Disclaimer: We don't own newsies, were just playing with them, we promise we'll put them back when we're through. *coughmabyecough*
Warning: PG-13 is just in case. Slight language, lunacy, and random oddness.
A/N: Dave!muse stands up on a stage in front of a red curtain, facing a crowd.
Dave!muse: Attention everyone, I have an announcement. Fidget Inc. is a collaboration of two authors, FidgetOddy, and Inquisitive.
Two girls come out and wave enthusiastically.
Ink: Welcome to our story, we are very happy you could come.
Fidget: This isn't PBS.
Ink: Fine, how do you suggest we start the story.
Fidget: Like this, Start The Story!
Both girls move to the sides of the stage, and look expectantly at the curtain.
*nothing happens*
Fidget: Ahem, I said, START THE STORY!
*and still nothing happens*
Ink, getting frustrated, walks backstage.
Ink: RACE!
Race!muse: What?
*a struggle is herd*
Fidget looks impatiently at her watch. Suddenly Race is seen flying up toward the ceiling on a rope. The curtains open and Fidget and Ink walk off stage.
Fidget: And thats how you start a story.
Ink: Yeah, like it was any better than my introduction.
Race!muse: Guys...?
Verliezende geld, tijd reis, en reusachtig muizen
ch.1 And they're off
Manhattan New York, 1899
11:02 am.
Some of the boys, having had a good day of selling, were spending the afternoon at the tracks.
"I mean it you guys, shes beautiful, and I know she'll win this one!" Race explained.
"All right Race, whats her name?" Jack said.
"Dizzy Lizzy." He said, saying the name reverently. Race received several incredulous looks from the guys with him.
"Are you out of your mind!" Specs yelled,
"Quite frequently." Race said jokingly.
3:34 pm.
"I can't believe we lost!" Race said dejectedly.
"I can't believe we listened to you." Jack complained.
"She's a winner he said, hot tip he said, don't worry he said."
"Specs, you do know you were the one who believed him." David, whom they had just picked up from his apartment, said in a condescending manor.
"The pretty horsey didn't win." Snitch pouted.
"Horsey, how old are you, two." Specs chided.
"Poor Snitch." Dutchy sympathized, while patting him on the back.
"You do realize we now get to spend a fun-filled evening in Hotel De' Curb." Said Jack.
"What?" Asked Dutchy confused.
"He means 'cause we listened to mister, "Hot Tip" over there, we now have no money, which means no food, and no Kloppman." said Specs.
"Well aren't we mister popularity." Dave said sarcastically to Race.
"Aha!" Jack said.
"What!" Exclaimed everyone in anticipation of a solution to their money problem, "Dave, you owe me two-bits." Jack said calmly holding out his hand.
"Oh and I have it too." Dave said, "Because I live in a mystical realm where in apartments require no rent." Dutchy looked at Dave once again confused,
"You live where?"
"Never mind." Dave sighed.
"So now what?" Specs asked.
"Lets go talk to Kloppman." Jack suggested taking charge.
4:27 pm.
"IT WAS ALL RACE'S FAULT!" Dutchy yelled slamming through the door, tripping over a chair, sprawling flat on his face, and scaring Kloppman out of his wits.
"So much for calm and collected." Dave said, exasperated at Dutchy's utter lack of common sense. Kloppman looked at the scene before him, sighed, and said,
"You mean you actually expected him," pointing to the blond still sprawled on the floor, "To be anything resembling calm."
"We had our hopes." Race replied mock seriously.
"However low they may have been." Jack then added. A muffled,
"Owie!" Came from the floor, everyone looked down at Dutchy who then, sitting up and rubbing the knot forming on his head, whined,
"Thats a bad spot for a chair." He looked up wide eyed,
"Its still all Races fault."
"It is not all my fault!" Race exclaimed, a blush rising to his face.
"Yeah," Snitch said, "It was only mostly his fault."
"Is anyone going to tell me just what exactly is Racetracks fault, or do I get to guess?" Kloppman said. All of a sudden the room erupted with stories which were only mildly truthful. Dutchy, still sitting on the floor, kept insisting, that the horsey was too upset to win, on accounta it was its birthday, and no one had remembered. Dave loudly insisted that although it was interesting, he had absolutely nothing at all to do with any of this, and was forced to listen to this catastrophe of a story against his will. Specs was too busy finding new and interesting uses for the colorful language which made up a great deal of his vocabulary to be of any use whatsoever. Racetrack was looking at the technical aspects of the race, calling the jockey a moron, and saying that the horse that actually won, must have been on steroids or something, because it was running much faster than it had been the week before. All the while, Snitch was insisting that the horsey they had picked should have won anyway, because he liked that particular horse, and it was the prettiest horse in the whole race. Jack sat back in his chair, and in calm tones tried to convince Kloppman that this wasn't a major problem, just a minor inconvenience really, no big deal at all when you stopped to think about it.
Kloppman took a few moments to sort out everything he had herd, while rubbing his temples with two arthritic hands, he then took a deep breath and said,
"What the hell are you all talking about?" Snitch broke out into tears, and between sobs managed to gasp,
"We... don't... have... any... money!" Dave stood up and explained,
"I think what Snitch meant to say was that these poor defenseless young men were mercilessly manipulated into losing all of their hard earned wages down at the tracks on one of Racetracks well meant, but unreliable 'hot tips', now these struggling, penniless, children of the streets cannot pay the rent, and they were wondering if you, being the kind, caring, soul that you are, could find it in your heart to devise a way for them to stay off of the foul, retched, streets without actually paying you." Jack patted Dave on the back in appreciation of his fine speech, while Kloppman first, smacked Race upside the head for getting everyone involved in his gambling fiasco, then sat down behind his worn, wooden desk to think the problem through.
"Well, I can't let you stay for free." Kloppman said coming to a conclusion after musing over this problem, which, no matter what Jack said, was quite big. A collective sigh was herd around the room, and the boys were about to protest, when Kloppman held up his hand for quiet, and continued,
"But... I think I can find something for you all to do."
A/N the second:
Ink: Love it, hate it, we don't care, just review.
Fidget: That sounds so impersonal.
Ink: I'm sure they're not offended.
Fidget: How do you know? Did you ask them?
Ink, exasperated, points at the computer screen.
Fidget: Can't we just do what we always do when we want something?
Ink shrugs, and both girls get down on their knees, and begin to bow repeatidly.
Fidget&Ink: We're not worthy!
Fidget: Review anyway.
Ink smacks her.
Fidget&Ink: We're not worthy!