Disclaimer: I decided that one day I'm going to become rich and buy
Newsies! But until then, I have to put this disclaimer saying that I don't.
So yea, I don't own them..
A/N: Thanks for the pleasant reviews! Good to know I'm doing something right.
Sapphy: Don't worry about Race, he's in good hands. Arizona, eh? Yea, definitely hotter than Hell.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night in the warehouse was filled with dreams. The people I'd met and the places I'd been danced through my mind. I awoke early, before the sun even began to rise. Most the people I met in various places were extremely nice. I kind of wish I had gotten to know the people I've met better, but there is always this nagging in the back of my mind that in the end I'll get hurt. I know I blame my father for me being the way I am but I have to admit it is not his fault, not entirely anyway.
When I ran away at the age of eight, I was still young and still very naive. I was running down the streets of Montana when I bumped into a boy, a few years older than myself, Sean Owens. We instantly hit it off and became the best of friends. His parents hated me; oh man did they hate me. He was from an upper-class family and me; well I was an runaway orphan with a made up last name. Despite his parent's wished, Sean stayed my friend and we hung out whenever possible. Sean had a good heart; he was a lot like Racetrack. Maybe that was why I went to the restaurant with Race in the first place. Anyway, Sean became my big brother and made it his responsibility to teach me everything he knew. One day he tried to talk me into having dinner with his family, which I finally gave into. The dinner went just about anything but smoothly. His parents gave me a hard time all night and then accused me of using their son for their money. I don't blame them; he had bought me a nice dress to wear to the dinner, so it did seem like I was using him. I couldn't believe he had put me through that and left Montana the next day. Since then I've been traveling. I can't bring myself to hate Sean for it, I know he was doing what he thought was best. But that makes you think, doesn't it. If he was such a caring and nice person and he did that to me, then any caring and nice person can eventually hurt you, even if they don't mean it.
The sun had final come up and I decided to get a move on to Brooklyn before the Manhattan newsies invaded the streets. I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and made my way along the somewhat crowded streets. I had to search for about half and hour before finding a newsie.
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could show me where the distribution office is around here?" I asked, taking a different approach then I had with Race.
"What makes you t'ink I care, goil?" the tough Brooklynite asked.
"Well I thought such a nice and respectable gentleman like yourself would be willing to help me out. But clearly I was mistaken," I said, and then smiling, "Of course, I know you Brooklyn boys have a reputation to keep, so I don't blame you for being harsh." I urged the boy in my mind to help me, and I guess it worked because he turned back towards me.
"Go down dat street, take you'se second left and den you'se foist right. I's right der, you can't miss it."
"Thank you very much," I said with a smile. They boy shrugged and turned away.
I got to the distribution office just in time to get some papes. I walked around yelling out some ridiculous headlines. I only had a few more papes when a young newsboy walked towards me, his hypnotizing eyes staring straight at me. He was short and kind of scrawny, but he had a respectable air about him. I also noticed his cane and slingshot. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of either, so I smiled at him and tried to turn of my sarcasm and turn on my charm. Let me tell you, that failed miserably.
"You'se should take a picture, it'll last longer," I said, almost punching myself in the face for saying something like that to a boy with a seemingly harsh demeanor. Surprisingly he just smirked.
"Now didn't you'se mudder teach ya any manners," he said, his eyes never wavering from mine. I smiled also. When I kid from the street say something about family, you know its war and anything goes, you just don't insult a kid about something they may not have.
"I'd say da same ta you, but its obvious yours didn't." His smile faded, and I knew in an instant I was dead meat.
The small boy jumped on me with unexplainable force. I didn't know someone that small could be that strong. But like him, I held unexpected force and skills. We had been fighting for a good five minutes; both exhausted but not willing to give up. Randomly he got up and dusted himself off. I was too tired to tackle him back to the ground and start another battle, so I just sat on the ground and watched him. He stuck out his hand.
"Da names Spot Conlon," he said proudly, helping me to my feet.
"Crystal Green."
"How'd you loin to fight like dat?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"A guy I knew in Oregon," I said simply and picked up my scattered newspapers off the ground.
"You'se from Oregon?" I was surprised he was asking about my past. Kids of the streets, especially newsies, never dug to deep into other's past; and this kid's attire and ink stained hands screamed newsie.
"Nope. I'm from all ovah," I said simply, "So why were you coming over to me in da foist place?"
"I'm leadah of da Brooklyn newsies, and some of me boids told me you'se were selling papes heah. I was gonna give ya a hard time 'bout it and make you leave, but you'se a good fightah, so I figure I could let ya stay at da lodgin' house and become one of me boys." One of his boys? I looked at the kid skeptically. "You knows what I mean. You in or out."
I knew if I said no then I would have to leave Brooklyn, so I nodded and followed Spot back to the lodging house. As we walked I prayed that Brooklyn would be better than Manhattan. Well I guess its not really praying when you don't believe in God. I guess its more wishful thinking, yea wishful thinking.
When we arrived at the lodging house, all I could do was smile. Sure, the lodging house in Manhattan seemed like a palace compared to this dump; but I sure as hell like the Brooklyn boys a lot better. No one asked questions around here, except that Spot kid, but he seemed to be the leader, so I let him.
After a week at the lodging house, Spot stormed through the docks. He looked pissed. I sat down on a crate and waiting for him to pass, not daring to say anything that might result in a black eye. Unfortunately he didn't pass, he walked straight up to me. All I could think was "Shit.."
"Heya Chys," he said unemotionally. They boys decided that Crystal was much too long a name and decided to call me Chrys instead. I can't say it bothered me, I actually grew quite fond of the name.
"Hi Spot," was all I could get out.
"How long you'se been wid us heah in Brooklyn?"
I didn't understand where he was going with this, but I didn't dare not answer. "'A week." I wanted to know why he had asked, but when talking to Spot, why was abolished from your vocabulary. Call me crazy if you want, but you didn't know Spot. He didn't become leader because of strength, well he did, but no physical strength. Almost anyone in Brooklyn could beat Spot in a fight, thought no one will admit it. No, he had something much greater than physical strength, he had mental strength. It wasn't so much that you were scared to anger Spot because you were scared he would beat the shit out of you. It was because if you pissed off Spot, all of Brooklyn, including myself, would be on your ass. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't find that an ideal situation.
Yes, I will admit it. I had grown fond of Brooklyn and all the newsies there. But it wasn't the kind of bond I had feared all these years. It was different. Now I always had someone to back me up, but there wasn't that certain closeness between me and any of the newsies, so they couldn't let me down. I liked that.
"Right, and how would ya describe you'se self?"
You don't know how bad I wanted to know what was up. I want to know his motives behind these seemingly ridiculous questions. But all I could voice was, "Long dark brown hair, tan skin, blue eyes, kinda short."
Spot just nodded and walked away. I wanted to scream at him, grab his shoulders and shake him till he told me why he was asking. I wanted to soak him for all he was worth for being so mysterious. And then I did something absurd. Something I regretted the moment it left my mouth. "Why?" I don't think anyone has ever asked Spot why, well at least until now.
A/N: Thanks for the pleasant reviews! Good to know I'm doing something right.
Sapphy: Don't worry about Race, he's in good hands. Arizona, eh? Yea, definitely hotter than Hell.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night in the warehouse was filled with dreams. The people I'd met and the places I'd been danced through my mind. I awoke early, before the sun even began to rise. Most the people I met in various places were extremely nice. I kind of wish I had gotten to know the people I've met better, but there is always this nagging in the back of my mind that in the end I'll get hurt. I know I blame my father for me being the way I am but I have to admit it is not his fault, not entirely anyway.
When I ran away at the age of eight, I was still young and still very naive. I was running down the streets of Montana when I bumped into a boy, a few years older than myself, Sean Owens. We instantly hit it off and became the best of friends. His parents hated me; oh man did they hate me. He was from an upper-class family and me; well I was an runaway orphan with a made up last name. Despite his parent's wished, Sean stayed my friend and we hung out whenever possible. Sean had a good heart; he was a lot like Racetrack. Maybe that was why I went to the restaurant with Race in the first place. Anyway, Sean became my big brother and made it his responsibility to teach me everything he knew. One day he tried to talk me into having dinner with his family, which I finally gave into. The dinner went just about anything but smoothly. His parents gave me a hard time all night and then accused me of using their son for their money. I don't blame them; he had bought me a nice dress to wear to the dinner, so it did seem like I was using him. I couldn't believe he had put me through that and left Montana the next day. Since then I've been traveling. I can't bring myself to hate Sean for it, I know he was doing what he thought was best. But that makes you think, doesn't it. If he was such a caring and nice person and he did that to me, then any caring and nice person can eventually hurt you, even if they don't mean it.
The sun had final come up and I decided to get a move on to Brooklyn before the Manhattan newsies invaded the streets. I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and made my way along the somewhat crowded streets. I had to search for about half and hour before finding a newsie.
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could show me where the distribution office is around here?" I asked, taking a different approach then I had with Race.
"What makes you t'ink I care, goil?" the tough Brooklynite asked.
"Well I thought such a nice and respectable gentleman like yourself would be willing to help me out. But clearly I was mistaken," I said, and then smiling, "Of course, I know you Brooklyn boys have a reputation to keep, so I don't blame you for being harsh." I urged the boy in my mind to help me, and I guess it worked because he turned back towards me.
"Go down dat street, take you'se second left and den you'se foist right. I's right der, you can't miss it."
"Thank you very much," I said with a smile. They boy shrugged and turned away.
I got to the distribution office just in time to get some papes. I walked around yelling out some ridiculous headlines. I only had a few more papes when a young newsboy walked towards me, his hypnotizing eyes staring straight at me. He was short and kind of scrawny, but he had a respectable air about him. I also noticed his cane and slingshot. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of either, so I smiled at him and tried to turn of my sarcasm and turn on my charm. Let me tell you, that failed miserably.
"You'se should take a picture, it'll last longer," I said, almost punching myself in the face for saying something like that to a boy with a seemingly harsh demeanor. Surprisingly he just smirked.
"Now didn't you'se mudder teach ya any manners," he said, his eyes never wavering from mine. I smiled also. When I kid from the street say something about family, you know its war and anything goes, you just don't insult a kid about something they may not have.
"I'd say da same ta you, but its obvious yours didn't." His smile faded, and I knew in an instant I was dead meat.
The small boy jumped on me with unexplainable force. I didn't know someone that small could be that strong. But like him, I held unexpected force and skills. We had been fighting for a good five minutes; both exhausted but not willing to give up. Randomly he got up and dusted himself off. I was too tired to tackle him back to the ground and start another battle, so I just sat on the ground and watched him. He stuck out his hand.
"Da names Spot Conlon," he said proudly, helping me to my feet.
"Crystal Green."
"How'd you loin to fight like dat?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"A guy I knew in Oregon," I said simply and picked up my scattered newspapers off the ground.
"You'se from Oregon?" I was surprised he was asking about my past. Kids of the streets, especially newsies, never dug to deep into other's past; and this kid's attire and ink stained hands screamed newsie.
"Nope. I'm from all ovah," I said simply, "So why were you coming over to me in da foist place?"
"I'm leadah of da Brooklyn newsies, and some of me boids told me you'se were selling papes heah. I was gonna give ya a hard time 'bout it and make you leave, but you'se a good fightah, so I figure I could let ya stay at da lodgin' house and become one of me boys." One of his boys? I looked at the kid skeptically. "You knows what I mean. You in or out."
I knew if I said no then I would have to leave Brooklyn, so I nodded and followed Spot back to the lodging house. As we walked I prayed that Brooklyn would be better than Manhattan. Well I guess its not really praying when you don't believe in God. I guess its more wishful thinking, yea wishful thinking.
When we arrived at the lodging house, all I could do was smile. Sure, the lodging house in Manhattan seemed like a palace compared to this dump; but I sure as hell like the Brooklyn boys a lot better. No one asked questions around here, except that Spot kid, but he seemed to be the leader, so I let him.
After a week at the lodging house, Spot stormed through the docks. He looked pissed. I sat down on a crate and waiting for him to pass, not daring to say anything that might result in a black eye. Unfortunately he didn't pass, he walked straight up to me. All I could think was "Shit.."
"Heya Chys," he said unemotionally. They boys decided that Crystal was much too long a name and decided to call me Chrys instead. I can't say it bothered me, I actually grew quite fond of the name.
"Hi Spot," was all I could get out.
"How long you'se been wid us heah in Brooklyn?"
I didn't understand where he was going with this, but I didn't dare not answer. "'A week." I wanted to know why he had asked, but when talking to Spot, why was abolished from your vocabulary. Call me crazy if you want, but you didn't know Spot. He didn't become leader because of strength, well he did, but no physical strength. Almost anyone in Brooklyn could beat Spot in a fight, thought no one will admit it. No, he had something much greater than physical strength, he had mental strength. It wasn't so much that you were scared to anger Spot because you were scared he would beat the shit out of you. It was because if you pissed off Spot, all of Brooklyn, including myself, would be on your ass. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't find that an ideal situation.
Yes, I will admit it. I had grown fond of Brooklyn and all the newsies there. But it wasn't the kind of bond I had feared all these years. It was different. Now I always had someone to back me up, but there wasn't that certain closeness between me and any of the newsies, so they couldn't let me down. I liked that.
"Right, and how would ya describe you'se self?"
You don't know how bad I wanted to know what was up. I want to know his motives behind these seemingly ridiculous questions. But all I could voice was, "Long dark brown hair, tan skin, blue eyes, kinda short."
Spot just nodded and walked away. I wanted to scream at him, grab his shoulders and shake him till he told me why he was asking. I wanted to soak him for all he was worth for being so mysterious. And then I did something absurd. Something I regretted the moment it left my mouth. "Why?" I don't think anyone has ever asked Spot why, well at least until now.