A/N: This chapter took longer than expected, oh well. I like this chapter
:) So should you.
Shout-outs!
ANGELOFMUSIC2: You're psychotic and mental, but then again you're related to me so what can you expect? Heh, Fes :P
COTTON BLOSSOM: Happy Jewish holidays that've passed! Yep, buddy.
ANGELFISH7: Thanks for complimenting my story so much! It's honored, as am I. And Spot would be too, if he accepted the fact that I made him a girl
Spot!Muse: ::growls::
KLOVER: Thanks. Yep.
POISONOUS: Hey, thanks, sorry you're going through withdrawal, but, you're part of the reason I took so long in posting :) We've got a special guest to do something special for you. Ready guys?
R!Muse: We're ready.
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Birthday to you! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Birthday To you! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: BIRTHDAY Dear SARAH!!!!!! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!
Boots: And mannnnnny moore!!!!!! ::gives Sarah a rose::
LK: Nicely done, Boots. You can go now.
D!Muse: Hey, how come HE can go?
LK: Cause he's not a Muse.
Boots: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!
Dedication: Chapter dedicated to Sarah since it was her birthday :D
*****************************
Chapter 8: Finally Coming Clean
Everyone at the Manhattan lodging house was just hanging out after a day of bad headlines. Several were involved in a poker game where Racetrack was losing all of his money.
"Damn it."
"Race, wat's eatin' you?" Jack asked as he collected his winnings from the others.
"Nothin'."
The game went on. Dutchy called one of Race's bluffs. Racetrack's jaw dropped open. "How da hell did yous know dat?" he asked in astonishment.
Dutchy shrugged. "It was written on ya face."
Race shook his head. "I'm out," he said, pushing his chair back. There was a collective gasp.
"Yous NEVA bail outta a game, Race!" Snipeshooter said.
"Yeah, well, dere's a foist time fa everythin'." He walked over to a couch and plopped down. He dug through his pockets, looking for a cigar, only to find he didn't have one. "Shiiiiiiit."
Someone stuck a cigar into his vision. He looked up to see Jack holding it out to him. "Tanks," he murmured and stuck it in his mouth.
"Wat's up, Race?"
"Da ceilin'."
"Wat's wrong?"
"Dat's a matta of opinion."
"What's the matta?"
"Wat's a matta wich you?"
"Race!"
"Jack!"
Jack was about to say something else, when somebody knocked on the door. The room went silent. Nobody ever knocked on the door. They just waltzed in and made themselves at home. A murmur went up around the room.
"Who would knock?"
"Maybe da bulls?"
"Why would da bulls KNOCK?"
"Wat do we do?"
A second, louder knock made them stop talking and look at the door again.
"Mush, go get the door," Jack commanded.
Mush's eyes widened. "Why me?" he asked, sounding pathetic and scared.
"Jus' do it, Mush."
"Go on, Mushee, it's not dat bad," Blink said, kissing Mush on the forehead and causing several boys to go "aw."
""I don' see yous volunteerin'."
"Come on, Mush."
Mush was about to protest when, for the third time, the door was knocked on. It sounded like the person had started to lose their patience. Reluctantly, Mush got up and walked over to the door. Everyone waited with baited breath. He slowly opened the door.
He did a double-take when he saw the person on the other side of the door. If it wasn't for the fact that she had red hair and was *obviously* a girl, he'd swear he was staring at Spot Conlon. "Uh, c-can I help yous?"
She smiled at him. "I was wonderin' if I could speak with Racetrack Higgins," she said. She had an incredibly thick Irish accent.
"Yeah, shoa. Um, are you Spot's cousin? Patricia?"
Her smile grew. "I am, lad," she said. He couldn't help but smile when she said, "And ye, of course, are Mush Meyers, ye adorable little lad."
He let her in. "Racetrack, somebody's hea ta see yous."
Racetrack was gawking at Spot. Everyone else in the room was focusing their attention on the two of them.
"Didn't anyone ever tell ye it's not polite to stare?" Spot said simply, waiting for Racetrack to find his voice.
He swallowed and stammered out a "H-hello..."
He smiled sweetly at him and said, "I wanted to talk with ye, if that's all right with yer friends." She winked at him. He blushed, nodded, and motioned for her to sit on a couch with him.
"I was actually hoping for a more...PRIVATE place, if you know what I mean," she said, winking again. A few of the newsboys made cat-calls and whistled.
Racetrack blushed deeper but nodded. He placed Jack's cigar in his mouth, took hold of Spot's elbow and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. At the top he called down, "Don' distoib us unless ya wanna see sometin' ya'd regret foa da rest a ya life!"
"Wat da hell does DAT mean?" Skittery asked irritably.
"Tink about it, Skitts," Jack said over the laughter.
Skittery's face scrunched up in thought, then stretched into a horrified look. "Oh! Ew, too much!" He shuddered convulsively.
"Oh, stop bein' a baby," Jack said, pushing Skittery off of the couch and onto the floor. "Like nobody else has done dat in dere before." When all Jack got from Skitts was another disgusted look, Jack said, "Geez, yous really are glum AND dumb!"
*****************************
"Yous can do a Irish accent?" Race asked, sitting on his bed. Spot sat on the one across from him.
"Well I DID live wid tree people who had Irish accents AND I also loined how ta talk from dem, so maybe da real question is, 'yous can do a Brooklyn accent?'"
Racetrack rolled his eyes as Spot. She grabbed his cigar out of his mouth, put it out, and chucked it out the window.
"Wat da hell was dat?" Race asked, running to the window to watch his cigar get run over by a carriage.
She shrugged. "I always wanted ta do dat. So, wat'd ya mean by 'don' come up hea'?"
Racetrack raised an eyebrow. Why does she care? "I jus' needed a a way ta keep 'em away from hea. Why?"
Spot glared at him. She didn't answer. Racetrack pulled his harmonica out of his pocket and began to flip it in the air and catch it, a habit he had sometimes to calm his nerves. He was preparing himself to speak.
Flip, catch. Flip, catch.
"So, wat did yous come hea ta talk ta me about?"
Flip, catch. Flip, catch.
"I figured you'd forgotten ta tell me somethin' dis aftanoon."
"Oh yeah. Mush ain't single. He got Blink."
Flip, catch.
"Took him long enough."
Near-miss that time.
"Wat?"
"I said, it took Mush and Blink long enough ta get tagedda."
"So...you knew?"
She nodded.
Faster now. Flip-catch, flip-catch.
"But din' yous say you like him?"
Flip-catch.
"Oh shoa, I LIKE Mush." She leaned in close. "But you know wat?"
Race shook his head.
"I LOVE yous."
CRASH
Racetrack's jaw hit the floor along with his harmonica. "WAT?!"
"Ya know, Race, ya really should get ya hearin' checked."
"Bu-but ya ...and...uh..." he stammered. Spot raised her eyebrows. He gulped. "So...so, uh, yeah, um...why?"
Spot stared at Race like he had completely lost his mind. Race felt his face burn, and he murmured, "F-fahget it." Spot held up a hand and said, "No, you desoive ta know."
She cocked her head to one side and said, "Da foist day yous joined da Brooklyn newsies I liked yous. I could neva tell yous since, ya know, ya thought I was a boy. Maybe I woulda told ya evenchally, but den ya left Brooklyn ta be a newsie foa Jackie-boy. I don' know WHY ya left Brooklyn. But I guess yous can say the past few days have been sorta 'payback'." She grinned impishly at him.
His mouth still hung open. She had LIKED him, and yet she'd DONE that to him?!
"Bu-but....But..."
"Come on, Racey, form a sentence. Ain't dat hard."
"But you...uh but yous...an-" His babble was cut off when Spot pressed her lips against his. His eyes widened in surprise, then closed as the kiss became more passionate.
He pulled off her wig and tangled his fingers in her hair. She began to pull his suspenders off of his shoulders. He stopped kissing her for a minute and raised an eyebrow. She smirked mischievously at him and pulled him onto his bed. They continued kissing, unclothing each other.
Race stopped suddenly and said, "Wait, I wanna know somethin'!"
"Oh, NOW you can talk?"
"Wat's ya real name?"
"Well, TONY," the Irish accent came back, "it's Colleen."
He grinned at her and whispered, "I love ya, Colleen."
They resumed their kissing. After a while, though, they were doing a lot more than just kissing.
*****************************
Back in the common area, Mush was sitting on a chair, gnawing on a thumbnail. His brow was furrowed in thought.
"Hey, watcha thinkin' 'bout?" Blink asked, walking over and sitting on Mush's lap.
"Hm? Oh, nothin'."
"Liar. Wat is it?"
Mush spat out the piece of nail he'd been chewing. He looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then said softly, "Did ya happen ta notice anytin'...ODD about Spot's cousin?"
"Ya mean aside from da fact dat she looks like Spot wid breasts? No, not really."
"So it's not just me." Mush sat up straighter in the chair. "Did yous see wat she had around her waist?"
"Why was yous lookin' at her waist, Mushee?"
Mush lightly smacked Blink. "Be serious hea, Kid!"
"Okay, sorry. I, unlike some people, didn't stare at Patricia's waist long enough ta see wat she had around it. But my guess is, like most goils, she had a stringlike ting ta hold her skirt up."
Mush shook his head. "Dat's wat I tought. But I don' tink so. I tink I saw sometin' shine off a dem. Sometin' metally." She let that sink in, then said carefully, "Wat color was da sash? An' wat color suspenders does Spot wear?"
Blink's eye widened as a look of comprehension crossed his face. "So wat're yous sayin'? Spot an' Patricia is da same poisen?"
"Dat's wat it seems like. But it can't be right? 'Cause Spot ain't a goil. An' Patricia ain't a boy. But maybe one is both. Well not both, but yous know wat I mean. But dat ain't possible...is it?"
"Did anyone eva tell you how cute ya get when yous is confused?"
"BLINK! Come on, wat do yous tink?"
"Um...I really don' know, Mush."
Mush's forehead wrinkled even more. Blink shifted his weight on Mush to get more comfortable. Mush winced in pain and said, "Oh god. Blink, you're crushing my legs."
"You just now realize I'm sittin' on yous?"
"Ah, get off."
"Nah, I kinda like it hea." Blink picked his feet up off the floor and centered his weight in the middle of Mush's legs.
"Hey, I warned yous." That said, Mush shoved Blink off of his lap and onto the floor.
"Ow, Musheee, dat hoit!" Blink said, trying to sound angry but failing miserably since they both began laughing. Blink was lying flat on the floor, trying to catch his breath, while Mush curled himself up in the chair and giggled. All of a sudden, though, Blink stopped laughing and sat up. "Mush!"
"Wat is it, Blink?"
The excitement on Blink's face grew. "Oh my God, Mush!"
"Wat?"
"MUSH! MUSH! MUSH!"
"WAT!?!"
Blink was shaking excitedly and he leaned in close to Mush. "A while ago, I tink two weeks or somethin', I seen Race wid some goil in dis alley. Dey was kissin' an' I remember only seein' da back a her head but she had really short hair and was short herself. And," he said, cutting off Mush who seemed about to say something, "when I asked him who she was after, d'ya know wat he said? 'An old friend'."
Mush leaned closer. "Blink, yous a genius!"
He smiled. "Yeah, I know. Wat should we do about it, though?"
"Do about wat?"
"Knowing dat Spot ain't a guy."
"Shh. Don' say dat hea. Sombody might hea yous." Mush seemed anxious all of a sudden. "Besides, we don' know foa shoa. Maybe it ain't even true."
Blink's excitement left him. "But, but why Mushee? Don' ya wanna find out?"
"I tink it'd be betta if we found out a little moa before we did anytin'."
Blink sighed. "Aright, Mush. But only cause I love ya."
*****************************
A/N: That was fun. Really it was. Did anyone ever notice how SHORT Kid is?
And now I need your opinion on something.
Spot!Muse: Don' do it, Alanna!
LK: Fine, I won't. Racetrack!
R!Muse: Yes?
::LK whispers into his ear::
R!Muse: ::smiling evilly:: Why shoa, Alanna. I'd be honored.
Spot!Muse: RACE DON' DO IT!
R!Muse: Da story has reached a crossin' point. It can go one of two ways. One way is more borin' dan th' otha
Spot!Muse: PICK DAT ONE!
R!Muse: But da otha way Alanna would be doin' sometin' she feels is unfogivable.
Spot!Muse: DON' PICK DAT ONE!!!
R!Muse: Please review an' express which one ya'd radda read. An' if ya pick da second one, be willin' ta fogive Alanna. Kay? ::beams:: Tanks!
LK: Isn't he adorable? So you heard him, tell me which way you want the story to go, the way Spot wants it or the better way. I may or may not listen to you, depending on how the way you reviewers pick ends up.
Much love,
~Liams Kitten~
Shout-outs!
ANGELOFMUSIC2: You're psychotic and mental, but then again you're related to me so what can you expect? Heh, Fes :P
COTTON BLOSSOM: Happy Jewish holidays that've passed! Yep, buddy.
ANGELFISH7: Thanks for complimenting my story so much! It's honored, as am I. And Spot would be too, if he accepted the fact that I made him a girl
Spot!Muse: ::growls::
KLOVER: Thanks. Yep.
POISONOUS: Hey, thanks, sorry you're going through withdrawal, but, you're part of the reason I took so long in posting :) We've got a special guest to do something special for you. Ready guys?
R!Muse: We're ready.
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Birthday to you! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: Birthday To you! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: BIRTHDAY Dear SARAH!!!!!! Happy
Boots: Somewhat late
AllMusesAlannaandBoots: BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!
Boots: And mannnnnny moore!!!!!! ::gives Sarah a rose::
LK: Nicely done, Boots. You can go now.
D!Muse: Hey, how come HE can go?
LK: Cause he's not a Muse.
Boots: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!
Dedication: Chapter dedicated to Sarah since it was her birthday :D
*****************************
Chapter 8: Finally Coming Clean
Everyone at the Manhattan lodging house was just hanging out after a day of bad headlines. Several were involved in a poker game where Racetrack was losing all of his money.
"Damn it."
"Race, wat's eatin' you?" Jack asked as he collected his winnings from the others.
"Nothin'."
The game went on. Dutchy called one of Race's bluffs. Racetrack's jaw dropped open. "How da hell did yous know dat?" he asked in astonishment.
Dutchy shrugged. "It was written on ya face."
Race shook his head. "I'm out," he said, pushing his chair back. There was a collective gasp.
"Yous NEVA bail outta a game, Race!" Snipeshooter said.
"Yeah, well, dere's a foist time fa everythin'." He walked over to a couch and plopped down. He dug through his pockets, looking for a cigar, only to find he didn't have one. "Shiiiiiiit."
Someone stuck a cigar into his vision. He looked up to see Jack holding it out to him. "Tanks," he murmured and stuck it in his mouth.
"Wat's up, Race?"
"Da ceilin'."
"Wat's wrong?"
"Dat's a matta of opinion."
"What's the matta?"
"Wat's a matta wich you?"
"Race!"
"Jack!"
Jack was about to say something else, when somebody knocked on the door. The room went silent. Nobody ever knocked on the door. They just waltzed in and made themselves at home. A murmur went up around the room.
"Who would knock?"
"Maybe da bulls?"
"Why would da bulls KNOCK?"
"Wat do we do?"
A second, louder knock made them stop talking and look at the door again.
"Mush, go get the door," Jack commanded.
Mush's eyes widened. "Why me?" he asked, sounding pathetic and scared.
"Jus' do it, Mush."
"Go on, Mushee, it's not dat bad," Blink said, kissing Mush on the forehead and causing several boys to go "aw."
""I don' see yous volunteerin'."
"Come on, Mush."
Mush was about to protest when, for the third time, the door was knocked on. It sounded like the person had started to lose their patience. Reluctantly, Mush got up and walked over to the door. Everyone waited with baited breath. He slowly opened the door.
He did a double-take when he saw the person on the other side of the door. If it wasn't for the fact that she had red hair and was *obviously* a girl, he'd swear he was staring at Spot Conlon. "Uh, c-can I help yous?"
She smiled at him. "I was wonderin' if I could speak with Racetrack Higgins," she said. She had an incredibly thick Irish accent.
"Yeah, shoa. Um, are you Spot's cousin? Patricia?"
Her smile grew. "I am, lad," she said. He couldn't help but smile when she said, "And ye, of course, are Mush Meyers, ye adorable little lad."
He let her in. "Racetrack, somebody's hea ta see yous."
Racetrack was gawking at Spot. Everyone else in the room was focusing their attention on the two of them.
"Didn't anyone ever tell ye it's not polite to stare?" Spot said simply, waiting for Racetrack to find his voice.
He swallowed and stammered out a "H-hello..."
He smiled sweetly at him and said, "I wanted to talk with ye, if that's all right with yer friends." She winked at him. He blushed, nodded, and motioned for her to sit on a couch with him.
"I was actually hoping for a more...PRIVATE place, if you know what I mean," she said, winking again. A few of the newsboys made cat-calls and whistled.
Racetrack blushed deeper but nodded. He placed Jack's cigar in his mouth, took hold of Spot's elbow and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. At the top he called down, "Don' distoib us unless ya wanna see sometin' ya'd regret foa da rest a ya life!"
"Wat da hell does DAT mean?" Skittery asked irritably.
"Tink about it, Skitts," Jack said over the laughter.
Skittery's face scrunched up in thought, then stretched into a horrified look. "Oh! Ew, too much!" He shuddered convulsively.
"Oh, stop bein' a baby," Jack said, pushing Skittery off of the couch and onto the floor. "Like nobody else has done dat in dere before." When all Jack got from Skitts was another disgusted look, Jack said, "Geez, yous really are glum AND dumb!"
*****************************
"Yous can do a Irish accent?" Race asked, sitting on his bed. Spot sat on the one across from him.
"Well I DID live wid tree people who had Irish accents AND I also loined how ta talk from dem, so maybe da real question is, 'yous can do a Brooklyn accent?'"
Racetrack rolled his eyes as Spot. She grabbed his cigar out of his mouth, put it out, and chucked it out the window.
"Wat da hell was dat?" Race asked, running to the window to watch his cigar get run over by a carriage.
She shrugged. "I always wanted ta do dat. So, wat'd ya mean by 'don' come up hea'?"
Racetrack raised an eyebrow. Why does she care? "I jus' needed a a way ta keep 'em away from hea. Why?"
Spot glared at him. She didn't answer. Racetrack pulled his harmonica out of his pocket and began to flip it in the air and catch it, a habit he had sometimes to calm his nerves. He was preparing himself to speak.
Flip, catch. Flip, catch.
"So, wat did yous come hea ta talk ta me about?"
Flip, catch. Flip, catch.
"I figured you'd forgotten ta tell me somethin' dis aftanoon."
"Oh yeah. Mush ain't single. He got Blink."
Flip, catch.
"Took him long enough."
Near-miss that time.
"Wat?"
"I said, it took Mush and Blink long enough ta get tagedda."
"So...you knew?"
She nodded.
Faster now. Flip-catch, flip-catch.
"But din' yous say you like him?"
Flip-catch.
"Oh shoa, I LIKE Mush." She leaned in close. "But you know wat?"
Race shook his head.
"I LOVE yous."
CRASH
Racetrack's jaw hit the floor along with his harmonica. "WAT?!"
"Ya know, Race, ya really should get ya hearin' checked."
"Bu-but ya ...and...uh..." he stammered. Spot raised her eyebrows. He gulped. "So...so, uh, yeah, um...why?"
Spot stared at Race like he had completely lost his mind. Race felt his face burn, and he murmured, "F-fahget it." Spot held up a hand and said, "No, you desoive ta know."
She cocked her head to one side and said, "Da foist day yous joined da Brooklyn newsies I liked yous. I could neva tell yous since, ya know, ya thought I was a boy. Maybe I woulda told ya evenchally, but den ya left Brooklyn ta be a newsie foa Jackie-boy. I don' know WHY ya left Brooklyn. But I guess yous can say the past few days have been sorta 'payback'." She grinned impishly at him.
His mouth still hung open. She had LIKED him, and yet she'd DONE that to him?!
"Bu-but....But..."
"Come on, Racey, form a sentence. Ain't dat hard."
"But you...uh but yous...an-" His babble was cut off when Spot pressed her lips against his. His eyes widened in surprise, then closed as the kiss became more passionate.
He pulled off her wig and tangled his fingers in her hair. She began to pull his suspenders off of his shoulders. He stopped kissing her for a minute and raised an eyebrow. She smirked mischievously at him and pulled him onto his bed. They continued kissing, unclothing each other.
Race stopped suddenly and said, "Wait, I wanna know somethin'!"
"Oh, NOW you can talk?"
"Wat's ya real name?"
"Well, TONY," the Irish accent came back, "it's Colleen."
He grinned at her and whispered, "I love ya, Colleen."
They resumed their kissing. After a while, though, they were doing a lot more than just kissing.
*****************************
Back in the common area, Mush was sitting on a chair, gnawing on a thumbnail. His brow was furrowed in thought.
"Hey, watcha thinkin' 'bout?" Blink asked, walking over and sitting on Mush's lap.
"Hm? Oh, nothin'."
"Liar. Wat is it?"
Mush spat out the piece of nail he'd been chewing. He looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then said softly, "Did ya happen ta notice anytin'...ODD about Spot's cousin?"
"Ya mean aside from da fact dat she looks like Spot wid breasts? No, not really."
"So it's not just me." Mush sat up straighter in the chair. "Did yous see wat she had around her waist?"
"Why was yous lookin' at her waist, Mushee?"
Mush lightly smacked Blink. "Be serious hea, Kid!"
"Okay, sorry. I, unlike some people, didn't stare at Patricia's waist long enough ta see wat she had around it. But my guess is, like most goils, she had a stringlike ting ta hold her skirt up."
Mush shook his head. "Dat's wat I tought. But I don' tink so. I tink I saw sometin' shine off a dem. Sometin' metally." She let that sink in, then said carefully, "Wat color was da sash? An' wat color suspenders does Spot wear?"
Blink's eye widened as a look of comprehension crossed his face. "So wat're yous sayin'? Spot an' Patricia is da same poisen?"
"Dat's wat it seems like. But it can't be right? 'Cause Spot ain't a goil. An' Patricia ain't a boy. But maybe one is both. Well not both, but yous know wat I mean. But dat ain't possible...is it?"
"Did anyone eva tell you how cute ya get when yous is confused?"
"BLINK! Come on, wat do yous tink?"
"Um...I really don' know, Mush."
Mush's forehead wrinkled even more. Blink shifted his weight on Mush to get more comfortable. Mush winced in pain and said, "Oh god. Blink, you're crushing my legs."
"You just now realize I'm sittin' on yous?"
"Ah, get off."
"Nah, I kinda like it hea." Blink picked his feet up off the floor and centered his weight in the middle of Mush's legs.
"Hey, I warned yous." That said, Mush shoved Blink off of his lap and onto the floor.
"Ow, Musheee, dat hoit!" Blink said, trying to sound angry but failing miserably since they both began laughing. Blink was lying flat on the floor, trying to catch his breath, while Mush curled himself up in the chair and giggled. All of a sudden, though, Blink stopped laughing and sat up. "Mush!"
"Wat is it, Blink?"
The excitement on Blink's face grew. "Oh my God, Mush!"
"Wat?"
"MUSH! MUSH! MUSH!"
"WAT!?!"
Blink was shaking excitedly and he leaned in close to Mush. "A while ago, I tink two weeks or somethin', I seen Race wid some goil in dis alley. Dey was kissin' an' I remember only seein' da back a her head but she had really short hair and was short herself. And," he said, cutting off Mush who seemed about to say something, "when I asked him who she was after, d'ya know wat he said? 'An old friend'."
Mush leaned closer. "Blink, yous a genius!"
He smiled. "Yeah, I know. Wat should we do about it, though?"
"Do about wat?"
"Knowing dat Spot ain't a guy."
"Shh. Don' say dat hea. Sombody might hea yous." Mush seemed anxious all of a sudden. "Besides, we don' know foa shoa. Maybe it ain't even true."
Blink's excitement left him. "But, but why Mushee? Don' ya wanna find out?"
"I tink it'd be betta if we found out a little moa before we did anytin'."
Blink sighed. "Aright, Mush. But only cause I love ya."
*****************************
A/N: That was fun. Really it was. Did anyone ever notice how SHORT Kid is?
And now I need your opinion on something.
Spot!Muse: Don' do it, Alanna!
LK: Fine, I won't. Racetrack!
R!Muse: Yes?
::LK whispers into his ear::
R!Muse: ::smiling evilly:: Why shoa, Alanna. I'd be honored.
Spot!Muse: RACE DON' DO IT!
R!Muse: Da story has reached a crossin' point. It can go one of two ways. One way is more borin' dan th' otha
Spot!Muse: PICK DAT ONE!
R!Muse: But da otha way Alanna would be doin' sometin' she feels is unfogivable.
Spot!Muse: DON' PICK DAT ONE!!!
R!Muse: Please review an' express which one ya'd radda read. An' if ya pick da second one, be willin' ta fogive Alanna. Kay? ::beams:: Tanks!
LK: Isn't he adorable? So you heard him, tell me which way you want the story to go, the way Spot wants it or the better way. I may or may not listen to you, depending on how the way you reviewers pick ends up.
Much love,
~Liams Kitten~