A/N- Okay peoples, here's the dealy-o. I've already written this fic out so
I should be able to update fast. That is unless I get grounded or
something. I just figured that it would be easier for my friends to read
it this way. Hope ya like! Oh yeah...
**Disclaimer** I do not own Newsies (God knows I wish I did though) so
don't sue me.
Chapter 1
Spot sat up at his usual perch on the docks, looking out over the water. This was mostly how he spent his hours after selling his papers for the day. He liked it this way. He could keep an eye on his Newsies and always see who was coming for a visit to Brooklyn. That's when Spot noticed that someone was coming for a visit. A lone figure, dressed in a black vest and the usual Newsie's cabbie hat walked up the docks. He had a cigar in his mouth and Spot immediately recognized him as Racetrack, one of the Manhattan Newsies. Spot jumped down from his perch to meet Race. The boys spat and shook hands, which was the usual sign of greeting from one Newsie to another. "Heya Race," Spot greeted, "How's it rollin'?" "Not dat bad," Race replied, "What about you?" "Ah, ya know, da usual tings- sell da papes, den do whateva you feels like doin'." "Well den, do ya wanna go down to da tracks wit me?" "Yeah, sure. I don't see why I can't leave anudda Newsie in charge." Spot looked around, and then shouted, "Hey! Marbles! Shinah!" Two Newsies trotted over to them. "Youse guys take ovah whiles I'm gone. And if anybody gets outta line, tell 'em I'll soak 'em myself." "Sure ting Spot," the blonde-haired Newsie, Shiner, replied. He and Marbles climbed up into Spot's perch and pulled out their slingshots. Every Brooklyn Newsie had a slingshot and could handle it like a pro. Spot and Race walked down the docks and headed for the racetracks. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So Race," Spot asked, "Ya gonna bet?"
"'Course." Race reached into his pocket and pulled out fifty cents.
"Fifty cent?" Spot asked, surprised, "Ya sure ya know what youse is doin'?"
"Listen heah, I got a hot tip 'bout dis new horse called Black Sand. It's a sure ting. 'Parently dis horse is an Arabian an' built ta go fasta den any udda horse can go."
"Okay, long as you're sure."
Race placed his bet and the boys went and took their seats as the horses were led into their positions. Suddenly, Race shouted, "Dere he is! Numba thoity-two!"
Spot looked where Race was pointing. Race had been right when he said Black Sand was built for speed. He had a small, delicately shaped head and powerful legs and neck. Not only did the horse look powerful, but he was beautiful as well. His mane and tail were thick and his black coat shone like satin. His ears were pricked forward, tuning into all of the sounds around him.
"You was right bout dat horse," Spot shouted over the crowd, "He looks like he could win dis one. How long has he been racin' for?"
"I dunno 'zactly," Race replied, "but I tink it's been 'bout... t'ree mont's,"
"Yeah well, dat has raced in 'bout fifteen race in dat time and won every one o' dem."
Spot returned his gaze to the track where the horse handlers were making some adjustments before the race. He looked at Black Sand's handler. She was readjusting the stirrups while the jockey waited impatiently. She had auburn hair that reached to her shoulders and was dressed like a Newsie, cabbie hat and all.
As the girl finished with the stirrups, she walked to the front of the horse and began to stroke his face. Suddenly, the jockey reached down and pulled out a whip and lashed out at the girl. She was hit hard in the arm and jumped back. She dashed off the track, holding her arm tightly against her.
"Did ya see dat?" Spot shouted, "Dat doity jockey oughtta be thrown right offa dat horse!"
"Ay! Pipe down!" Race yelled back, "Da race is startin'!"
The horses broke from the line, surging forward in a mass of horseflesh. Slowly, a few horses took the lead, freeing themselves from the mass. Spot noticed one horse take to the outside rail and, apparently, Race did too.
"What's Black Sand doin'?" Race said to no one in particular, "Get on da inside! Get on da inside!"
Black Sand continued to race along the outside of the track. At the halfway mark, Black Sand was holding on to fifth place when suddenly, the horse surged forward, even faster than before. His legs were pounding and his hooves barely seemed to touch the track.
"Yeah!" Race jumped to his feet, shouting, "Come on Black Sand! Get in dere! You can beat 'em!"
Coming into the home stretch, Black Sand had surged into third and was and was approaching the leaders as if they were at an easy trot. The jockeys frantically whipped their horses, trying to keep their lead. However, the whips were useless, because Black Sand finished a whole two lengths ahead of them, winning the race.
"What did I tell ya?" Race boasted, slugging Spot, "Dat horse is a gold mine!"
"I tink I'm gonna go down to da winner's circle and check out da horse," Spot told him.
"All right, I'll meet ya down dere. I'm gonna go collect me prize!"
***Okay. I hate to have to stop now, but I gotta go. Hope ya liked the first chappie!
*spot's lil boidie*
Chapter 1
Spot sat up at his usual perch on the docks, looking out over the water. This was mostly how he spent his hours after selling his papers for the day. He liked it this way. He could keep an eye on his Newsies and always see who was coming for a visit to Brooklyn. That's when Spot noticed that someone was coming for a visit. A lone figure, dressed in a black vest and the usual Newsie's cabbie hat walked up the docks. He had a cigar in his mouth and Spot immediately recognized him as Racetrack, one of the Manhattan Newsies. Spot jumped down from his perch to meet Race. The boys spat and shook hands, which was the usual sign of greeting from one Newsie to another. "Heya Race," Spot greeted, "How's it rollin'?" "Not dat bad," Race replied, "What about you?" "Ah, ya know, da usual tings- sell da papes, den do whateva you feels like doin'." "Well den, do ya wanna go down to da tracks wit me?" "Yeah, sure. I don't see why I can't leave anudda Newsie in charge." Spot looked around, and then shouted, "Hey! Marbles! Shinah!" Two Newsies trotted over to them. "Youse guys take ovah whiles I'm gone. And if anybody gets outta line, tell 'em I'll soak 'em myself." "Sure ting Spot," the blonde-haired Newsie, Shiner, replied. He and Marbles climbed up into Spot's perch and pulled out their slingshots. Every Brooklyn Newsie had a slingshot and could handle it like a pro. Spot and Race walked down the docks and headed for the racetracks. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So Race," Spot asked, "Ya gonna bet?"
"'Course." Race reached into his pocket and pulled out fifty cents.
"Fifty cent?" Spot asked, surprised, "Ya sure ya know what youse is doin'?"
"Listen heah, I got a hot tip 'bout dis new horse called Black Sand. It's a sure ting. 'Parently dis horse is an Arabian an' built ta go fasta den any udda horse can go."
"Okay, long as you're sure."
Race placed his bet and the boys went and took their seats as the horses were led into their positions. Suddenly, Race shouted, "Dere he is! Numba thoity-two!"
Spot looked where Race was pointing. Race had been right when he said Black Sand was built for speed. He had a small, delicately shaped head and powerful legs and neck. Not only did the horse look powerful, but he was beautiful as well. His mane and tail were thick and his black coat shone like satin. His ears were pricked forward, tuning into all of the sounds around him.
"You was right bout dat horse," Spot shouted over the crowd, "He looks like he could win dis one. How long has he been racin' for?"
"I dunno 'zactly," Race replied, "but I tink it's been 'bout... t'ree mont's,"
"Yeah well, dat has raced in 'bout fifteen race in dat time and won every one o' dem."
Spot returned his gaze to the track where the horse handlers were making some adjustments before the race. He looked at Black Sand's handler. She was readjusting the stirrups while the jockey waited impatiently. She had auburn hair that reached to her shoulders and was dressed like a Newsie, cabbie hat and all.
As the girl finished with the stirrups, she walked to the front of the horse and began to stroke his face. Suddenly, the jockey reached down and pulled out a whip and lashed out at the girl. She was hit hard in the arm and jumped back. She dashed off the track, holding her arm tightly against her.
"Did ya see dat?" Spot shouted, "Dat doity jockey oughtta be thrown right offa dat horse!"
"Ay! Pipe down!" Race yelled back, "Da race is startin'!"
The horses broke from the line, surging forward in a mass of horseflesh. Slowly, a few horses took the lead, freeing themselves from the mass. Spot noticed one horse take to the outside rail and, apparently, Race did too.
"What's Black Sand doin'?" Race said to no one in particular, "Get on da inside! Get on da inside!"
Black Sand continued to race along the outside of the track. At the halfway mark, Black Sand was holding on to fifth place when suddenly, the horse surged forward, even faster than before. His legs were pounding and his hooves barely seemed to touch the track.
"Yeah!" Race jumped to his feet, shouting, "Come on Black Sand! Get in dere! You can beat 'em!"
Coming into the home stretch, Black Sand had surged into third and was and was approaching the leaders as if they were at an easy trot. The jockeys frantically whipped their horses, trying to keep their lead. However, the whips were useless, because Black Sand finished a whole two lengths ahead of them, winning the race.
"What did I tell ya?" Race boasted, slugging Spot, "Dat horse is a gold mine!"
"I tink I'm gonna go down to da winner's circle and check out da horse," Spot told him.
"All right, I'll meet ya down dere. I'm gonna go collect me prize!"
***Okay. I hate to have to stop now, but I gotta go. Hope ya liked the first chappie!
*spot's lil boidie*