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Hiya folks . . .
This is an ancient fanfic of mine, written back in the days when I was a Newsies fanatic. It's really kind of my own story, but it is based off of Newsies and one of its main characters is mentioned (sort of) in the movie. I just have one word of caution---I've decided to go out on a limb here and write in strong Brooklyn dialect, which is (1) not an easy thing to do, (2) not an easy thing to read, and (3) really annoying after a while in both cases. Moreover, because I do not live in Brooklyn, things could be a little . . . ah . . . stretched. Well, read if you want.
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William Theodore Trenton Duvall sat on the stoop of 627 22nd and West Ave. A cold mist was wafting its way through the dirty, crooked streets of New York, leaving even the rats damp and shivering. The boy didn't notice. A large sign hung from the dilapidated front door he leaned against: "Condemned! Do not enter."
He didn't know why though. He, his family, and twenty other tenants had been living there no more than an hour ago. Maybe it had to do with the fact that taxes weren't being paid, or that some criminal or another had made this place their hide out. He doubted it was because the entire complex might've fallen over twenty years ago. But it really didn't matter too much now. He most certainly didn't live there anymore. William Theodore Trenton Duvall sighed. His father was probably making himself comfortable in his old jail cell. Straight-backed, he hugged himself, feeling more weak and forlorn than he had in his entire, however short, life.
"Hoi, kid! Whatchews think yore doin'? Waitin' for somebawdy to crown ya?"
William Theodore Trenton Duvall jumped to his feet, so surprised to be noticed. No one ever had before. He glanced around and pointed to himself.
"Naw, not you kid, Queen Elizabeth standin behind ya. Yeah, ahv cowerse you, stupid. Whatchews think yore doin sittin' onna dump like dis? It could fawl ovah any minute an' smash yas like a bug."
William Theodore Trenton Duvall glared indignantly. "What's it to you?"
"Nuttin, Nuttin, Yore Lordship. Jist wonderin', 'atsawl." The boy sauntered over to William's stoop. William frowned, almost willing him to take another step. "Oh fowgive me, 'seems Ise gone an' forgawtten to intro-duce meself. Me'name's Vernon MacGuire, but me anymies cawl me Sludge." He gave a crooked grin.
"Well what do your friends call you?"
"Ain't got no friends, just anymies! Heheheh. But youse, you cun cawl me Sludge if ya want to. An' what do Ise cawl youse, Yore Majesty?"
"My name is William Theodore Trenton Duvall. I haven't got any friends or enemies, so I would prefer to be called William."
"Yes soir, whatevah youse'ay Yore Majesty!"
"Listen, I didn't ask you to come here to smart off, so just get lost." William snorted and stared off into the farthest direction from the boy called Sludge.
"Hey, it's yore trone. Soirry for buttin' in awn His Majesty's plannin' 'awah." With a smirk and a shrug Sludge turned heel and started off down the street. William shivered slightly, for the first time feeling the temperature.
"Hey, wait a minute." William suddenly called. "Did you say your name was Vernon MacGuire? The Vernon MacGuire?"
"Da one and da same, kid." He said simply, without bothering to turn around.
"I'm . . . uh . . . sorry about your father." Sludge stopped and actually started to laugh.
"Sose, youse read abawt my ol' dad, 'uh? Lucky devil, finally gettin 'imself on da fron' page. Too bad it 'adda be when 'e was too dead to read it fowr 'imself! It's prowbably 'is finest hour, bein onna top o' da Woild. Lowd knows I won' evah be! Da most I do is sell it." He chuckled.
"Sell what, the paper?"
"Youse betcha kid. I'm da top vendah for Pulitzah 'imself. Me an'na hundred other guys, dat is."
"Oh I see." William looked perplexed. "I've seen you people out there all the time."
"Of corse ya have, kid. May I?" He tramped over, gestured to William's 'trone' and promptly sat before William could say anything against it. "See, we'se the Newboys; we'se the ones who make sure all youse uppity brains, like yoreself (No awffence of cowrse.) gets da news every bright 'n shiney mownin. Widout us, you'd all be as stupid . . . well . . . as stupid as da Nail."
"Who?" The younger boy was slightly confused.
"Da Nail!" Sludge said, as if he were to automatically know who "The Nail" was.
"Uh . . . ok. As stupid as the Nail. Right."
"Ise bets you'd like to meet 'im, would ya? Youse got anyplace youse oughtta be?" Sludge's rather grimy face brightened immensely, as if he were offering to take the boy to see Aladdin's cave of treasure.William let out a huge sigh again, and stared at the ground.
" My house is condemned, My father's in jail, my mother's dead, and my sister's--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Yore Majesty! I dinn't ast for a loife stowry. I just ast wheddah youse gots any particular tings ta do." Sludge raised an eyebrow, slightly overwhelmed.
"In other words, no."
"Right. Good. Lessgo. Wait, ya gots any stuff ya want to come alowng?"
"What? Why? I never said I was leaving now! I need to find me a place to stay before I go off wandering---"
"'Leave 'at to me. I gawt the poifect place. C'mawn!"
"But I---!" With a yank, Sludge managed to pull William Theodore Trenton Duvall off his stoop and into the street.
*
"'Ave I evah told youse abowt da time when Cabbage Undercutt borrowed Philly Kletcher's new cane and---"
"I really wish you would stop asking me these questions! Of course you've never told me; we've just met! And besides, are we about there? My feet hurt." William was beginning to question his new friend's sanity. For the past ten minutes, Sludge had told him everything from how Specs Sinclair sat in the horse dung to the time when Sandy Mason sold papes to the President in disguise. Until he met these people himself, he really didn't care to hear about them.
"Jus' a few, Yore Majesty. Wese takin' da scenic route."
"You call this scenic?" William shuddered. If this was scenic the sewer system must have a spectacular view.
"Now, anyway, abowt Cabbage an' Philly. Aftah Philly saw dat---hold up! Lookit dat, Yore Majesty . . . have youse evah seen in yowr patetic life summin' more uglier dan dat?" Sludge grinned and pointed a clean shaven, fresh-faced, blue-eyed boy who was doing his best to sell a huge pile of papers at his feet.
"Well, I--" William stuttered. He wasn't sure what to say. The other lad couldn't really be more opposite than Sludge.
"Blueboy, you ol' sun-uva-gun! Dey finally letcha owt?" Sludge greeted him hardily, cuffing him hard on the back.
"Sludgey, s'been a long time since I've seen yore ugly mug! Not dat dat's a good ting, mind ya! But, yeah, I'm free as a boid!" Blueboy had a light accent, and a ear to ear smile, that was put there especially for his particular line of work. And probably the saddest, largest blue eyes that New York had ever seen.
Sludge just chortled and wiped some dirt off his nose. "Yeah, sure Blue. I know z'well as you do youse escaped again. No wonda yo're the best out there," He nudged William. "He'z da greatest liah I've evah seen."
"Ha ha, flattahry get's you nowhere, Sludgey! So, who's your chum?" Blue glanced at the younger boy with interest.
"Dis here's His Majesty William Struthford Harry Joe Pickleboots." Sludge announced proudly, however getting a very dirty look from William.
"Pickleboots, eh? He's not from around here, is he?" Blueboy said, doing his best not to laugh.
"My name," William cleared his throat, "Is William Theodore Trenton Duvall. I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Blueboy."
"Mistah! Gee, Sludgey, you finally picked up a street rat wid manners! Mistah Blueboy! Dat is rich. Wait till I tell da fellahs! Anyway, issbeen grand meetin you too, His Majesty Pickleboots. I gotta get back to woik. Later guys." Still chuckling "Mistah Blueboy" Blueboy shook William's hand, slapped Sludge his goodbye, wiped his hands neatly on his clean knickers, and continued to call out odd headlines.
"Good guy, dat Blueboy, but such a Mawmmuh's boy, I sweah." Sludge muttered. "Can't stand to get one liddle speck awn 'is nice duds. His mawmma prob'ly washes 'em fow 'im too." William nodded, what he supposed, was agreement.
"Hey, Yore Majesty, do youse remembah whad I was tawkin abawt oilier?"
William thought fast. "Mmmm. Nope, sorry." He didn't want to hear what happed to Philly and Cabbage.
"Good cuz neidah can I." They walked in silence for a while after that. Sludge really did have a nonstop mouth, and half the time William didn't understand what came out of it anyway.
"Where was it you said youse came frawm agin, Yore Majesty?"
"I came from Pennsylvania, originally, but my family moved here when my dad was offered a better job. When he got here, though, he began to drink so much, he hardly worked at all---"
"Hey, der you go again wid da loif stowry."
"Oh. Sorry." He glared at the can he was kicking.
"S'at's OK, kid. Don' get yore knickers inna knot ovah it, anyways." Sludge gave William his crooked smile. "Penn-sy-vania, huh? Was it noice der?"
"Yeah. We had a big house and a yard and everything. There isn't anything like that here."
"You cun say dat again! Dis place iddn't half as swell as it's made owt to be. Dow, whoevah said it was evah nice here owdda be showt at dawn." Sludge let out a sniff and pointed at the tumble-down skyline. "See dat big building right in front of us? That's the Lodging 'Ouse. S'weh youse be stayin', unless youse gotta bedda places to go?"
"No, I . . . guess not."
"S'weh most of us street rat Newsies stay. Ain't got no bedda place, jus' like you, so here we are. Heck, sum of us stay here even if we doose got bedda places to go. I tink you'll loik it. 'S best ting dat happened to me."
"Didn't you live with your . . . uh . . . father?" William was worried he might still hit some sore spot.
"Nah. 'E dinn't caeh fawr me much." Sludge said dryly. William finally kicked his can out of reach and took a good look at the large, ancient building.
"It seems . . . nice. Will I get to meet the Nail?"
"Hmm what? Oh, da Nail; shore kid, you'll meet 'em soon enuff. But dere's a slight catch." Oh, no. He was afraid of that. There was always a catch. William knew it couldn't be as easy as this.
"Youse gotta oin yore own keep." The boy let out a sigh of relief.
"I can do that, Sludge. I know I can find a job somewhere . . . I mean, I am 12; how hard could it be?"
Hands on hips, Sludge grinned, "Whad I mean, kid, is maybes you cun be a Newsie, loik, say, me. 'Sides, the only uddah position youse could take would be in da sweat shop, an' I ain't seein nobodies, an' I mean nobodies woik dere, no madda how stupid dey are."
"I--I--could try . . . I mean, if you guys don't mind . . . ."
"Us, mind? We'd welcome ya loike owr own bruddah!"
"Well, in that case . . . alright. I'll give it a go."
"Wunnerful, kid! Nawl less staht in. I tink ev'rybawdy shou'be abawult finished wid der route." He beckoned towards the massive oak door. A few kids were sitting on the front steps, dead in the middle a serious game of poker. William watched them for a second, their faces blank and hands steady. These guys knew the ropes. Someone muttered 'double or nuttin', which was followed by three low groans.
"What'd I tell youse, Sal? You prepared to lose it all?"
"Yeah, remember las' time?" Another joined in.
"Trus me, Monty, I ain't gonna be da suckah agin. I gawt it awl planned . . . ."
"If ya say so, pal." William didn't get to hear anymore until he entered the building, and from outside, he could faintly affirm the cursing of Sal and the laughter of Montey. He figured Sal's plan must have flopped.
"Dat's too bad. Dey were his best shooters." Sludge said dully, as they passed the front desk.
"He bet his marbles? He must be crazy."
"'S'only ting 'e's gawt left."
"I see . . . so he gambles a lot?"
"Alawt? 'E gambles every sec'nd 'e gots. Da only bad ting is, 'e really stinks at it."
~*~ To Be Continued Whenever I Feel Like It, Which is Probably Never~*~
Hiya folks . . .
This is an ancient fanfic of mine, written back in the days when I was a Newsies fanatic. It's really kind of my own story, but it is based off of Newsies and one of its main characters is mentioned (sort of) in the movie. I just have one word of caution---I've decided to go out on a limb here and write in strong Brooklyn dialect, which is (1) not an easy thing to do, (2) not an easy thing to read, and (3) really annoying after a while in both cases. Moreover, because I do not live in Brooklyn, things could be a little . . . ah . . . stretched. Well, read if you want.
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William Theodore Trenton Duvall sat on the stoop of 627 22nd and West Ave. A cold mist was wafting its way through the dirty, crooked streets of New York, leaving even the rats damp and shivering. The boy didn't notice. A large sign hung from the dilapidated front door he leaned against: "Condemned! Do not enter."
He didn't know why though. He, his family, and twenty other tenants had been living there no more than an hour ago. Maybe it had to do with the fact that taxes weren't being paid, or that some criminal or another had made this place their hide out. He doubted it was because the entire complex might've fallen over twenty years ago. But it really didn't matter too much now. He most certainly didn't live there anymore. William Theodore Trenton Duvall sighed. His father was probably making himself comfortable in his old jail cell. Straight-backed, he hugged himself, feeling more weak and forlorn than he had in his entire, however short, life.
"Hoi, kid! Whatchews think yore doin'? Waitin' for somebawdy to crown ya?"
William Theodore Trenton Duvall jumped to his feet, so surprised to be noticed. No one ever had before. He glanced around and pointed to himself.
"Naw, not you kid, Queen Elizabeth standin behind ya. Yeah, ahv cowerse you, stupid. Whatchews think yore doin sittin' onna dump like dis? It could fawl ovah any minute an' smash yas like a bug."
William Theodore Trenton Duvall glared indignantly. "What's it to you?"
"Nuttin, Nuttin, Yore Lordship. Jist wonderin', 'atsawl." The boy sauntered over to William's stoop. William frowned, almost willing him to take another step. "Oh fowgive me, 'seems Ise gone an' forgawtten to intro-duce meself. Me'name's Vernon MacGuire, but me anymies cawl me Sludge." He gave a crooked grin.
"Well what do your friends call you?"
"Ain't got no friends, just anymies! Heheheh. But youse, you cun cawl me Sludge if ya want to. An' what do Ise cawl youse, Yore Majesty?"
"My name is William Theodore Trenton Duvall. I haven't got any friends or enemies, so I would prefer to be called William."
"Yes soir, whatevah youse'ay Yore Majesty!"
"Listen, I didn't ask you to come here to smart off, so just get lost." William snorted and stared off into the farthest direction from the boy called Sludge.
"Hey, it's yore trone. Soirry for buttin' in awn His Majesty's plannin' 'awah." With a smirk and a shrug Sludge turned heel and started off down the street. William shivered slightly, for the first time feeling the temperature.
"Hey, wait a minute." William suddenly called. "Did you say your name was Vernon MacGuire? The Vernon MacGuire?"
"Da one and da same, kid." He said simply, without bothering to turn around.
"I'm . . . uh . . . sorry about your father." Sludge stopped and actually started to laugh.
"Sose, youse read abawt my ol' dad, 'uh? Lucky devil, finally gettin 'imself on da fron' page. Too bad it 'adda be when 'e was too dead to read it fowr 'imself! It's prowbably 'is finest hour, bein onna top o' da Woild. Lowd knows I won' evah be! Da most I do is sell it." He chuckled.
"Sell what, the paper?"
"Youse betcha kid. I'm da top vendah for Pulitzah 'imself. Me an'na hundred other guys, dat is."
"Oh I see." William looked perplexed. "I've seen you people out there all the time."
"Of corse ya have, kid. May I?" He tramped over, gestured to William's 'trone' and promptly sat before William could say anything against it. "See, we'se the Newboys; we'se the ones who make sure all youse uppity brains, like yoreself (No awffence of cowrse.) gets da news every bright 'n shiney mownin. Widout us, you'd all be as stupid . . . well . . . as stupid as da Nail."
"Who?" The younger boy was slightly confused.
"Da Nail!" Sludge said, as if he were to automatically know who "The Nail" was.
"Uh . . . ok. As stupid as the Nail. Right."
"Ise bets you'd like to meet 'im, would ya? Youse got anyplace youse oughtta be?" Sludge's rather grimy face brightened immensely, as if he were offering to take the boy to see Aladdin's cave of treasure.William let out a huge sigh again, and stared at the ground.
" My house is condemned, My father's in jail, my mother's dead, and my sister's--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Yore Majesty! I dinn't ast for a loife stowry. I just ast wheddah youse gots any particular tings ta do." Sludge raised an eyebrow, slightly overwhelmed.
"In other words, no."
"Right. Good. Lessgo. Wait, ya gots any stuff ya want to come alowng?"
"What? Why? I never said I was leaving now! I need to find me a place to stay before I go off wandering---"
"'Leave 'at to me. I gawt the poifect place. C'mawn!"
"But I---!" With a yank, Sludge managed to pull William Theodore Trenton Duvall off his stoop and into the street.
*
"'Ave I evah told youse abowt da time when Cabbage Undercutt borrowed Philly Kletcher's new cane and---"
"I really wish you would stop asking me these questions! Of course you've never told me; we've just met! And besides, are we about there? My feet hurt." William was beginning to question his new friend's sanity. For the past ten minutes, Sludge had told him everything from how Specs Sinclair sat in the horse dung to the time when Sandy Mason sold papes to the President in disguise. Until he met these people himself, he really didn't care to hear about them.
"Jus' a few, Yore Majesty. Wese takin' da scenic route."
"You call this scenic?" William shuddered. If this was scenic the sewer system must have a spectacular view.
"Now, anyway, abowt Cabbage an' Philly. Aftah Philly saw dat---hold up! Lookit dat, Yore Majesty . . . have youse evah seen in yowr patetic life summin' more uglier dan dat?" Sludge grinned and pointed a clean shaven, fresh-faced, blue-eyed boy who was doing his best to sell a huge pile of papers at his feet.
"Well, I--" William stuttered. He wasn't sure what to say. The other lad couldn't really be more opposite than Sludge.
"Blueboy, you ol' sun-uva-gun! Dey finally letcha owt?" Sludge greeted him hardily, cuffing him hard on the back.
"Sludgey, s'been a long time since I've seen yore ugly mug! Not dat dat's a good ting, mind ya! But, yeah, I'm free as a boid!" Blueboy had a light accent, and a ear to ear smile, that was put there especially for his particular line of work. And probably the saddest, largest blue eyes that New York had ever seen.
Sludge just chortled and wiped some dirt off his nose. "Yeah, sure Blue. I know z'well as you do youse escaped again. No wonda yo're the best out there," He nudged William. "He'z da greatest liah I've evah seen."
"Ha ha, flattahry get's you nowhere, Sludgey! So, who's your chum?" Blue glanced at the younger boy with interest.
"Dis here's His Majesty William Struthford Harry Joe Pickleboots." Sludge announced proudly, however getting a very dirty look from William.
"Pickleboots, eh? He's not from around here, is he?" Blueboy said, doing his best not to laugh.
"My name," William cleared his throat, "Is William Theodore Trenton Duvall. I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Blueboy."
"Mistah! Gee, Sludgey, you finally picked up a street rat wid manners! Mistah Blueboy! Dat is rich. Wait till I tell da fellahs! Anyway, issbeen grand meetin you too, His Majesty Pickleboots. I gotta get back to woik. Later guys." Still chuckling "Mistah Blueboy" Blueboy shook William's hand, slapped Sludge his goodbye, wiped his hands neatly on his clean knickers, and continued to call out odd headlines.
"Good guy, dat Blueboy, but such a Mawmmuh's boy, I sweah." Sludge muttered. "Can't stand to get one liddle speck awn 'is nice duds. His mawmma prob'ly washes 'em fow 'im too." William nodded, what he supposed, was agreement.
"Hey, Yore Majesty, do youse remembah whad I was tawkin abawt oilier?"
William thought fast. "Mmmm. Nope, sorry." He didn't want to hear what happed to Philly and Cabbage.
"Good cuz neidah can I." They walked in silence for a while after that. Sludge really did have a nonstop mouth, and half the time William didn't understand what came out of it anyway.
"Where was it you said youse came frawm agin, Yore Majesty?"
"I came from Pennsylvania, originally, but my family moved here when my dad was offered a better job. When he got here, though, he began to drink so much, he hardly worked at all---"
"Hey, der you go again wid da loif stowry."
"Oh. Sorry." He glared at the can he was kicking.
"S'at's OK, kid. Don' get yore knickers inna knot ovah it, anyways." Sludge gave William his crooked smile. "Penn-sy-vania, huh? Was it noice der?"
"Yeah. We had a big house and a yard and everything. There isn't anything like that here."
"You cun say dat again! Dis place iddn't half as swell as it's made owt to be. Dow, whoevah said it was evah nice here owdda be showt at dawn." Sludge let out a sniff and pointed at the tumble-down skyline. "See dat big building right in front of us? That's the Lodging 'Ouse. S'weh youse be stayin', unless youse gotta bedda places to go?"
"No, I . . . guess not."
"S'weh most of us street rat Newsies stay. Ain't got no bedda place, jus' like you, so here we are. Heck, sum of us stay here even if we doose got bedda places to go. I tink you'll loik it. 'S best ting dat happened to me."
"Didn't you live with your . . . uh . . . father?" William was worried he might still hit some sore spot.
"Nah. 'E dinn't caeh fawr me much." Sludge said dryly. William finally kicked his can out of reach and took a good look at the large, ancient building.
"It seems . . . nice. Will I get to meet the Nail?"
"Hmm what? Oh, da Nail; shore kid, you'll meet 'em soon enuff. But dere's a slight catch." Oh, no. He was afraid of that. There was always a catch. William knew it couldn't be as easy as this.
"Youse gotta oin yore own keep." The boy let out a sigh of relief.
"I can do that, Sludge. I know I can find a job somewhere . . . I mean, I am 12; how hard could it be?"
Hands on hips, Sludge grinned, "Whad I mean, kid, is maybes you cun be a Newsie, loik, say, me. 'Sides, the only uddah position youse could take would be in da sweat shop, an' I ain't seein nobodies, an' I mean nobodies woik dere, no madda how stupid dey are."
"I--I--could try . . . I mean, if you guys don't mind . . . ."
"Us, mind? We'd welcome ya loike owr own bruddah!"
"Well, in that case . . . alright. I'll give it a go."
"Wunnerful, kid! Nawl less staht in. I tink ev'rybawdy shou'be abawult finished wid der route." He beckoned towards the massive oak door. A few kids were sitting on the front steps, dead in the middle a serious game of poker. William watched them for a second, their faces blank and hands steady. These guys knew the ropes. Someone muttered 'double or nuttin', which was followed by three low groans.
"What'd I tell youse, Sal? You prepared to lose it all?"
"Yeah, remember las' time?" Another joined in.
"Trus me, Monty, I ain't gonna be da suckah agin. I gawt it awl planned . . . ."
"If ya say so, pal." William didn't get to hear anymore until he entered the building, and from outside, he could faintly affirm the cursing of Sal and the laughter of Montey. He figured Sal's plan must have flopped.
"Dat's too bad. Dey were his best shooters." Sludge said dully, as they passed the front desk.
"He bet his marbles? He must be crazy."
"'S'only ting 'e's gawt left."
"I see . . . so he gambles a lot?"
"Alawt? 'E gambles every sec'nd 'e gots. Da only bad ting is, 'e really stinks at it."
~*~ To Be Continued Whenever I Feel Like It, Which is Probably Never~*~