"Back in the Refuge"
Irish sighed dejectedly and flopped back on her bunk. Ever since Blink and Dave escaped the night before, she and Angel hadn't left the "dorms" - prison bunkrooms. Angel sighed, equally depressed.
"Where could dey BE? How did dey escape? Why didn't dey take us wid 'em?" they wondered.
"'s no use. We'se bustin' out, and we'se gonna find 'em, an' dere's nuthin' anyone can do t' stop us," Irish said, burning with fury that she had been neglected.
They never told a soul how they got out, but it involved a very unfaithful [and married] guard and the feminine wiles of two very desperate girls. (A/N: in other words, I couldn't think of a logical way for them to escape, so . . .)
"I swear t' Gawd, if I evah hafta do dat again, I'se gonna kill da bastahd who receives," Irish scowled, wiping her lips and spitting - trying to get the foul taste out of her mouth.
Angel shuddered. "I hate men like dat - who'll cheat on theiah woives outta spite."
"Fortunately, his wife is gonna be pissed at 'im anyway," Irish smirked.
"Why's dat?"
Irish gave no answer, she merely held up a small, glittering, golden piece of jewelry.
"You stole 'is WEDDIN' ring?" Angel asked incredulously. Irish beamed.
"A small revenge."
Angel shook her head, grinning. "You'se truly original, Hattie B. Strange."
***
It was raining hard, but the two hadn't found anywhere to stay yet. "Damn, I can't see me 'and in fronta me face," Irish scowled. As though to prove her point, she slammed into something hard and wooden. "What the hell? A door?" She grabbed for the knob - it was unlocked. "Ang, I think I found a place."
Angel followed Irish's voice and grabbed the soaked redhead's arm. "Let's go in then, I'm wet and freezing!"
"Who's there?" a rough, boyish voice called out.
Irish and Angel decided that at least they'd be warmer and drier inside. They entered the doorway cautiously, blinking at the bright crackling light from the lamps and fireplace. "I'm Irish, an' dat's Angel."
"Specs. Dis is da Newsboys' Lodgin' House - ya need a place ta stay, am I right?" he asked mildly. They nodded. "We got some empty bunks. Hey, Jackie-boy, some very wet Refuge girls!" Specs yelled up the stairs.
"How'd you -"
"Ya got da look."
"Hello, what c'n we do fah you'se two ladies?" a young man dressed like a cowboy asked. "Jack Kelly, commonly known as Cowboy or Jackie-boy - dependin' on who yer talkin' to."
"Irish Strange. Dat's Angel Woods."
"Irish?!" Two voices called out. One was that of a young man in an eye patch, the other belonged to a dark-skinned girl.
"Blink? FLIT?" Irish got a friendly embrace from the girl and a firm hug from Blink. "What're you two doin' heah?"
"I live heah," Blink smirked, his face still bruised and scarred from his last beating.
"I came wid me boy Mush - how do ya know Blink?"
"I met Blink in da Refuge. Blink, I met Flit heah a long time ago, in da Hahlem orphanage."
"NO WAY! St. Petahs?" Blink asked. Flit and Irish nodded, confused. "Christ, I was deah!" Flit scrutinized him, flipping up his eye patch.
"Alex?"
***
A/N: MUHUHUHUWAHAHAHAHA! CLIFF HANGER! I AM THE TRUE SATANIC ONE! (snicker.) Anywho. It's really not that bad, I've seen some pretty hoked up cliffies. Mid-sentence kinda stuff. Unpleasant.
--Chronicles Bailey
Irish sighed dejectedly and flopped back on her bunk. Ever since Blink and Dave escaped the night before, she and Angel hadn't left the "dorms" - prison bunkrooms. Angel sighed, equally depressed.
"Where could dey BE? How did dey escape? Why didn't dey take us wid 'em?" they wondered.
"'s no use. We'se bustin' out, and we'se gonna find 'em, an' dere's nuthin' anyone can do t' stop us," Irish said, burning with fury that she had been neglected.
They never told a soul how they got out, but it involved a very unfaithful [and married] guard and the feminine wiles of two very desperate girls. (A/N: in other words, I couldn't think of a logical way for them to escape, so . . .)
"I swear t' Gawd, if I evah hafta do dat again, I'se gonna kill da bastahd who receives," Irish scowled, wiping her lips and spitting - trying to get the foul taste out of her mouth.
Angel shuddered. "I hate men like dat - who'll cheat on theiah woives outta spite."
"Fortunately, his wife is gonna be pissed at 'im anyway," Irish smirked.
"Why's dat?"
Irish gave no answer, she merely held up a small, glittering, golden piece of jewelry.
"You stole 'is WEDDIN' ring?" Angel asked incredulously. Irish beamed.
"A small revenge."
Angel shook her head, grinning. "You'se truly original, Hattie B. Strange."
***
It was raining hard, but the two hadn't found anywhere to stay yet. "Damn, I can't see me 'and in fronta me face," Irish scowled. As though to prove her point, she slammed into something hard and wooden. "What the hell? A door?" She grabbed for the knob - it was unlocked. "Ang, I think I found a place."
Angel followed Irish's voice and grabbed the soaked redhead's arm. "Let's go in then, I'm wet and freezing!"
"Who's there?" a rough, boyish voice called out.
Irish and Angel decided that at least they'd be warmer and drier inside. They entered the doorway cautiously, blinking at the bright crackling light from the lamps and fireplace. "I'm Irish, an' dat's Angel."
"Specs. Dis is da Newsboys' Lodgin' House - ya need a place ta stay, am I right?" he asked mildly. They nodded. "We got some empty bunks. Hey, Jackie-boy, some very wet Refuge girls!" Specs yelled up the stairs.
"How'd you -"
"Ya got da look."
"Hello, what c'n we do fah you'se two ladies?" a young man dressed like a cowboy asked. "Jack Kelly, commonly known as Cowboy or Jackie-boy - dependin' on who yer talkin' to."
"Irish Strange. Dat's Angel Woods."
"Irish?!" Two voices called out. One was that of a young man in an eye patch, the other belonged to a dark-skinned girl.
"Blink? FLIT?" Irish got a friendly embrace from the girl and a firm hug from Blink. "What're you two doin' heah?"
"I live heah," Blink smirked, his face still bruised and scarred from his last beating.
"I came wid me boy Mush - how do ya know Blink?"
"I met Blink in da Refuge. Blink, I met Flit heah a long time ago, in da Hahlem orphanage."
"NO WAY! St. Petahs?" Blink asked. Flit and Irish nodded, confused. "Christ, I was deah!" Flit scrutinized him, flipping up his eye patch.
"Alex?"
***
A/N: MUHUHUHUWAHAHAHAHA! CLIFF HANGER! I AM THE TRUE SATANIC ONE! (snicker.) Anywho. It's really not that bad, I've seen some pretty hoked up cliffies. Mid-sentence kinda stuff. Unpleasant.
--Chronicles Bailey