A Howdy-doo and a hello to all of my reviewers and anyone else who is
reading this chapter!
There really isn't much to say, 'cept sorry for taking so lon' *cries into hanky* it's all my TEACHERS' fault! Curse thee all to San Francisco!
Shout Outs
*Dakki*
Thanks, profusely. I'm always glad to have written something that someone liked. Sorry it took so darned long...but as mentioned above...oh, well. I thought she'd be pretty good at it too, and yes, Wendy...dude, she has some major sock-rockage going on...very disturbing. Billy Boyd is hot...that's only # 586 out of the 1909572938567 reasons I LOVE Lord of the Rings.
*Gracie Jane*
Yes! An obsessed member!!! We could use many more of these...so keep 'em coming! And, Race thanks you for abstaining from comments about rocking socks...
Race: Eeep...
Sorry, don't mind him. He's slightly traumatized from our SNL marathon...too much randomness all in one place, the poor boy.
*ShortAtntionSpaz*
Dude, I love you man. *sniffs* I feel so...appreciated... The Hobbit is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written! If I may say so...
~Disclaimer~ Don't own it, but I do plan to ^_^
~Chapter 3~
Kat woke up the next morning, tired, and achy. She grumbled as she made her way out of bed only to discover she had slept past the boys' departure and the bathroom was a mess. The whole place smelled of urine. Disgusted, she walked farther in to assess the damage. Soap on the mirrors, she groaned, water all over the floor, she sighed, cigar ash on the sink, she roared.
"KLOPPMAN!"
The poor old man bounded up the stairs, or, at least, he tried, and showed up, disheveled and very much annoyed. "What is it NOW Kat?"
"Why didn't you wake me up before you woke up the boys? Now, there's this unspeakable mess! I'm never going to be able to clean this up before they come back!"
Kloppman looked rather sheepish, but managed to mumble something before trying to retreat peaceably.
"What did you say?"
"I said, dat Snipe tol' me not ta wake ya up. Says ta let ya sleep in taday."
Kat sighed again. The boy was a dear, especially if he knew about last night, but without her supervision this simple everyday task seemed a bit much for the boys to complete and not make a terrible mess and she'd have to work harder today anyways. "Well, I might as well get to it." She wrinkled up her nose in annoyance. "And I'm going to kill whoever was smoking in my bathroom."
Kat shlumped over to her room, and grabbed the outfit she never wore unless the need was dire...the skirt.
The skirt was one of her longer skirts, or, at least, it used to be. Kat had found it nearly impossible to scrub floors in long skirts so she had taken her least favorite long skirt and cut it up to about nine or ten inches above her knees, and a short-sleeved undershirt. The overall effect would've been very cute with the pleated skirt and t-shirt, if she had still lived where she used to, but here, she looked like a street walker gone cheap...and crazy. Not even bad prostitutes wore that sort of thing.
Kloppman just stared at her as she walked out of her room in her bare feet and putting up her hair. "Are you sure this is bad enough for..." Kloppman paused, "That thing?"
"Yes, Kloppman, I have to meet with Melissa this afternoon and take Spot his sweater too. I don't have time to wrestle with long skirts today."
"Why don't you get a pair of pants for cleaning?" Kloppman asked, still wondering how to talk her out of The Skirt.
"I used to have several pairs, remember Kloppy? I always end up giving them to the boys when theirs are past repair. I gave my last pair away last week. Mush had ripped his pants right in the seat, where they simply cannot be fixed, so I gave him mine."
"And they fit him?"
"They were rather large on me, you forget, I never liked pants that 'fit' me."
Kloppman just nodded as he dragged a large bucket of soapy water upstairs along with several rags and a scrub brush. He avoided looking at Kat and she almost laughed at the poor old man, but, before he went back downstairs he called over to Kat.
"Kat, please remember, I's goin' out right now, ta see me sistah, she ain't feelin' so well, so youse oal by youseself. Ah youse gonna be OK?"
"Calm down Kloppy, nobody comes around here this time of day anyways. I'll be fine."
Kloppman walked off, shaking his head again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kat stood up from the still damp floor and nodded with satisfaction, pushing stray hairs behind her ears and straitening her shirt. Everything was clean, down to the last speck, and she was going to talk to Race tonight about smoking in her bathroom. Kat's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the locked lodging house door. She raced down the stairs to the entrance and opened it to find a man in a regularly nice suit, a bow tie, and in his mid-thirties. Kat smiled. "Hello, I'm-"
"MY DEAR HEAVENS!" The man yelled, quite loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear, closed his eyes and slammed the door.
Kat was confused and opened the door to reveal the wide-eyed man. "Sir, what is the matter?"
The man did not answer, he was far too busy trying to look everywhere but her.
"Sir? Siiiir? SIR!" Kat yelled, trying to get his attention. He peaked in her direction, very pointedly, just over the top of her head.
"I'm, sorry...madam, I was just, um, surprised, by your, um, attire, if, um, you'll excuse me...Ahem."
I must tell you now that you got the shorter version. The original had quite a few more coughs and 'um's.
Kat was confused, "My 'attire'?" She looked down at herself...
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" She yelled, closed her eyes, and slammed the door, red with embarrassment.
That poor man! He probably thought I was going to 'offer my services'! Kat thought with amazement, annoyance, and disgust as she scurried around upstairs for her longest skirt and her usual shirt. She was almost popping off shoe-buttons with her button hook on her way down the stairs and shoved the button hook in her apron pocket. She straitened her hair and opened the door, quite surprised to find the man still there. "I am SO sorry! I have the hardest time cleaning...I'm just the maid here...I don't, um, would you like to come in?" She sounded frantic, because she was, but tried, unsuccessfully, to not let it show.
The poor man declined. "No, I'm sorry, if I've (cough) caught you at a bad time...but I, erm, I mean to say...I need to ask you some questions about the newsboys in this lodging house." He finished, still slightly pink, and taking a step back from Kat.
"Oh, sure, anything you want...no, wait, that sounded wrong...um, what do you want to know?" Kat was babbling, and treading on thin ice, though she doubted this man would turn her into the police, even if he was really convinced she WAS a street walker.
"Well, what do they do usually? What do they like, what ARE they like. Just the general once over."
"Well, first off, Mr...?"
"Denton, Brian Denton."
"Right, first off. I was cleaning upstairs, I have a hard time with skirts so I had to wear this short one, so..."
"It's OK miss, that's none of my business."
Kat was extremely exasperated, but she tried to answer the question anyways. "Well, Mr. Denton, on Monday..."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Kat sighed as she replaced the button-hook on her dresser. That had not gone well. The man had tried not to make eye contact the entire conversation and had been annoying no end, with a variation of 'that's none of my business' every time she had tried to explain, or a fake fit of coughing.
She would be late if she didn't leave now, though. She grabbed her sewing bag and shoved Spot's sweater into it. Melissa would, undoubtedly, find this hilarious and bother her about it for ages. Oh, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles.
Kat started out on the walk to Brooklyn whistling...or, at least, practicing. She never really could whistle, and she never practiced around the boys...so, needless to say, she hadn't really gotten any better. On her way past the docks to Melissa's house, a flash of gold caught her eye and she turned to see Spot talking to Jack, Boots, and some other boy that Kat had never seen before. Kat figured it was as good a time as any for her to drop off the sweater.
As she walked towards them, however, she became annoyed. Jack's shirt was a mess, he had a cigarette in his hands and Spot was shooting at bottles again, in rather close proximity.
"SPOT CONLON!" Kat's voice had a sharp edge that made Spot jump and almost loose the marble he had in his hand. All four boys turned to the short girl and Jack covered his cigarette with his free hand. She marched right up to Jack, grabbed the cigarette out of his hand, confiscated Spot's sling-shot and then stood back, whirling to face the group.
"Jack. Kelly." Kat was glowering while she held the cigarette up for public inspection. "What is this?"
"A smoke..." Jack answered lamely, trying to look somewhat flippant, and not really pulling it off.
"Oh? Really? How very interesting. Then you wouldn't mind me having your pack that you PROMISED me you'd throw out?" Kat held out her hand impatiently.
Spot snickered, but then straitened his face out immediately when Kat turned to stare him down.
Jack drew out half a pack of cigarettes and dropped them, reluctantly, in Kat's hand.
Kat still held out her hand.
Jack took out a quarter of a pack from his breast pocket.
Kat still held out her hand.
Jack sighed and took out the last pack, a full pack, out of his shirt front.
Kat didn't smile. She dumped every single one in the river before stepping in front of Spot.
"If I see you shooting at bottles that close to you again, Spot, I swear, I'll take you over my knee and whip the living tar out of you!"
In the back of his head, Spot didn't doubt a single word of it.
"You know damn well that was how Blink lost his eye. I WAS THERE! I had to take the poor boy to the doctor!"
"Yes, Kat..." Spot mumbled. Now he really did feel guilty. Blink had always been one of his best friends, despite his somewhat limited brain capacity, he was a nice guy.
Kat merely looked at Boots and harrumphed. "Jack, if you bring Boots to Brooklyn again without more than three Newsies..."
Boots looked offended. "Kat, I's eleven!"
"Yes! And I'm fifteen! I wouldn't let a cat I hated to go into Brooklyn by itself!"
The other boy that had been standing with them coughed, somewhat amused. "Pleased to meet you, miss. My name's David. David Jacobs."
Kat looked at the boy defiantly. "Pleasure's all mine. You may call my Katerina," She retorted coldly.
"Are you these boys' mother?" David asked, smiling superciliously.
"Yes. Temporarily," She sniffed and dug the dark-green sweater out of her sewing bag. "Spot, dearie, this is for you." David snickered behind her back, and Kat ignored it. "Do try and make it last longer than your other one. Two months isn't very long for a sweater."
"Yes, Kat," Spot gave her a peck on the cheek. "T'anks. I was awful cold yestaday."
David tried to contain his laughter. Jack made a quick sign across his neck over the top of Kat's head, and David stopped.
If Jack Kelly was afraid of getting a beating from this girl—David mentally corrected himself—his mother, then David didn't really want to try his luck...or his laughter.
"So, what are all of you boys doing up here?" Kat asked, noticing the signal from Jack.
Everybody started talking at once.
"Well, first, the Weasel..."
"And then me boidies said dat..."
"And all I wanted was to get out of my homework..."
"I didn't even wanna go ta Brooklyn, I mean..."
"QUIET!" Kat cleared her throat and pointed at Spot. "You, start."
"Well," Spot started, shifting from one foot to the other. "I got up dis moanin' and when me and me boys got ta da distribution centah da papes cost moah. Ten cents a hundred! I was mad, but I gots ta make a livin', right? I go and slam down a dollah eighty, givin' da guy at da countah de eye...ya know? Den, latah, I heah's dat da price's been raised oal around da city. I was angry, but it's OK, ya know, if dey's bein' fair about it and raisin' da price foah everyone." Spot stopped to take a deep breath.
"Latah, I sold oal a me papes, like always, and I heah from one a me boys dat Jacky's boys are going on strike. I don't believe it, until I see dese boys come up, with dis walkin' mouth 'ere," Spot pointed to David, "And ask me if I wanna join da strike."
Kat looked at Spot for a minute, considering all of this, then turned to Jack. "You, your turn."
"We got's tagetha and decided dat we couldn't win if we only had the Manhattan boys. So, we's sendin' out oal da boys ta see if anyone else's gonna join. We was just askin' Spot here..."
"Got it." Kat commanded, "Stop." She looked Spot in the eye. "Well?"
Spot looked slightly befuddled. "Well what?"
"Are you going to join?" Kat demanded, picking up her sewing bag. When Spot didn't answer immediately, Kat started tapping her foot impatiently. "I don't have all day. I have to go see Melissa, Spot..." Kat trialed off meaningfully.
Spot looked a little huffy. "Well, I don't...I...I's gotta think..." Kat raised an eyebrow. "FINE! I'll join!"
"Good for you." Kat answered, starting to walk off. Before she had gone far she called over her shoulder. "Jack, take Boots back to Manhattan, and I'll say hi to Melissa for you, Spot."
Kat stopped and smiled. "David?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"You may call me Kat."
There really isn't much to say, 'cept sorry for taking so lon' *cries into hanky* it's all my TEACHERS' fault! Curse thee all to San Francisco!
Shout Outs
*Dakki*
Thanks, profusely. I'm always glad to have written something that someone liked. Sorry it took so darned long...but as mentioned above...oh, well. I thought she'd be pretty good at it too, and yes, Wendy...dude, she has some major sock-rockage going on...very disturbing. Billy Boyd is hot...that's only # 586 out of the 1909572938567 reasons I LOVE Lord of the Rings.
*Gracie Jane*
Yes! An obsessed member!!! We could use many more of these...so keep 'em coming! And, Race thanks you for abstaining from comments about rocking socks...
Race: Eeep...
Sorry, don't mind him. He's slightly traumatized from our SNL marathon...too much randomness all in one place, the poor boy.
*ShortAtntionSpaz*
Dude, I love you man. *sniffs* I feel so...appreciated... The Hobbit is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written! If I may say so...
~Disclaimer~ Don't own it, but I do plan to ^_^
~Chapter 3~
Kat woke up the next morning, tired, and achy. She grumbled as she made her way out of bed only to discover she had slept past the boys' departure and the bathroom was a mess. The whole place smelled of urine. Disgusted, she walked farther in to assess the damage. Soap on the mirrors, she groaned, water all over the floor, she sighed, cigar ash on the sink, she roared.
"KLOPPMAN!"
The poor old man bounded up the stairs, or, at least, he tried, and showed up, disheveled and very much annoyed. "What is it NOW Kat?"
"Why didn't you wake me up before you woke up the boys? Now, there's this unspeakable mess! I'm never going to be able to clean this up before they come back!"
Kloppman looked rather sheepish, but managed to mumble something before trying to retreat peaceably.
"What did you say?"
"I said, dat Snipe tol' me not ta wake ya up. Says ta let ya sleep in taday."
Kat sighed again. The boy was a dear, especially if he knew about last night, but without her supervision this simple everyday task seemed a bit much for the boys to complete and not make a terrible mess and she'd have to work harder today anyways. "Well, I might as well get to it." She wrinkled up her nose in annoyance. "And I'm going to kill whoever was smoking in my bathroom."
Kat shlumped over to her room, and grabbed the outfit she never wore unless the need was dire...the skirt.
The skirt was one of her longer skirts, or, at least, it used to be. Kat had found it nearly impossible to scrub floors in long skirts so she had taken her least favorite long skirt and cut it up to about nine or ten inches above her knees, and a short-sleeved undershirt. The overall effect would've been very cute with the pleated skirt and t-shirt, if she had still lived where she used to, but here, she looked like a street walker gone cheap...and crazy. Not even bad prostitutes wore that sort of thing.
Kloppman just stared at her as she walked out of her room in her bare feet and putting up her hair. "Are you sure this is bad enough for..." Kloppman paused, "That thing?"
"Yes, Kloppman, I have to meet with Melissa this afternoon and take Spot his sweater too. I don't have time to wrestle with long skirts today."
"Why don't you get a pair of pants for cleaning?" Kloppman asked, still wondering how to talk her out of The Skirt.
"I used to have several pairs, remember Kloppy? I always end up giving them to the boys when theirs are past repair. I gave my last pair away last week. Mush had ripped his pants right in the seat, where they simply cannot be fixed, so I gave him mine."
"And they fit him?"
"They were rather large on me, you forget, I never liked pants that 'fit' me."
Kloppman just nodded as he dragged a large bucket of soapy water upstairs along with several rags and a scrub brush. He avoided looking at Kat and she almost laughed at the poor old man, but, before he went back downstairs he called over to Kat.
"Kat, please remember, I's goin' out right now, ta see me sistah, she ain't feelin' so well, so youse oal by youseself. Ah youse gonna be OK?"
"Calm down Kloppy, nobody comes around here this time of day anyways. I'll be fine."
Kloppman walked off, shaking his head again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kat stood up from the still damp floor and nodded with satisfaction, pushing stray hairs behind her ears and straitening her shirt. Everything was clean, down to the last speck, and she was going to talk to Race tonight about smoking in her bathroom. Kat's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the locked lodging house door. She raced down the stairs to the entrance and opened it to find a man in a regularly nice suit, a bow tie, and in his mid-thirties. Kat smiled. "Hello, I'm-"
"MY DEAR HEAVENS!" The man yelled, quite loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear, closed his eyes and slammed the door.
Kat was confused and opened the door to reveal the wide-eyed man. "Sir, what is the matter?"
The man did not answer, he was far too busy trying to look everywhere but her.
"Sir? Siiiir? SIR!" Kat yelled, trying to get his attention. He peaked in her direction, very pointedly, just over the top of her head.
"I'm, sorry...madam, I was just, um, surprised, by your, um, attire, if, um, you'll excuse me...Ahem."
I must tell you now that you got the shorter version. The original had quite a few more coughs and 'um's.
Kat was confused, "My 'attire'?" She looked down at herself...
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" She yelled, closed her eyes, and slammed the door, red with embarrassment.
That poor man! He probably thought I was going to 'offer my services'! Kat thought with amazement, annoyance, and disgust as she scurried around upstairs for her longest skirt and her usual shirt. She was almost popping off shoe-buttons with her button hook on her way down the stairs and shoved the button hook in her apron pocket. She straitened her hair and opened the door, quite surprised to find the man still there. "I am SO sorry! I have the hardest time cleaning...I'm just the maid here...I don't, um, would you like to come in?" She sounded frantic, because she was, but tried, unsuccessfully, to not let it show.
The poor man declined. "No, I'm sorry, if I've (cough) caught you at a bad time...but I, erm, I mean to say...I need to ask you some questions about the newsboys in this lodging house." He finished, still slightly pink, and taking a step back from Kat.
"Oh, sure, anything you want...no, wait, that sounded wrong...um, what do you want to know?" Kat was babbling, and treading on thin ice, though she doubted this man would turn her into the police, even if he was really convinced she WAS a street walker.
"Well, what do they do usually? What do they like, what ARE they like. Just the general once over."
"Well, first off, Mr...?"
"Denton, Brian Denton."
"Right, first off. I was cleaning upstairs, I have a hard time with skirts so I had to wear this short one, so..."
"It's OK miss, that's none of my business."
Kat was extremely exasperated, but she tried to answer the question anyways. "Well, Mr. Denton, on Monday..."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Kat sighed as she replaced the button-hook on her dresser. That had not gone well. The man had tried not to make eye contact the entire conversation and had been annoying no end, with a variation of 'that's none of my business' every time she had tried to explain, or a fake fit of coughing.
She would be late if she didn't leave now, though. She grabbed her sewing bag and shoved Spot's sweater into it. Melissa would, undoubtedly, find this hilarious and bother her about it for ages. Oh, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles.
Kat started out on the walk to Brooklyn whistling...or, at least, practicing. She never really could whistle, and she never practiced around the boys...so, needless to say, she hadn't really gotten any better. On her way past the docks to Melissa's house, a flash of gold caught her eye and she turned to see Spot talking to Jack, Boots, and some other boy that Kat had never seen before. Kat figured it was as good a time as any for her to drop off the sweater.
As she walked towards them, however, she became annoyed. Jack's shirt was a mess, he had a cigarette in his hands and Spot was shooting at bottles again, in rather close proximity.
"SPOT CONLON!" Kat's voice had a sharp edge that made Spot jump and almost loose the marble he had in his hand. All four boys turned to the short girl and Jack covered his cigarette with his free hand. She marched right up to Jack, grabbed the cigarette out of his hand, confiscated Spot's sling-shot and then stood back, whirling to face the group.
"Jack. Kelly." Kat was glowering while she held the cigarette up for public inspection. "What is this?"
"A smoke..." Jack answered lamely, trying to look somewhat flippant, and not really pulling it off.
"Oh? Really? How very interesting. Then you wouldn't mind me having your pack that you PROMISED me you'd throw out?" Kat held out her hand impatiently.
Spot snickered, but then straitened his face out immediately when Kat turned to stare him down.
Jack drew out half a pack of cigarettes and dropped them, reluctantly, in Kat's hand.
Kat still held out her hand.
Jack took out a quarter of a pack from his breast pocket.
Kat still held out her hand.
Jack sighed and took out the last pack, a full pack, out of his shirt front.
Kat didn't smile. She dumped every single one in the river before stepping in front of Spot.
"If I see you shooting at bottles that close to you again, Spot, I swear, I'll take you over my knee and whip the living tar out of you!"
In the back of his head, Spot didn't doubt a single word of it.
"You know damn well that was how Blink lost his eye. I WAS THERE! I had to take the poor boy to the doctor!"
"Yes, Kat..." Spot mumbled. Now he really did feel guilty. Blink had always been one of his best friends, despite his somewhat limited brain capacity, he was a nice guy.
Kat merely looked at Boots and harrumphed. "Jack, if you bring Boots to Brooklyn again without more than three Newsies..."
Boots looked offended. "Kat, I's eleven!"
"Yes! And I'm fifteen! I wouldn't let a cat I hated to go into Brooklyn by itself!"
The other boy that had been standing with them coughed, somewhat amused. "Pleased to meet you, miss. My name's David. David Jacobs."
Kat looked at the boy defiantly. "Pleasure's all mine. You may call my Katerina," She retorted coldly.
"Are you these boys' mother?" David asked, smiling superciliously.
"Yes. Temporarily," She sniffed and dug the dark-green sweater out of her sewing bag. "Spot, dearie, this is for you." David snickered behind her back, and Kat ignored it. "Do try and make it last longer than your other one. Two months isn't very long for a sweater."
"Yes, Kat," Spot gave her a peck on the cheek. "T'anks. I was awful cold yestaday."
David tried to contain his laughter. Jack made a quick sign across his neck over the top of Kat's head, and David stopped.
If Jack Kelly was afraid of getting a beating from this girl—David mentally corrected himself—his mother, then David didn't really want to try his luck...or his laughter.
"So, what are all of you boys doing up here?" Kat asked, noticing the signal from Jack.
Everybody started talking at once.
"Well, first, the Weasel..."
"And then me boidies said dat..."
"And all I wanted was to get out of my homework..."
"I didn't even wanna go ta Brooklyn, I mean..."
"QUIET!" Kat cleared her throat and pointed at Spot. "You, start."
"Well," Spot started, shifting from one foot to the other. "I got up dis moanin' and when me and me boys got ta da distribution centah da papes cost moah. Ten cents a hundred! I was mad, but I gots ta make a livin', right? I go and slam down a dollah eighty, givin' da guy at da countah de eye...ya know? Den, latah, I heah's dat da price's been raised oal around da city. I was angry, but it's OK, ya know, if dey's bein' fair about it and raisin' da price foah everyone." Spot stopped to take a deep breath.
"Latah, I sold oal a me papes, like always, and I heah from one a me boys dat Jacky's boys are going on strike. I don't believe it, until I see dese boys come up, with dis walkin' mouth 'ere," Spot pointed to David, "And ask me if I wanna join da strike."
Kat looked at Spot for a minute, considering all of this, then turned to Jack. "You, your turn."
"We got's tagetha and decided dat we couldn't win if we only had the Manhattan boys. So, we's sendin' out oal da boys ta see if anyone else's gonna join. We was just askin' Spot here..."
"Got it." Kat commanded, "Stop." She looked Spot in the eye. "Well?"
Spot looked slightly befuddled. "Well what?"
"Are you going to join?" Kat demanded, picking up her sewing bag. When Spot didn't answer immediately, Kat started tapping her foot impatiently. "I don't have all day. I have to go see Melissa, Spot..." Kat trialed off meaningfully.
Spot looked a little huffy. "Well, I don't...I...I's gotta think..." Kat raised an eyebrow. "FINE! I'll join!"
"Good for you." Kat answered, starting to walk off. Before she had gone far she called over her shoulder. "Jack, take Boots back to Manhattan, and I'll say hi to Melissa for you, Spot."
Kat stopped and smiled. "David?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"You may call me Kat."
