dat means dat da wahden's goin' ta have da place all clean an' da kids ah goin' ta be fed dat day," Spot spat on the ground.
"I'se still don' see how dis is goin' ta get Cowboy outta da joint," Racetrack took a drag on a new cigarette.
"Da mayoah is goin' ta give a ride ta ouah friend Sullivan," Spot explained. "Good o' Cowboy's goin' ta ride outta dat place with Teddy Roosevelt, an' befoah Snydah knows whot's happened, he's goin' ta be long gone," Spot clarified.
"I'se still don' get it," Kid Blink scratched his head.
"Yous don' havta get it, lets jus' hope dat Cowboy does," Spot growled, the conversation was over.
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//Out of mind,
Out of state,
Trying to keep,
My head on straight…//
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The exhilarating feeling of her mouth under his sent shivers down his spine as he wrapped his arms firmly around her torso. Without the slightest struggle, she melted against him, molding every curve of her body to his. She clung to him madly as they tried to find some way to be closer, always wanting to be closer. Hungrily, he tasted her, never wanting to let her go, then he lifted his head to catch a much-needed breath before whispering the fated phrase.
"I love you."
Gasping for breath, Spot shot upright in bed. Gripping the blanket on his bed and blinked in the darkness. Looking around in the pitch of the bunkroom, he was slowly teleported back to Brooklyn. Lying back down, he calmed his erratic breathing and let out a heaving sigh. Whatever the dream had been about, he wasn't sure, he didn't even know who he had been kissing.
Wiping a hand over his face, he tried to close his eyes and forget about it, but it was quite impossible. In the night, he listened to the wind whipping outside, and the sound of the breathing newsies around him. Neither comforted him, or lulled him back to sleep as he kept hearing his own voice breathing the words that froze his heart in his chest.
I love you.
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Morning came without mercy and without warning. The sun rose as a great crimson ball over the city and the citizens that were awake, watched it in awe. A red sun of such a bright hue in the morning was especially rare. For the sailors, it meant poor weather. For everyone else, it simply meant that morning had come and another day of work was to be done.
Out on the streets, Spot couldn't help but look for Frost in every place he wandered. The papers that he held in the crook of his arm went unsold as he was too sidetracked to focus correctly. The night had been long and cold for him, as he hadn't slept after the dream. In fact, he could swear that he still felt the searing kiss pressed against his mouth. Eerily haunting, and the strange day wore on.
When lunchtime arrived, he still had over half of his papers left to sell, but he was frozen to the bone. The sailors weren't the only ones that had to worry about bad weather, the newsies did too. Cold, cutting winds blew down upon the earth mercilessly as the ragged army tried to make a day's living. Hungry raged in their stomachs as they tried to figure a way to eat and have money for board.
This would be the third day that Spot hadn't eaten anything, maybe that had accounted for his foul mood the day before. Being without a decent meal for several days could do that to a guy. It really didn't matter now did it? Frost was gone she would be gone forever now. Where she had gone, it really didn't matter because there was no reason to care, was there? Caring and curiosity weren't the same things, though, he was merely curious as to where the girl had gone out of New York.
The idea struck him as funny somehow. Leaving New York? Maybe he would try it sometime…. Right now though, all he could do was hope that by buying himself lunch he wouldn't waste all of his money for his board tonight. If he did, he knew of a few people that owed him money. Stepping into a low-class diner, he sank into a wooden, straight backed chair. The table in front of him wobbled and had crack large enough that Spot could stick his fingers between them. Appearance didn't matter much when you were starving though, so Spot read the meal options off of the black chalkboard menu. With his budget, there wasn't all too much he could get, but at least he could eat.
A waiter came over and Spot ordered, then watched the groups around him laugh and talk. There were young couples, businessmen, factory workers, and even a few other newsies that he chose not to join. The conversations swirled around him, and he picked up different parts as he listened distantly.
"The sun was red this moahnin'. I be sayin' that theah wos bloodshed last night!"
"If we added this to the market, it would improve circulation."
"This June will be poyfect foah da weddin'."
So on and so forth the conversations droned on around him, nothing seemed to interesting. Again, he had no want to know about anything anymore, life had lost its flavor. For awhile, Frost had distracted him from the thoughts of his doom, or demise, she had added interest. It was almost ironic that he had enjoyed the challenges she had given him and the questions to his authority. So long had it been since anyone had even tried to do that, that it was refreshing. Though it didn't matter now, she was gone.
With that sobering thought, his meal arrived and he started it hungrily. Even though the bread tasted like dust in his mouth, he choked down the whole sandwich. It felt good to have a full stomach finally. Leaving a few coins on the table, he picked up his stack of papers and headed back out onto the cold streets.
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//A halfway happy ending,
A distorted faerytale,
The truth comes to light,
They don't come true…//
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Cold. Extreme cold. That is what she remember next, and all she wanted to do was sleep some more, but something in the back of her mind made her wake up and move. Every movement her frozen limbs made ached, and she hated herself for leaving Brooklyn. Why couldn't she have waited till the next morning to leave?
Groaning, she sat up and tried to remember where she was. Then it all came back to her. The fighting, the harsh words, the leaving without a way back, walking all night, Coney Island, it was all there. Rubbing her throbbing temples, she stood on wobbly legs. It was mid-day and she needed to find the lodging house before the night came again.
If she could just make enough money, she could leave New York for good. A few more dollars here and there and she would be able to leave. Yet, even though she was so close to her goal, something held her back. Though her mind pressed onward, her heart held her back. Did she really want to go?
Muttering to herself, she forced herself to walk out on the busy streets of Coney Island.
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Being small and fairly nondescript had its values in certain times, as Spot well knew. The plan had been formulated for the escape of Cowboy Sullivan, but the problem was he didn't know anything about it. The man who ran the Manhattan lodging house, known as Kloppman, had given them some blank paper and a piece of lead. Somehow, they had managed to write out the basic plan on the paper. The spelling was bad, and the words were simple, but the idea would hopefully get across.
Now the only problem to work out was how to get this letter to the Cowboy.
Spot had it figured pretty clearly, but it all rode on him accomplishing it correctly. How he would do so, was now up to him as he tucked the folded paper into his pocket and left the Manhattan lodging house. However he had to do it, he would. Walking towards the House of Refuge, a plan was already forming in his mind.
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The lodging house in Coney Island turned out to be an old warehouse that someone had put several bunks in. A crude wall that seemed that it might fall over if you pushed on it too hard separated the shared bath. A distinct musty smell was in the air and Frost felt very uncomfortable the instant she entered. A greasy man about the age of forty came over to greet her.
"Can I'se help you?" He asked politely, his fake cheesy smile almost revolting.
"I'se heah ta bunk," she said plainly.
"We ain't got a special place foah goils," he warned.
"I ain't got no prol'em wit' dat," Frost answered. "Ya got a bunk foah me?"
"Ten cents a night," he held out his hand.
"Ten cents?" She exclaimed.
"Dats right, if ya don' like it yous can go somewheah else," he responded calmly, and Frost knew it was useless to argue. In fact she was surprised that more lodging houses didn't over charge like this one. No doubt the extra five cents was going directly to his pocket.
"Ain't ya goin' ta ask me if I'se a newsie?" She quirked up one of her eyebrows, not pursuing the other subject.
"Don' havta be a newsie ta stay heah, just gotta be able ta pay me," he held out his hand and waited for Frost to dig into her pocket and place one thin dime on his palm. "Right dis way," he smiled greedily and Frost followed.
Something told her she wasn't going to like it here.
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Three days passed and nothing of much consequence occurred in either Coney Island or Brooklyn. Spot had been more moody lately and the whole borough had noticed, surprisingly. The master of cloaked emotions was still hiding them fairly well, but he had been more secluded lately. This was how it had been before Frost had come, and now it was like it again.
Back on Coney Island, Frost had now changed her name once more. This time it was Blackjack for her superior knowledge and knack at the game. Coney Island, being known for betting and gambling, was rank with card players. This was the perfect alias for such a place.
The weather had thawed slightly, but was still bitterly cold. The bitter north winds had faded and had been slowly shifting to a more southerly blast. Warmer air was welcome, but it was still far from being anything but cold and icy.
In the time that Frost had spent in Coney, she discovered the reason the man didn't care if you were a newsie or not. The lodging house was for factory workers and shoe-shiners as well as newsies. All three of the groups bound into one. Factory workers in this part of Coney weren't as numerous as the other territories, but there were still a good number of them. Girls and boys alike shared the one large room and the one large bathroom. One thing to be said for the Coney Island Lodging house was that there certainly wasn't any chance of getting lost inside.
No one had bothered to ask Spot about Frost's sudden disappearance, not even Outsider. Maybe it was because they all feared for their lives. Again the late night walks to the bridge had become an every night event, but he hadn't gotten up the desire to actually commit the act. Something was holding him back, but he wasn't sure what. Or maybe he knew all too well….
A leadership meeting was to be held that day in Manhattan, and Spot wasn't looking forward to the rendezvous. A worthless afternoon of playing poker with money he didn't want to lose seemed a trivial thing in his eyes. A welcome distraction maybe, but most definitely worthless. Secretly he wondered if Brink would be there and a sarcastic smile played his lips. At least he hadn't been the only one to fall under that witches spell.
After lunch though, Spot headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge to go to Manhattan Island. Maybe something worthwhile might come of this meeting. Then again, maybe not.
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Being Saturday, the races were packed. Even in the cold weather, some of the braver jockeys got out their horses and promised the races to the people. The things that a person would do for a few lousy dollars… it was almost disgusting. The ground was thawing, but still slick with the melted ice, but mud never stopped a race.
Frost had never been to a race before, a real one at least. Some of the newsie from the group had convinced her to go with them, and she knew it was probably a mistake. Sheepshead Races was a big place, but there was always a chance she could run into someone that would be best if they didn't know where she was. Perhaps this race was spontaneous enough that word of it didn't get out very far.
So with dragging feet, she went. The boys that she went with were all years younger than she, except for one was. His name was Dices. Finding a fancy for her, Dices had followed her around since the first day. At least after his job at the factory was over. Today he had taken the day off, insisting that she do the same.
Tired and knowing that he would probably lose his job for what he had done, she humored him and went with him to the races. Though she couldn't afford to bet anything, she did enjoy watching the horses run. Their fluid grace and unadulterated power was beautiful to behold as they flew around the turns, their skin glistening in the mid-march sun.
The character of Blackjack was different than that of Frost in that she was more open and warm than Frost had been. A false past she had created and molded her character to it perfectly. So when Dice wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Frost would have shaken it off, but Blackjack didn't. Though she didn't attempt to remove his arm, she didn't lean into his embrace. So time progressed, and the day seemed to be looking up for Frost.
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Reaching the Manhattan lodging house, he saw that all of the other leaders were already there. Even Brink had come that day from Queens, surprisingly. Coin and Tips were there from Harlem and the Bronx. Jack was there representing the upper-east side of Manhattan, and Eagle was there from the only other real Manhattan power, the south-side. As always, the Coney Island newsies weren't represented.
"Heya Jackie-boy," Spot greeted the one that he associated with most frequently first, taking off his ragged glove and trading the customary spit-shake.
So the greetings went that Spot then turned to Eagle, then to Brink, then Coin, and finally to Tips. Something dark flashed in Spot's eyes when he confronted Tips though, the story that Frost had told him still played fresh in his mind. Now was not the time to speak of such things though, and now as not the time to remember Frost's little story telling. None of them mentioned Spot's face as the bruises were still fading, coloring his skin a strange sallow yellow.
"So why's we all standin' out heah?" Spot asked after the hellos had been said.
"We'se goin' ta da races taday Spot," Jack explained, lighting a cigarette. "Racetrack says dat dere's some racin' goin' on down at Sheepshead taday, an' we'se goin' ta go," he clarified.
"Ain't dat place closed?" Spot inquired.
"Nah, dey open it evah once in awhiles," Jack shook his head. "But we'se bettah staht walkin' if we'se goin' ta get dere," he ordered and the rest of them agreed. So off went the leaders of several boroughs, all walking together, but all of them seeming to be long to different groups. Especially the short boy with brown hair, walking with his gold tipped cane at his side.
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By five o'clock, the races were finished. The darkening sky enough to discourage the crowd from wanting more. Even though she hadn't been able to bet, Frost had to admit that she had a fairly good time. Dices wasn't the brightest boy, or the handsomest, but he was pleasant to be around, and wasn't demanding or pushy. Being with leaders most of her life, she was used to the commanding presence or the attitude that so often accompanied leadership. Staying with an average male might just work out.
The younger boys, who were all older than ten, but younger than thirteen, had awhile back. The races could be fun, but for a long period of time, restless young boys quickly got bored. Maybe the key to the afternoon had been the good company, and the enjoyable conversation that hadn't been forced.
Inside, Frost almost felt sorry for Dices because she knew that she wasn't going to be able to stay around much longer and she wasn't going to be able to let anything really happen between them. All she was using him for was to keep the other boys at bay so nothing would happen to her.
Standing, stretched slightly and Dices smiled at her. True that he wasn't bad looking with a shock of red hair and light blue eyes, but he wasn't handsome. The boyish smile that he held made him look much younger than seventeen almost eighteen, and the freckles across his face made him look all the more youthful.
"I'se had a nice time," Frost said politely, knowing that Blackjack would say that.
"I'se glad," Dices smiled, standing with her and he tried to put his arm around her again, but she carefully avoided it.
"I'se gotta go do a couple t'ings, but Is'll see yous at da lodgin' house tanight? A'ight?" She asked, patiently, not wanting to press the idea that she wanted to be alone for awhile.
"I'se can come wit'choo," Dices offered. "Ya might need some help," he suggested and she smiled sweetly for him.
"Nah, Is'll be fine, I'se promise," Frost, now Blackjack, kept smiling.
"Ah yous shuah?" Dices frowned and Frost knew that she needed to sweeten the deal a little bit.
"I'se shuah," she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as she spoke into his chest. "Is'll see yous tanight," she looked up at his surprised face. "Right?" She asked over the crowd noises as several people brushed past them, trying to get out of the crowded area.
"Yeah," he looked down stupidly at the face of the short girl in his arms, as she looked up at him expectantly.
"A'ight," Frost said, pulling his head down and planting a kiss firmly on his cheek. "Is'll see yous tanight," she promised and stepped back from him, enjoying the look on his face. "G'bye," she said and waved with a small giggle, the rolled eyes once she turned away. Hopefully she would be able to leave soon, very soon.
The truth was that she saw this crowd as the perfect opportunity for a quick pickpocket job. Tired and just wanting to get home, the people around her probably had money because though betting was illegal, everyone did it if they could. If she was lucky, she might be able to get enough money for her train fare. Weaving though the crowd, she slipped her hands into several pockets and managed to garnish several dollars. Smiling, so very pleased with herself, she reached into one final pocket, but to her horror, the man from whom she was stealing turned suddenly and caught her.
"Whot ah yous doing?" he roared and Frost cowered away from him.
"Nuttin'," Frost denied. "I'se soahy if I'se bumped inta yous mistah," she apologized.
"Yous weah tryin' ta steal me money ya little urchin!" he accused, having seen her hand in his pocket and knowing that she had been doing so.
"Listen suah, I'se ain't stealin' from nobody," she started to back off, already spending too much time here with this man and desiring to melt into the crowd.
"Oh no," he said when he saw her backing away. Grabbing her by the arm, the large man held her hostage. "We'se goin' ta take yous ta da police an' get yous da punishment yous desoyve," he growled and Frost looked around desperately for an escape but only saw the accusing stares of those around her.
Then, she saw someone that she never thought she would have seen here today and her heart jumped to her throat. She'd rather go to the refuge instead of have him help her, but he had already seen her and she knew it. Of all the places, why did he have to be here right now?
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Spot hadn't enjoyed the races, his mind had wandered too much for him to pay attention to the horses as they sped down the tracks and around the corner. It was too cold for him to like sitting on the damp benches as the moisture soaked into his clothes, chilling him. Though he had been able to steal someone's full cigarette holder, he hadn't enjoyed the nicotine as he had coursed through his veins either. Over all, Spot had a lousy time.
Standing before the rest of the boys, he walked away from the group and noticed that not one of them asked where he was going. Smoking a cigarette he walked aimlessly through the crowds that milled about, not interested in sitting either. Nothing of interest ever happened at these races, but now that he was here, he was going to stay. After the races were finished, people surrounded him as they surged past and he stuck his hands into a few of their pockets, enjoying the sound of the change he had stolen as it jingled in his pocket.
The happy sound was nearly drowned out by the drone of the crowd, but it was still there. It was completely drowned out by the sound of a man's angry voice raised over the commotion of the crowd. Interested in what was happening, Spot made quick to get to the area where the shouting had been heard and saw that a small circle had been formed around a man and a girl. The girl was obviously in trouble of some sort and Spot smirked. Another amateur pickpocket getting caught, how sad. His smirk changed to a mask of disbelief as the girl turned her head and scanned the crowd, making brief eye contact with him.
It was Frost.
Unsure of what to do, Spot gaped for a moment. Should he help her? Of course he should help her, but did he want to? Something inside of him told him that he shouldn't, that she deserved this, but something else told him to get himself over there and help her. She wouldn't want him to help her though, would she? No she wouldn't she was just as proud as he was, and the idea of going against her will brought him secret delight. So parting the circle he entered and walked right up to the man.
"Excuse me suah," he tapped the burly man on the shoulder to get his attention. "Let go of my cousin!" He exclaimed, not quite sure of what to do or say in this situation, but tha was what he thrived off of.
"You knows dis goil?" The man asked, pointing to Frost.
"O' coyse I knows her," Spot acted offended. "She's me cousin."
"Did yous know dat youah cousin heah's a pickpocket?" the man charged and Spot acted surprised.
"Jane, you ain't no pickpocket ah yous?" Spot turned to Frost and gave her the name Jane. Frost shook her head, refusing to meet Spot's eyes. "See, she ain't no pickpocket," Spot offered his proof to the man.
"I'se caught her wit' her hand in my pocket!" The man insisted, keeping a firm grip on her.
"Did she take anyt'ing from yous?" Spot asked.
"No, I'se caught her afore she could," the man answered proudly.
"Ya gotta undah stand somet'ing 'bout Jane, mistah," Spot tried to explain. "She ain't got da best mind," he said and Frost sent him a venomous glare.
"My mind's jus' fine!" She said sharply, and Spot gave her a warning glance.
"Ya see? She don' even know it," Spot lamented. "Sad ain't it?" He shook his head and look at Frost sadly, she was fuming. "Since her ma got sick an' needs a doctah she's been woykin' double shift at da fact'ry tryin' ta get a doc foah her," Spot took his hat off of his hand and put it over his heart. "God rest her soul," he bowed his head for a few seconds for reverence.
"Yous da one dats crazy!" Frost shot in Spot's direction but he paid no attention.
"When she woah woykin' in da fact'ry somet'ing hit her on da head good an' evah since she ain't been da same," Spot wove his tale of woe, and the man looked back and forth between the two, thoroughly confused. On the girl's part, she seemed to have deep feelings towards this boy, what they were rather hard to tell. Because even though the hard words and the dirty looks, there was something different under those frighteningly dark eyes.
"Is her ma dead?" The man asked, his constitution on the matter obviously wavering.
"Yes suah," Spot dropped his voice. "But ya see, Jane don't seem ta know dat," he explained. "She still t'inks dat her muddah is heah an' dat she's gotta get moah money foah da doc," Spot looked at Frost with a piteous glance, and she made an obscene gesture with her hand. Spot pretended not to notice. "She's lives wit' me an' me family now," Spot continued and looked up at the man. "So ya see suah, she didn' do it ta spite ya, she did it ta save her muddah, God rest her soul."
The crowd around them was quiet as they watched the scene around them unfold and the man looked down at the girl he held by the arm and then at Spot then back at Frost. Seeming to be battling whether or not to release her or not, the man looked around the crowd and one woman finally cut through the crowd and stepped into the scene.
"You let dis goil go now Harold," she insisted.
"But Mahge, she's nuttin' but a thief!" he reminded.
"I don' cahah, da poah goil is scahed ta deat' an' she ain't got nuttin' o' youahs," she reminded and the man's grip loosened slightly. "All da way Harold," she woman put her hands on her hips and the man finally let go of her arm. "I'se soahy 'bout dis," the woman said to Frost and Spot, smiling warmly. "My husband heah's got a tempah," she looked sternly in the direction of the man who was now looking very sheepish.
"Dats okay," Spot answered quickly, taking Frost by the hand. "Let's go Jane, faddah will be wond'rin' 'bout us," he turned and pulled her after him, melting into the crowd. When they were a good ways away from the happenings of this event, Frost ripped her hand from Spot's and glared at him menacingly before making moves to run away. Spot grabbed her hand again, holding her with him, when she tried to pull away her hand again, he grabbed her wrist.
"Why'd ya havta go an' do dat?" She hissed, struggling against his grip.
"Whot, ya mean help ya?" Spot was surprised.
"Yeah, I'se had it undah control," she glared at him. "Lemme go!"
"Not from whot I'se saw," Spot pointed out, smiling inwardly at her futile struggles.
"Well yous nevah been good at seein' da obvious," she retorted.
"Whot's dat supposed ta mean?" Spot's eyes narrowed.
"Nevah mind," Frost sighed heavily and managed to jerk her wrist away, but Spot caught her arm.
"Yous sellin' heah on Coney now?" he asked and Frost rolled her eyes.
"I ain't in Brooklyn Spot, I don' havta play by youah rules no moah," she reminded and he knew it to be true. "But why's you heah on Coney?" she asked, suddenly curious and knowing that she probably wouldn't be getting away any time soon.
"I'se had a meetin' wit' some o' da boys," Spot explained and suddenly remembered about all of the other newsie leaders. Practically, if any of them saw Frost, there could be trouble. A lot of trouble.
"Whot oder boys?" Frost asked inquisitively, hoping that the casual conversation might loosen his grip.
"Get outta heah," Spot let go of her arm and gave her a light shove.
"Whot?" She looked confused. "Why?" She questioned.
"Jus' go!" Spot growled and she looked like she was going to ask more questions when a voice came over them that sent a chill down their spines.
"Cowgoil?"
They both turned to see who had asked that, though it was already too clear whom it would be. The tall boy looked just like Frost remembered him. Still the same tall boy with piercing hazel eyes and dusty black cowboy hat hanging down on his back. It was Jack.
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A/N: I was out of town all weekend and I've been sick. I'm sorry it took so long for such a stupid short annoyingly bad update. You have every reason to hate me and not to review, because I suck. Man, why did I even post this update? AGH, I hate this chapter. . : * Points a gun at the chapter and fires * : . Die! Die! Or maybe I should just die, man this is depressing. I've never been this discontent with my writing before. I don't know you all, this might be the last of this story, I don't know if I can finish it.
Silent Breeze: Well, well, well, you silly little thing you. I make you laugh? Well that is a first, everyone in my family just tells me to shut up when I crack a joke. Oh well, maybe we understand each other a little better than others do. Yeah, the last chapter was kind of sad, but this one isn't that bad, or maybe it was… I don't know I am just the author. It's not like I wrote it, or breathed life into it, or devoted countless hours to its development or anything! *please take this time to note the extreme sarcasm in which I speak - er - type* I liked how I made Stanton Island different from the rest. I figure, if any of the borough of any of the territories are going to be different, it is going to be Stanton. They are kind of isolated away on the little island of theirs, the hermits! Duke is cool, but I really didn't feel the chemistry between them, there weren't any fireworks from the kiss, but that is okay. They were friends, but not intimate. Frost can't have all of those men! I agree, if I had to pick between Coin and Duke, I would pick Coin, mainly because I am good at poker, not so good at chess. Ha, ha, anyway, how can you like Coin better than Spot? I might just have to have Coin die for that! *laughs evilly* (you: nooooooo!) There wasn't that much making up in this chapter was there? Darn those muses, I don't think they can be bribed. Scary guy is back! Oh no! Nah, don't kill the love-child sister thing. I think it is really funny! Everything in moderation is good. BTW, my igloo is pretty darn good. I can fit three adults in there, all sitting cross-legged. ^_^
Ali: Hello silly, silly Ali. *Wags her finger at you* How dare you not review my story! I review yours. *Tear* I guess I am just not good enough. Ha, ha, someone actually reads my author's notes? Man, I was starting to wonder. I love the snow too, but I don't live in Canada so I don't get that much! *Joins the snow-dance with you and forces her little muses to dance too* I think it is funny that I can make my muses dance a stupid snow dance, but I try to make them write fluff and well… it doesn't work. You like my frosty Frost? Yeah! That is the point! You are supposed to like her! Magnificent, eh? *runs for her dictionary to look up the big word* Ah ha! *finds the word* Well, thank you! Ha, ha, I have that problems with adoring Spot a little too much too. Darn it! I can't tell you if she will come back, but you never know… The muses run wild with plot twists all of the time, don't they? Agh, you hate me? Well then, fine, be that way! Humph! Nah, I know you love me. ^_^ Well, we just don't know if we will ever find out what happened between Jack and Frost. I am not sure what happened between Jack and Frost, those darned muses won't tell me! I think I will take that badge to the this-is-pathetic-i-cant-even-fall-in-love-with-real-people-i-have-to-pick-a-fictional-character club. I think I am going to be the president of that club. I have never had a serious crush on a real person, but the ones that are fake, anything from cartoon characters to movie actors, I have obsessions. But we're not going to go into that right now…. I have to make this one angst though, it has angst as one of the main genres! Sorry!
Fallen Phoenix: I can't die? Oh darn… you mean I actually have to finish this thing? Gosh darnit! Wait, your story is going to fast, then too slow, then to fast, or my story? If anything, this story is going too slow. Ha, ha, yeah, they did have a 'big' fight. Shockingly though, no blows were exchanged. Well, I proved you wrong, no rapists, and the big scary eye-patch boy didn't get her. I am not that predictable am I? Ha, ha, just when you think you have me figured out, you umm… don't!
I can't wait to read more of your stuff, so keep writing! Thanks for the review. ^_^
Ireland O'Reily: I am glad that I refreshed your mind. Maybe I have refreshed it once more with this update. Ha, ha, probably not, but hey, does that really matter? Yep, Frost is leaving, for now that is. Well, she didn't leave New York… yet. Who knows you and I both know that she isn't around in Blind Spot, but I shouldn't bring that up? Yeah, some people actually are reading this one first, and then going to read Blind Spot. You know the really patient people that actually can wait for something like that. *Cough* not me *cough* I don't know how Frost stayed on Stanton that long either. I think it was the lack of boats going to other places than Harlem and Queens. Yes, there is definite chemistry between Emily and Spot, but we don't get into that till later. Right now we are focusing on some very different sparks that are flying between two very stubborn newsies! Good luck on midterms if you haven't already taken them…. ^_^
Skittles: American Idol, eh? I've never watched it. Ooh, story postage! Hmm… sounds like it could be an interesting plot, but um, wasn't the Refuge for boys only? I don't know. I am stupid, but it seems like it was just for guys. I like funny stuff too, but I am not that good at writing it. I am good at angst... and angst... and angst... and oh wait, did I mention angst? Read Bloodflame, eh? I've been thinking about checking it out, but right now I am too busy to sit down and read such a long story on the computer screen. Maybe over spring break or something, when I have time. ^_^ Yeah, it pretty much takes a personal crisis like all of my files being deleted to keep me from a regular update on these stories. I am darn faithful, you all should love me to death! Ha, ha, well, take care, and thanks for the review. ^_^
You probably shouldn't bother reviewing because honestly I don't think I will keep up with this story. It is a thorn in my side, the same with Blind Spot. I HATE THIS CHAPTER! I hate my writing, and I hate this story! Maybe I am just grumpy today, darn PMS….