A/N: I didn't mean for this chapter to take such a long time. But an
unavoidable, horrible uncontrollable force took over. Something that no
mortal alive can stop.
That's right. School started.
Believe me, I would much rather sit at home and write this thing than get lost in school. But, rules is rules. I'm not going to be able to update very often, I'm sorry. I'll try for once a week/every other week. I can't promise anything. SOME good is coming out of this evil though. I'll be writing longer chapters, so that's good, right?
Shout-outs:
KLOVER: Thanks, man.
MERP: Heh, you'll find out soon enough...SORRY it took so long
ANGELFISH7: Hey, you made me very happy when you said you'll review every chapter (pathetic, I know, but true nonetheless) YAY ok I'm done.
ANGELOFMUSIC2: Hey, dude, keep your HP muses outta my newsies. They don't get along well, stupid
COTTON BLOSSOM: Buddy, those were just me muses...I hate them, but love them R!Muse: I hoid dat!
ME: Honestly, I know you're not reading this, but this is a message to future flamers: Be CREATIVE in insulting my works! It's much more enjoyable than just "yuck"
$PELL*: I'm glad you kept reading instead of giving up! Thanks!
Dedication: This chap is dedicated to Angelfish7 for saying she was gonna review every chapter :)
Onward to the story!
**********************
Chapter 7: Shadows of the Past
Racetrack had finished selling his papers and was watching the horse races. He had told himself he wouldn't bet on the horses and would just wait for Spot to come. Yeah, right.
His horse was neck-and-neck with another horse. He was leaning forward in his seat, his ass barely touching the chair, stretched over the person in front of him, oblivious to the man yelling at him for dropping cigar ash on his shirt, screaming, "Run, you fucking bastard! RUN!!"
They were six yards away from the finish line. His horse was in the lead. Then the other was. Then his. It looked like a photo finish. He anxiously awaited the results, chewing on the end of his cigar, practically leaning on top of the man in front of him.
"Fuckin' asshole." Racetrack jumped a foot in the air and ended up in the sooty man's lap. He heard cackling, and looked up to see Spot. The man whose lap Race was sitting in stood up, causing Race to spill onto the floor and Spot to cackle louder. Racetrack stood up, beet-red, and mumbled an apology to the pissed-off, ashy man as he jumped over the bench to his seat.
He glared at Spot. "Da hell's ya problem? I don' even know who won, now!"
Spot raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Wat's MY problem? I got tiad a waitin' foa yous ta come back ta da real woild, dat's wat." She shook her head. "Numba twelve won."
Race grabbed his hat. "Ya shoa, right?
"No, I just said dat foa me own pleasure."
Racetrack whooped with joy. He'd won! And he'd had a lot of money on that horse, too! Without really thinking, he grabbed Spot and kissed her. When he pulled away, Spot had a look of absolute disbelief on her face. That look quickly turned to anger. She snarled and grabbed Race by the collar.
As he was dragged out of and away from the tracks, he yelled, "Hey! I gotta get me money!"
Spot stopped and stared at Race, amazed at his stupidity. She was about ready to kill him, and he had the nerve to say he had to get his money? But, Spot's more sensible side argued, knowing Race, he put all of his money on that horse and wouldn't have anything to buy papes with tomorrow.
Racetrack, thinking Spot was going to murder him, was surprised to find himself in front of the bookie. "Get ya money, quick," she growled, and stalked off to a spot a few feet away.
"What'd ya do to get on Spot's bad side? I wouldn't want to be you right about now," the bookie said to Racetrack as he paid up.
"Huh?"
"Spot Conlon ova there don' look too happy."
For the first time that day, Race looked at Spot, REALLY looked at her. His heart sunk. He was so positive that Spot would come as Patricia. No wonder she was that angry that Race had kissed her.
Spot stalked back over and grabbed Race by the hair. "Got ya money?"
"Yeah," Race whimpered.
"Then let's go." She not-so-politely yanked him by the hair to the alley they had been in when Racetrack had kissed Spot for the first time. She threw him onto the floor and hissed, "Explain yourself."
He stared up at Spot. She was fingering her cane, eyes glinting dangerously. He gulped. "I, s-see, I..." He cleared his throat nervously. "S-sometimes, when I'm at da races, I get caught up in da moment an' foget where I am. Yous can ask any a da guys, most a dem have been kissed at least once by me...I'm sorry?" he said pitifully.
Spot snorted with derision. She whipped out her cane. "So dat gave yous da right ta kiss ME in front a everyone?!" she roared. She advanced on Racetrack. He curled into a ball, protecting his face with his arms, preparing himself for the blow-
It never came. Racetrack cautiously uncurled himself and looked over at her. She was leaning against the wall, staring off into a space that only she could see. Her eyes were watery with tears.
Race crawled over to her. "Spot? Wat's wrong?"
"I'm sorry Race. I didn' mean to."
"Mean ta wat?" Spot didn't answer. "Wat happened, Spot?"
"It's sometin', Sometin' THEY woulda done."
"'They' who?"
"Me parents."
"Wat?"
"You hoid me." Spot looked at Race. "Me parents would do sometin' like dat."
"Yous wanna tell me about it?" Racetrack asked gently.
"No. But I gotta." Spot sighed, and returned her gaze to that faraway place. "Don' talk till I'm finished." She closed her eyes, thought for a while, nodded to herself, and opened her eyes again.
"When I was born, me mudda an' me fadda din' want me. They had wanted a boy, anudda son ta help 'em get money. They thought a goil was useless 'cept ta have kids. They was gonna trow me inta da streets, 'cept foa me brudda. He was a couple yeas older'n me, and loved me more dan anytin' else. So, they kept me around. They was neva nice ta me. Eva since I can rememba, dey beat me. Me brudda'd stick up foa me wen he could, but he couldn' be everywhere. He woiked durin' the day.
"Me mudda usually jus' yelled at me an' told me ta stay outta her way durin' the day. She'd order me around sometimes an' slap me if I took too long. But me fadda...." Spot closed her eyes, remembering what it used to be like.
"Me fadda woiked durin' the day. He woiked lata dan me brudda. Sometimes he'd come back wen I was asleep. Some nights he was drunk. I wouldn' sleep foa long. Foist he'd drag me outta bed an' yell at me foa a while. Den he'd soak me. He'd soak me so bad sometimes, I couldn' even move. Den he'd jus leave me dere. Some nights, I wished I'd jus die an' get it over with. I fought back nce in a while. Got in a good punch o two. But dat jus' made 'im madder. I was always too weak ta really fight back.
"I don' tink me brudda knew abou' dat in da beginning. He ws pretty young hisself aroun' den. But as he got olda, he noticed tings. Like sometimes I'd moan in pain wen he kissed me goodbye in da mornins. Or how I was so covered in bruises dat some days I couldn' hug him widout screamin'. He didn' say anytin' ta me, dough. As long as he could protect me wen he could, it was good enough foa him.
"One night, me fadda came stormin' inta da house, real pissed. He grabbed me an' started shakin' me, yellin', 'You got me fired! I'm fired, an' it's all YOUR fault! Stupid bitch!' He punched me ribs an' broke a couple bones. Maybe he woulda killed me. But all dat yellin' had woke me brudda up. He slept in da same room as me but slept trough almost anytin'. He saw me fadda really hoitin' me an' me cryin' an' askin' him ta stop, an' he jus got so angry. He grabbed me fadda an' punched him. Knocked out a tooth. Me fadda seemed shocked. Den he jus yelled foa me an' Patrick ta get out. I couldn' move, so Pat picked me up an' carried me away, me fadda screamin' an' trowin' tings. I neva saw eida of me parents since den. I hope dey died," she spat bitterly.
There was a pause. Racetrack said softly, "Is dat it?"
"I ain't done yet." Spot's voice was thick, like she was going to start crying any minute. "Don' interrupt."
~flashback~
A tall, red-haired, green-eyed boy in his late teens was walking down the street. In his arms was a small girl, only about ten, crying and trying not to cry at the same time. The boy stopped at a corner and gently placed the girl on the sidewalk. "can ye stand on yer own, Colleen?" His voice had a thick Irish accent.
The girl nodded miserably, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
He smiled and tweaked her nose. "That's my little lass. Stay here, I have to check something. I'll be right back."
"Ok, Patwick," the little girl said, smiling at her brother. Patrick ruffled her hair, then walked away. Colleen interested herself in a tuft of grass growing through the cobblestones.
"Well, what have we here." Two fifteen-year-olds walked towards her. She scowled at them and continued to pull the grass out of the cracks.
"Aw, where's ya mannas, girly?" the one who'd spoken before said, and both of them walked up to her.
"Same place as yours," Colleen muttered, more to herself than the two boys.
The other boy tutted. "Such a smart mouth foa a young goil. We should change dat, don't you tink?"
"I do indeed, my friend." The taller of the two, who was also the one who had spoken first, reached out to touch her skirt.
"Don't touch me," the little girl growled.
The two boys laughed. "Ya hea that? She thinks she's a little tough thing. Well we just hafta fix that." The taller boy grabbed Colleen and pulled her to her feet.
The second boy began to pull Colleen's shirt off. Colleen screeched, "Patwick! Pat! Help!"
They laughed again. "Aw, she's callin' foa her big bad brudda ta come an' save her. Where's Patty now, huh sweetheart?"
Patrick came running from behind the two boys. He grabbed the one not holding his sister and threw him into a pile of boxes. Tall one dropped Colleen and balled his hands into fists.
"Colleen, run!" yelled Pat, throwing a punch and hitting the person in the jaw. Colleen cowered on the ground, not moving. The second boy grabbed Patrick from behind, choking him. Patrick threw himself onto his back to crush his attacker. "RUN!" he repeated, lunging at the first boy and knocking him onto his back.
Colleen stood up and bolted around the corner. Once there, she changed her mind and crept back and hid behind a pile of boxes to watch the fight.
~present~
Tears were flowing freely down Spot's face now. "Those two asses were clearly no match foa me brudda. He was doin' a good job a beatin' the shit outta the two of 'em. But-" she gave a shuddering sob, "but dose two fuckers din' play fair.
"One a da guys drew me brudda away from da otha one. Wen Pat's back was toined, that motha-fuckin' son of a bitch pulled out a switchblade. He stabbed me brudda in the back." Spot winced as the anguished cry of her brother resonated in her head. She could still see the look of horror on his face as the knife entered his flesh, and the satisfied look on the others' faces as Patrick hit the ground.
Spot rubbed her eyes. "I know if I wasn't a goil, dey wouldn'a bothaed wid me. Jus' like if I was a boy me fadda wouldn'a beat me. An' me brudda'd still be alive." Her voice took on a hysterical pitch. "Me brudda was da only poisen who loved me, an' cared foa me, an' 'cause a dat, he's dead now." She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself down.
When she spoke, her voice was strong and steady. "I had ta prove dos bastards wrong. Even dough I'm a goil, I'm da most feahed leada anywhere. Now anybody in dey're right mind tinks twice before messin' wid Spot Conlon."
Spot looked over at Race and was relieved to see his face was expressionless. If he'd looked like he pitied her, she probably would have soaked him. She couldn't stand getting sympathy from people. But, Race knew that about her.
There was a moment of comfortable silence. Racetrack lit a cigar he'd swiped from the man he'd fallen on. Spot and Race's eyes met, and their gazes held. They unknowingly crept slowly towards each other until their mouths were mere inches apart.
Spot seemed to realize what she was about to do, so to cover up for it she grabbed Race's cigar and stuck it in her mouth.
Race was very disappointed. He was about to get a kiss from her that SHE actually agreed to, too. But she chickened out. 'Goddamnit, why couldn't she just kiss me?' he thought, perturbed. 'I mean, there's no way in hell that was just some sort of weird, twisted trick. Nobody could fake that look of longing.' The eyes were always the hardest to control.
But she likes Mush, doesn't she? Remembering the whole reason he had wanted to meet Spot in the first place, he turned to tell Spot about what he'd found out.
She wasn't there. Race looked wildly around the alley, then ran out and stared down the street. He saw Spot's retreating figure. Overcome with irritation, he slammed his fist into the wall and let out an indistinguishable moan. Spot stopped walking for a moment, but didn't turn around, and continued on to her lodging house.
Not caring who was staring, Racetrack whirled around and ran back to Manhattan. He tried to outrun his troubles, but found he couldn't. When he reached Kloppman's, instead of going in, he sat in front of the door and cried, tears of frustration pouring down his face.
***********************
O.o I did NOT at all mean for it to end like that. My stupid Specs!Muse took over and made me do it. Don't blame ME if you don't like it, blame HIM. Honestly, I had a happy little ending planned out, but then he took over.
There's a lot of OOC-ness in this chapter: that's because for Spot, Patrick was the only person who REALLY cared about her, and for Race, well love makes people do strange things. And sorry if the chap kinda sounded Mary- Sueish
Review and I'll be incredibly pleased. And to make me pleased even more so, make your reviews creative because then that makes my better muses come out and Specs!Muse goes back to making out with Dutchy!Muse. Odd request, I agree, but it'd make me REAL happy.
Enough of my brainless rantings that you care not about, see you later! ::kills Specs!Muse::
Much love,
~Liams Kitten~
That's right. School started.
Believe me, I would much rather sit at home and write this thing than get lost in school. But, rules is rules. I'm not going to be able to update very often, I'm sorry. I'll try for once a week/every other week. I can't promise anything. SOME good is coming out of this evil though. I'll be writing longer chapters, so that's good, right?
Shout-outs:
KLOVER: Thanks, man.
MERP: Heh, you'll find out soon enough...SORRY it took so long
ANGELFISH7: Hey, you made me very happy when you said you'll review every chapter (pathetic, I know, but true nonetheless) YAY ok I'm done.
ANGELOFMUSIC2: Hey, dude, keep your HP muses outta my newsies. They don't get along well, stupid
COTTON BLOSSOM: Buddy, those were just me muses...I hate them, but love them R!Muse: I hoid dat!
ME: Honestly, I know you're not reading this, but this is a message to future flamers: Be CREATIVE in insulting my works! It's much more enjoyable than just "yuck"
$PELL*: I'm glad you kept reading instead of giving up! Thanks!
Dedication: This chap is dedicated to Angelfish7 for saying she was gonna review every chapter :)
Onward to the story!
**********************
Chapter 7: Shadows of the Past
Racetrack had finished selling his papers and was watching the horse races. He had told himself he wouldn't bet on the horses and would just wait for Spot to come. Yeah, right.
His horse was neck-and-neck with another horse. He was leaning forward in his seat, his ass barely touching the chair, stretched over the person in front of him, oblivious to the man yelling at him for dropping cigar ash on his shirt, screaming, "Run, you fucking bastard! RUN!!"
They were six yards away from the finish line. His horse was in the lead. Then the other was. Then his. It looked like a photo finish. He anxiously awaited the results, chewing on the end of his cigar, practically leaning on top of the man in front of him.
"Fuckin' asshole." Racetrack jumped a foot in the air and ended up in the sooty man's lap. He heard cackling, and looked up to see Spot. The man whose lap Race was sitting in stood up, causing Race to spill onto the floor and Spot to cackle louder. Racetrack stood up, beet-red, and mumbled an apology to the pissed-off, ashy man as he jumped over the bench to his seat.
He glared at Spot. "Da hell's ya problem? I don' even know who won, now!"
Spot raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Wat's MY problem? I got tiad a waitin' foa yous ta come back ta da real woild, dat's wat." She shook her head. "Numba twelve won."
Race grabbed his hat. "Ya shoa, right?
"No, I just said dat foa me own pleasure."
Racetrack whooped with joy. He'd won! And he'd had a lot of money on that horse, too! Without really thinking, he grabbed Spot and kissed her. When he pulled away, Spot had a look of absolute disbelief on her face. That look quickly turned to anger. She snarled and grabbed Race by the collar.
As he was dragged out of and away from the tracks, he yelled, "Hey! I gotta get me money!"
Spot stopped and stared at Race, amazed at his stupidity. She was about ready to kill him, and he had the nerve to say he had to get his money? But, Spot's more sensible side argued, knowing Race, he put all of his money on that horse and wouldn't have anything to buy papes with tomorrow.
Racetrack, thinking Spot was going to murder him, was surprised to find himself in front of the bookie. "Get ya money, quick," she growled, and stalked off to a spot a few feet away.
"What'd ya do to get on Spot's bad side? I wouldn't want to be you right about now," the bookie said to Racetrack as he paid up.
"Huh?"
"Spot Conlon ova there don' look too happy."
For the first time that day, Race looked at Spot, REALLY looked at her. His heart sunk. He was so positive that Spot would come as Patricia. No wonder she was that angry that Race had kissed her.
Spot stalked back over and grabbed Race by the hair. "Got ya money?"
"Yeah," Race whimpered.
"Then let's go." She not-so-politely yanked him by the hair to the alley they had been in when Racetrack had kissed Spot for the first time. She threw him onto the floor and hissed, "Explain yourself."
He stared up at Spot. She was fingering her cane, eyes glinting dangerously. He gulped. "I, s-see, I..." He cleared his throat nervously. "S-sometimes, when I'm at da races, I get caught up in da moment an' foget where I am. Yous can ask any a da guys, most a dem have been kissed at least once by me...I'm sorry?" he said pitifully.
Spot snorted with derision. She whipped out her cane. "So dat gave yous da right ta kiss ME in front a everyone?!" she roared. She advanced on Racetrack. He curled into a ball, protecting his face with his arms, preparing himself for the blow-
It never came. Racetrack cautiously uncurled himself and looked over at her. She was leaning against the wall, staring off into a space that only she could see. Her eyes were watery with tears.
Race crawled over to her. "Spot? Wat's wrong?"
"I'm sorry Race. I didn' mean to."
"Mean ta wat?" Spot didn't answer. "Wat happened, Spot?"
"It's sometin', Sometin' THEY woulda done."
"'They' who?"
"Me parents."
"Wat?"
"You hoid me." Spot looked at Race. "Me parents would do sometin' like dat."
"Yous wanna tell me about it?" Racetrack asked gently.
"No. But I gotta." Spot sighed, and returned her gaze to that faraway place. "Don' talk till I'm finished." She closed her eyes, thought for a while, nodded to herself, and opened her eyes again.
"When I was born, me mudda an' me fadda din' want me. They had wanted a boy, anudda son ta help 'em get money. They thought a goil was useless 'cept ta have kids. They was gonna trow me inta da streets, 'cept foa me brudda. He was a couple yeas older'n me, and loved me more dan anytin' else. So, they kept me around. They was neva nice ta me. Eva since I can rememba, dey beat me. Me brudda'd stick up foa me wen he could, but he couldn' be everywhere. He woiked durin' the day.
"Me mudda usually jus' yelled at me an' told me ta stay outta her way durin' the day. She'd order me around sometimes an' slap me if I took too long. But me fadda...." Spot closed her eyes, remembering what it used to be like.
"Me fadda woiked durin' the day. He woiked lata dan me brudda. Sometimes he'd come back wen I was asleep. Some nights he was drunk. I wouldn' sleep foa long. Foist he'd drag me outta bed an' yell at me foa a while. Den he'd soak me. He'd soak me so bad sometimes, I couldn' even move. Den he'd jus leave me dere. Some nights, I wished I'd jus die an' get it over with. I fought back nce in a while. Got in a good punch o two. But dat jus' made 'im madder. I was always too weak ta really fight back.
"I don' tink me brudda knew abou' dat in da beginning. He ws pretty young hisself aroun' den. But as he got olda, he noticed tings. Like sometimes I'd moan in pain wen he kissed me goodbye in da mornins. Or how I was so covered in bruises dat some days I couldn' hug him widout screamin'. He didn' say anytin' ta me, dough. As long as he could protect me wen he could, it was good enough foa him.
"One night, me fadda came stormin' inta da house, real pissed. He grabbed me an' started shakin' me, yellin', 'You got me fired! I'm fired, an' it's all YOUR fault! Stupid bitch!' He punched me ribs an' broke a couple bones. Maybe he woulda killed me. But all dat yellin' had woke me brudda up. He slept in da same room as me but slept trough almost anytin'. He saw me fadda really hoitin' me an' me cryin' an' askin' him ta stop, an' he jus got so angry. He grabbed me fadda an' punched him. Knocked out a tooth. Me fadda seemed shocked. Den he jus yelled foa me an' Patrick ta get out. I couldn' move, so Pat picked me up an' carried me away, me fadda screamin' an' trowin' tings. I neva saw eida of me parents since den. I hope dey died," she spat bitterly.
There was a pause. Racetrack said softly, "Is dat it?"
"I ain't done yet." Spot's voice was thick, like she was going to start crying any minute. "Don' interrupt."
~flashback~
A tall, red-haired, green-eyed boy in his late teens was walking down the street. In his arms was a small girl, only about ten, crying and trying not to cry at the same time. The boy stopped at a corner and gently placed the girl on the sidewalk. "can ye stand on yer own, Colleen?" His voice had a thick Irish accent.
The girl nodded miserably, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
He smiled and tweaked her nose. "That's my little lass. Stay here, I have to check something. I'll be right back."
"Ok, Patwick," the little girl said, smiling at her brother. Patrick ruffled her hair, then walked away. Colleen interested herself in a tuft of grass growing through the cobblestones.
"Well, what have we here." Two fifteen-year-olds walked towards her. She scowled at them and continued to pull the grass out of the cracks.
"Aw, where's ya mannas, girly?" the one who'd spoken before said, and both of them walked up to her.
"Same place as yours," Colleen muttered, more to herself than the two boys.
The other boy tutted. "Such a smart mouth foa a young goil. We should change dat, don't you tink?"
"I do indeed, my friend." The taller of the two, who was also the one who had spoken first, reached out to touch her skirt.
"Don't touch me," the little girl growled.
The two boys laughed. "Ya hea that? She thinks she's a little tough thing. Well we just hafta fix that." The taller boy grabbed Colleen and pulled her to her feet.
The second boy began to pull Colleen's shirt off. Colleen screeched, "Patwick! Pat! Help!"
They laughed again. "Aw, she's callin' foa her big bad brudda ta come an' save her. Where's Patty now, huh sweetheart?"
Patrick came running from behind the two boys. He grabbed the one not holding his sister and threw him into a pile of boxes. Tall one dropped Colleen and balled his hands into fists.
"Colleen, run!" yelled Pat, throwing a punch and hitting the person in the jaw. Colleen cowered on the ground, not moving. The second boy grabbed Patrick from behind, choking him. Patrick threw himself onto his back to crush his attacker. "RUN!" he repeated, lunging at the first boy and knocking him onto his back.
Colleen stood up and bolted around the corner. Once there, she changed her mind and crept back and hid behind a pile of boxes to watch the fight.
~present~
Tears were flowing freely down Spot's face now. "Those two asses were clearly no match foa me brudda. He was doin' a good job a beatin' the shit outta the two of 'em. But-" she gave a shuddering sob, "but dose two fuckers din' play fair.
"One a da guys drew me brudda away from da otha one. Wen Pat's back was toined, that motha-fuckin' son of a bitch pulled out a switchblade. He stabbed me brudda in the back." Spot winced as the anguished cry of her brother resonated in her head. She could still see the look of horror on his face as the knife entered his flesh, and the satisfied look on the others' faces as Patrick hit the ground.
Spot rubbed her eyes. "I know if I wasn't a goil, dey wouldn'a bothaed wid me. Jus' like if I was a boy me fadda wouldn'a beat me. An' me brudda'd still be alive." Her voice took on a hysterical pitch. "Me brudda was da only poisen who loved me, an' cared foa me, an' 'cause a dat, he's dead now." She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself down.
When she spoke, her voice was strong and steady. "I had ta prove dos bastards wrong. Even dough I'm a goil, I'm da most feahed leada anywhere. Now anybody in dey're right mind tinks twice before messin' wid Spot Conlon."
Spot looked over at Race and was relieved to see his face was expressionless. If he'd looked like he pitied her, she probably would have soaked him. She couldn't stand getting sympathy from people. But, Race knew that about her.
There was a moment of comfortable silence. Racetrack lit a cigar he'd swiped from the man he'd fallen on. Spot and Race's eyes met, and their gazes held. They unknowingly crept slowly towards each other until their mouths were mere inches apart.
Spot seemed to realize what she was about to do, so to cover up for it she grabbed Race's cigar and stuck it in her mouth.
Race was very disappointed. He was about to get a kiss from her that SHE actually agreed to, too. But she chickened out. 'Goddamnit, why couldn't she just kiss me?' he thought, perturbed. 'I mean, there's no way in hell that was just some sort of weird, twisted trick. Nobody could fake that look of longing.' The eyes were always the hardest to control.
But she likes Mush, doesn't she? Remembering the whole reason he had wanted to meet Spot in the first place, he turned to tell Spot about what he'd found out.
She wasn't there. Race looked wildly around the alley, then ran out and stared down the street. He saw Spot's retreating figure. Overcome with irritation, he slammed his fist into the wall and let out an indistinguishable moan. Spot stopped walking for a moment, but didn't turn around, and continued on to her lodging house.
Not caring who was staring, Racetrack whirled around and ran back to Manhattan. He tried to outrun his troubles, but found he couldn't. When he reached Kloppman's, instead of going in, he sat in front of the door and cried, tears of frustration pouring down his face.
***********************
O.o I did NOT at all mean for it to end like that. My stupid Specs!Muse took over and made me do it. Don't blame ME if you don't like it, blame HIM. Honestly, I had a happy little ending planned out, but then he took over.
There's a lot of OOC-ness in this chapter: that's because for Spot, Patrick was the only person who REALLY cared about her, and for Race, well love makes people do strange things. And sorry if the chap kinda sounded Mary- Sueish
Review and I'll be incredibly pleased. And to make me pleased even more so, make your reviews creative because then that makes my better muses come out and Specs!Muse goes back to making out with Dutchy!Muse. Odd request, I agree, but it'd make me REAL happy.
Enough of my brainless rantings that you care not about, see you later! ::kills Specs!Muse::
Much love,
~Liams Kitten~