Alrighty. I have all of this story written already, so the posting will be semi-frequent, and if you're that anxious to read more, it's already online too. www.geocities.com/darkcloud04/newsies/fanfiction/authority.html
Quick SO:
Fruit of the Vine-- Thanks for being my first reviewer ever!! *hugs* You're awesome. :)
Now, on to the fic.
-----
The next morning Callie didn't wake up. To awaken, one must first be asleep, and that wasn't the case with Callie. She had spent the night watching the last few dregs of gamblers lose or win money and leave. The out-of-towners left with more money than some of the winners, but that was to be expected of them. Callie wasn't going to restrict their occupation. After the last few had left, her boys had climbed up the stairs opposite her balcony to the makeshift bunkroom they had created. The tall warehouse contained many rooms above the large ground floor one. Callie even claimed one room to herself, but she never ventured up there during the passing night.
She stubbed out another cigarette. Smoking was one of her bad habits. She smoked even more when she was thinking or particularly annoyed or angry with someone or something. In this case her thoughts centered on a particular Brooklyn leader. His arrogance made her blood boil; his stubbornness matched her own and promised more trouble than it was worth. She searched her pockets for another cigarette, but upon not finding one she stood up and slammed a fist into the wall. Wincing but otherwise ignoring the pain shooting up her arm, Callie leaned her forehead against the cool steel outer wall.
It was another day, and she had work to do. Disgusted, Callie turned around and climbed down off the balcony to leave the house. She glanced around the still-smoky interior and wished that she had something more. She didn't though, and that wasn't going to change.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sometime around lunchtime, Callie wandered through Manhattan. She loved being there. The people were more trusting, and the newsies made up the most ridiculous headlines. They were always easy to laugh at, if the real headlines were known. She walked around, through the park, and towards the racetrack. There, she met up with Race, who was coming back.
"Heya Race. How was the track?" Callie fell into step beside him, going the opposite direction she had started in.
"Hey Cards. Won some money on the fifth. Not too much though. You headin' to Tibby's?" he queried.
Callie thought for a minute before answering. "You know how I feel about newsies." Callie smiled a small smile, remembering her earlier life. "Newsies saved my ass multiple times, but it don't mean that I'm indebted to all of ya." Race slung an arm across her shoulders, knocking into the knot that her braids had been tied in at the base of her neck. "Race!" Callie mockingly whined, imitating the stuffy rich girls. "You're gonna mess up my hair!"
Race laughed at her. "Like ya really care about that Cards." He smiled at her. "Jus' because we were good to you a long time ago, don't mean that we ain't good anymore. And just because you had a few bad run-ins with some other newsies, it doesn't make us all jerks."
"I s'pose, but don't expect me to be too civil."
Racetrack laughed again. "Like you's ever civil."
The pair continued to banter until they reached Tibby's. Cards walked into the diner with what seemed to Racetrack as a mask of confidence and little care. She was greeted by clapping and many "Heya!"'s. A few of the newsies lifted their drinks and one shouted out, "To the girl with the best damn place for poker!" Cards threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly. Race was right; the Manhattan crew was a good bunch.
Jack excused himself from his booth and walked over to her. He spit in his hand; Callie did the same. The two leaders shook, and Jack smiled. "I heard, from a certain Brooklyn source, dat you ain't the most pleasant of the girls." Jack frowned slightly. "You confused me last night. You must be a pretty good leadah if you warned us about the pickpockets when you didn't have to." He studied Callie, waiting for a response. She shrugged.
"I ain't particularly fond of Brooklyn either, but that don't mean I'm a bad leadah. I protect my boys, and watch out for the others. I'da done the same for Brooklyn if we didn't have our…differences." She smirked. Differences, what a laugh. Conlon's a jerk, ain't no way 'round that.
Race looked at Callie when her attention had wandered away from Jack. "So tell me again why ya don't like newsies?" he asked.
Callie looked at him fiercely. "My past is my past. If you needed to know, I'd tell you, but because you don't, back off." Race held his hands up defensively.
"Don't accuse me of pryin', Cards. You know I wouldn't. Why would I do that?"
"Fine. Maybe we'll talk later. Now I want some food."
Racetrack shook his head at the change in his friend. She could be the best person; she could be the worst. It just depended on the way she was talked to.
He sat next to the gambling queen and ate lunch while laughing and joking with his friends. Callie even participated at times, her foul mood fading away.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"So you see, it was all about the power. If Pulitzer gave in to street rats like us, we'd have the power, and we could do anything. That's why the strike was so important," Jack continued his retelling of the newsies strike. Many of the newsies yawned but Callie remained interested and thoughtful. "We beat the big-boys out of the money they stole from us." Jack leaned back to finish. "So that's the power of the press."
Callie rolled her eyes. The newsies thought too much of themselves, and though Callie liked the easy-going Manhattan newsies, memories of her past wouldn't let her fully relax with them. The story Jack had just told had a good point though.
It's all about power. Power of the press; power of the people. We all struggle for power. Callie leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in thought.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A while later, Callie walked out of Tibby's with Racetrack close behind her. She searched her pockets again for a cigarette, but still found none. "So what'dya wanna talk about, Race?"
Race answered her question with a blunt one of his own. "Why don't you like newsies? What's wrong with us?"
Callie glanced at him sideways and thought before answering. "Well, I've told you about my old job, right?" Race nodded. "So I won't go into that again. But while I was …workin', a newsie caught me. He called for da bulls and I got caught. The guy spat on me when I was taken away. An' when I escaped and got here to New York, all I see anywhere is newsies. I didn't have quite the happy experience with Five Points, and not with the Bronx eithah. Now Brooklyn's up my ass too. You Manhattan boys aren't bad. Totally harmless, which is crazy, but you don't second-guess those of us with not-so-hot reputations. You trust too easily, but it's easier to like you guys." Callie shrugged. "Dat's about all."
Race laughed. "We ain't harmless. And your boys aren't that bad either are they?"
"Nah, my boys aren't bad at all. They're real good an' loyal. I can't ask them to do more for me. I'd have 'em quit selling papers if I knew they wanted to, but they seem ta like it."
They continued their conversation, while walking in the general direction of the racetracks. Once there, they placed bets on various horses and settled down to watch. Callie won a few and lost a few, causing her to come out about even. Racetrack, however, won more than usual, so he was in a chipper mood. Around the time Race decided to go meet the guys at Tibby's again, Spot Conlon showed up. He sauntered over to say hello to Race, but stopped short when he noticed whom Race was with.
"Well if it ain't the devil herself," he stated dryly.
"Why, if my eyes don't deceive me, then I must say that the Almighty Spot Conlon has decided to grace us with his presence," Callie shot back, her green eyes darkening yet again.
"Girl, you're in my seat, again," Spot said with a glare. Race looked between the two with a mixture of fear and confusion playing over his face. All he knew was that he didn't want to get between them when the fighting started.
"I do believe this looks rather similar, don't it Conlon," Callie mocked menacingly.
Spot reached down and grabbed her collar, pulling her up to a standing position. Their faces were inches apart when he growled, "Tonight, the pier, after dark. I'll be waiting."
Callie jerked out of his grasp. "I'll be there." Spot gave her a shove away from 'his' chair. "Touch me again, Conlon, and I'll kill you. I swear it." She stormed out of Sheepshead.
"What the hell was that about, Spot? Geez, all she was doin'…" Race was interrupted by an angry Spot.
"She's a pain in my ass. That's what she is. I don't want you to go and defend her now. She does a fine job by herself," Spot growled.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Callie stomped off toward her boys' favorite hangout. Like the Manhattan newsies, her boys liked to be together, and they hung out in similar areas, such as the square. The reason why was beyond Callie's understanding; it wsa just a small block of grass and trees. Still, it gave her a place to look for them.
When she reached the square in Five Points, Jimmy ran up to her. He could see the anger displayed on her face. Jimmy was never one to either question Callie's judgment or let her feed them bull. He always called her bluffs, and he was always the first to assess what was wrong in her life.
"What's going on, Cards? What is it this time?" His questions implied that this wasn't the first time that Callie had gotten herself into a fight. He was correct, but this was the first time it involved newsies such as themselves.
Callie's brow furrowed in thought. "Brooklyn called me out. Tonight, Spot Conlon and I are gonna fight. I dunno if he'll call his newsies out into a rumble, but I want you to be there if 'e does. I'm not gettin' my butt kicked by the whole Brooklyn army." Jimmy laughed sarcastically. Callie smiled mockingly. "I know it ain't nevah happened before, but there won't be a first. Now go tell my boys ta get ready for a rumble tonight…maybe. And you remember my rule! No weapons, even if they bring out the chains and knives, you are not fighting with a weapon. It ain't fair." Callie looked at Jimmy hard, making sure that he understood his assignment. He nodded and left to go tell the others. Callie then turned to go back to her warehouse. She had things to do.
Quick SO:
Fruit of the Vine-- Thanks for being my first reviewer ever!! *hugs* You're awesome. :)
Now, on to the fic.
-----
The next morning Callie didn't wake up. To awaken, one must first be asleep, and that wasn't the case with Callie. She had spent the night watching the last few dregs of gamblers lose or win money and leave. The out-of-towners left with more money than some of the winners, but that was to be expected of them. Callie wasn't going to restrict their occupation. After the last few had left, her boys had climbed up the stairs opposite her balcony to the makeshift bunkroom they had created. The tall warehouse contained many rooms above the large ground floor one. Callie even claimed one room to herself, but she never ventured up there during the passing night.
She stubbed out another cigarette. Smoking was one of her bad habits. She smoked even more when she was thinking or particularly annoyed or angry with someone or something. In this case her thoughts centered on a particular Brooklyn leader. His arrogance made her blood boil; his stubbornness matched her own and promised more trouble than it was worth. She searched her pockets for another cigarette, but upon not finding one she stood up and slammed a fist into the wall. Wincing but otherwise ignoring the pain shooting up her arm, Callie leaned her forehead against the cool steel outer wall.
It was another day, and she had work to do. Disgusted, Callie turned around and climbed down off the balcony to leave the house. She glanced around the still-smoky interior and wished that she had something more. She didn't though, and that wasn't going to change.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sometime around lunchtime, Callie wandered through Manhattan. She loved being there. The people were more trusting, and the newsies made up the most ridiculous headlines. They were always easy to laugh at, if the real headlines were known. She walked around, through the park, and towards the racetrack. There, she met up with Race, who was coming back.
"Heya Race. How was the track?" Callie fell into step beside him, going the opposite direction she had started in.
"Hey Cards. Won some money on the fifth. Not too much though. You headin' to Tibby's?" he queried.
Callie thought for a minute before answering. "You know how I feel about newsies." Callie smiled a small smile, remembering her earlier life. "Newsies saved my ass multiple times, but it don't mean that I'm indebted to all of ya." Race slung an arm across her shoulders, knocking into the knot that her braids had been tied in at the base of her neck. "Race!" Callie mockingly whined, imitating the stuffy rich girls. "You're gonna mess up my hair!"
Race laughed at her. "Like ya really care about that Cards." He smiled at her. "Jus' because we were good to you a long time ago, don't mean that we ain't good anymore. And just because you had a few bad run-ins with some other newsies, it doesn't make us all jerks."
"I s'pose, but don't expect me to be too civil."
Racetrack laughed again. "Like you's ever civil."
The pair continued to banter until they reached Tibby's. Cards walked into the diner with what seemed to Racetrack as a mask of confidence and little care. She was greeted by clapping and many "Heya!"'s. A few of the newsies lifted their drinks and one shouted out, "To the girl with the best damn place for poker!" Cards threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly. Race was right; the Manhattan crew was a good bunch.
Jack excused himself from his booth and walked over to her. He spit in his hand; Callie did the same. The two leaders shook, and Jack smiled. "I heard, from a certain Brooklyn source, dat you ain't the most pleasant of the girls." Jack frowned slightly. "You confused me last night. You must be a pretty good leadah if you warned us about the pickpockets when you didn't have to." He studied Callie, waiting for a response. She shrugged.
"I ain't particularly fond of Brooklyn either, but that don't mean I'm a bad leadah. I protect my boys, and watch out for the others. I'da done the same for Brooklyn if we didn't have our…differences." She smirked. Differences, what a laugh. Conlon's a jerk, ain't no way 'round that.
Race looked at Callie when her attention had wandered away from Jack. "So tell me again why ya don't like newsies?" he asked.
Callie looked at him fiercely. "My past is my past. If you needed to know, I'd tell you, but because you don't, back off." Race held his hands up defensively.
"Don't accuse me of pryin', Cards. You know I wouldn't. Why would I do that?"
"Fine. Maybe we'll talk later. Now I want some food."
Racetrack shook his head at the change in his friend. She could be the best person; she could be the worst. It just depended on the way she was talked to.
He sat next to the gambling queen and ate lunch while laughing and joking with his friends. Callie even participated at times, her foul mood fading away.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"So you see, it was all about the power. If Pulitzer gave in to street rats like us, we'd have the power, and we could do anything. That's why the strike was so important," Jack continued his retelling of the newsies strike. Many of the newsies yawned but Callie remained interested and thoughtful. "We beat the big-boys out of the money they stole from us." Jack leaned back to finish. "So that's the power of the press."
Callie rolled her eyes. The newsies thought too much of themselves, and though Callie liked the easy-going Manhattan newsies, memories of her past wouldn't let her fully relax with them. The story Jack had just told had a good point though.
It's all about power. Power of the press; power of the people. We all struggle for power. Callie leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in thought.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A while later, Callie walked out of Tibby's with Racetrack close behind her. She searched her pockets again for a cigarette, but still found none. "So what'dya wanna talk about, Race?"
Race answered her question with a blunt one of his own. "Why don't you like newsies? What's wrong with us?"
Callie glanced at him sideways and thought before answering. "Well, I've told you about my old job, right?" Race nodded. "So I won't go into that again. But while I was …workin', a newsie caught me. He called for da bulls and I got caught. The guy spat on me when I was taken away. An' when I escaped and got here to New York, all I see anywhere is newsies. I didn't have quite the happy experience with Five Points, and not with the Bronx eithah. Now Brooklyn's up my ass too. You Manhattan boys aren't bad. Totally harmless, which is crazy, but you don't second-guess those of us with not-so-hot reputations. You trust too easily, but it's easier to like you guys." Callie shrugged. "Dat's about all."
Race laughed. "We ain't harmless. And your boys aren't that bad either are they?"
"Nah, my boys aren't bad at all. They're real good an' loyal. I can't ask them to do more for me. I'd have 'em quit selling papers if I knew they wanted to, but they seem ta like it."
They continued their conversation, while walking in the general direction of the racetracks. Once there, they placed bets on various horses and settled down to watch. Callie won a few and lost a few, causing her to come out about even. Racetrack, however, won more than usual, so he was in a chipper mood. Around the time Race decided to go meet the guys at Tibby's again, Spot Conlon showed up. He sauntered over to say hello to Race, but stopped short when he noticed whom Race was with.
"Well if it ain't the devil herself," he stated dryly.
"Why, if my eyes don't deceive me, then I must say that the Almighty Spot Conlon has decided to grace us with his presence," Callie shot back, her green eyes darkening yet again.
"Girl, you're in my seat, again," Spot said with a glare. Race looked between the two with a mixture of fear and confusion playing over his face. All he knew was that he didn't want to get between them when the fighting started.
"I do believe this looks rather similar, don't it Conlon," Callie mocked menacingly.
Spot reached down and grabbed her collar, pulling her up to a standing position. Their faces were inches apart when he growled, "Tonight, the pier, after dark. I'll be waiting."
Callie jerked out of his grasp. "I'll be there." Spot gave her a shove away from 'his' chair. "Touch me again, Conlon, and I'll kill you. I swear it." She stormed out of Sheepshead.
"What the hell was that about, Spot? Geez, all she was doin'…" Race was interrupted by an angry Spot.
"She's a pain in my ass. That's what she is. I don't want you to go and defend her now. She does a fine job by herself," Spot growled.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Callie stomped off toward her boys' favorite hangout. Like the Manhattan newsies, her boys liked to be together, and they hung out in similar areas, such as the square. The reason why was beyond Callie's understanding; it wsa just a small block of grass and trees. Still, it gave her a place to look for them.
When she reached the square in Five Points, Jimmy ran up to her. He could see the anger displayed on her face. Jimmy was never one to either question Callie's judgment or let her feed them bull. He always called her bluffs, and he was always the first to assess what was wrong in her life.
"What's going on, Cards? What is it this time?" His questions implied that this wasn't the first time that Callie had gotten herself into a fight. He was correct, but this was the first time it involved newsies such as themselves.
Callie's brow furrowed in thought. "Brooklyn called me out. Tonight, Spot Conlon and I are gonna fight. I dunno if he'll call his newsies out into a rumble, but I want you to be there if 'e does. I'm not gettin' my butt kicked by the whole Brooklyn army." Jimmy laughed sarcastically. Callie smiled mockingly. "I know it ain't nevah happened before, but there won't be a first. Now go tell my boys ta get ready for a rumble tonight…maybe. And you remember my rule! No weapons, even if they bring out the chains and knives, you are not fighting with a weapon. It ain't fair." Callie looked at Jimmy hard, making sure that he understood his assignment. He nodded and left to go tell the others. Callie then turned to go back to her warehouse. She had things to do.
