Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Medieval Times, or any other media references I may make.
((I thought I'd update sooner so that y'all could have something to read. And I was bored. But yesterday I had a panic attack. It wasn't pretty. Anywho, here's another chapter! I hope it's to your liking and length!))
Chapter 7
Bumlets' PoV
"Buuummmlleeeetttsss!!! Where arrrreee yooouuuu???"
I hid in the corner of the ring, trying to make myself as small as possible so Buckles wouldn't notice me.
"Granny is looking for you! She says it's time for a break!"
I watched in the darkness as her silhouette disappeared through the heavy tarp and into the back room. I slid down to the sandy ground and tied the rope in my hand onto the loop for it.
I panicked spotting Buckles' shadow in the door again. "BUMLETS! It's time for a break! Granny has COOKIES! Are you in here? Where are you Bumlets?" and she left, probably assuming that I was gone and already in line for cookies. Yuck.
I pressed my back against the border of the ring and sighed in relief. Something fell and hit me in the head.
"You really shouldn't sit in the sand like that. Your pants will get dirty," said a voice above me in the stands.
I rubbed my head and picked up the chocolate chip cookie that had hit me. I glanced up.
"Shooter, what are you doing here?" I asked.
Shooter shrugged and leaned back in her seat, resting her legs on the barrier. "I came to find you."
"Won't Buckles be missing you?" Buckles was supposed to be teaching Shooter her job with special effects. She wasn't very good at it.
"Nah, Buckles won't miss me." Shooter took a giant bite out of her own cookie. "Theses are really good," she said through a mouth full of chocolate.
"She won't miss you?"
"She's kinda..." Shooter lowered her voice to a whisper, "ditzy."
I nodded. I knew that.
"But eat your cookie!" she insisted, flourishing her own in my direction.
I scrunched my nose. "I don't like cookies." What were these people's fixations with cookies?
"Eat it!' she demanded, more than coaxed this time, flourishing her cookie more violently now. Shooter took a large bite out of her cookie and grinned.
"Cookies. Are. Gross."
Then she did something I didn't think she'd do. She jumped over the barrier into the ring and sand, and force-fed me my cookie.
"Ew, get it out of my mouth! Get it out!" I sputtered, spitting all over the ground.
"Don't spit on the ground!" Shooter kicked fresh sand over the area of my spitting attack.
"I hate cookies! They're nasty!" I ran my tongue over my teeth and peeled off the remnants.
"I don't know anyone who hates cookies! How can you hate cookies?" Shooter had stopped her Cover-Up-Bumlets'-Spit dance and was facing me now.
"I don't know. I just don't like them."
"Do you like cake?" she tilted her head to the side and blinked.
I nodded. "I just don't like cookies."
For a few seconds we were silent before Shooter cleared her throat, sunk down the ring's wall to the ground, and asked, "Why do they call cookies 'cookies'? It seems like such a funny word."
"There are lots of words like that," I sat down beside her, "like 'moist'."
"Moist," said Shooter, stressing the 'OI'. "How about 'fork'? It's weird too." She said next.
We sat in the ring listing weird sounding words for a while, when all of a sudden the lights turned on. The effect was purely blinding. I squinted my eyes in reaction.
"Stop fooling around you two, it's time to work!" Granny strode into the middle of the ring. "I'm going to teach you how to do the smoke when Magic comes on. It is crucial to turn it on at the correct time for the best effect." Behind her Buckles snickered.
Granny showed us the dry ice machine and warned us not to get any of the ice on our skin. "It will burn so badly," she said.
Buckles flipped a switch and grinned madly as the smoke poured out. "I'm good! I'm good!" she chanted.
When Granny noticed the dry ice machine on, instead of praising Buckles she yelled, "Buckles what are you doing? You're no better at this than these two. You don't know what you're doing!"
"Yes I do, I turned the ice on."
Granny switched the machine off. "Just don't touch this. I'll show you what to do here first." Once again she positioned herself in the centre of the ring. "This is where Magic will be standing," she yelled to us, "you need to direct the fog about here," she pointed a few feet in front of her, "that way the smoke will hit the ground and rise around her. It is very cool to look at if done properly," she said the last parts with special care, ensuring we heard every syllable. "Each of you should have a try."
Shooter stepped up and hit the same switch that Buckles had a few seconds earlier. The Smoke reacted in the way Granny said it would.
"Hey, look, she's better than you Gran!" Buckles grinned from where she sat. Granny ignored her.
"Good job Shooter! Let Bumlets have a try now!"
I stepped up to the machine, positioned it at the place Granny said to, and leaned over. I was interrupted from turning it on by Buckles.
"Ew! What is that gross stuff in the sand? It looks like a chewed up cookie!"
Shooter and I laughed, and I turned on the smoke machine, hiding all evidence of anything on the ground.
((Bumlets doesn't like cookies? How weird is that? How can someone NOT like cookies? Does anyone actually know where the word 'cookie' comes from? Or 'fork'? I'd really like to know. THANKS!)) ((Oh, and R&R!))
Shoutouts: (my favourite part of the story))
AlamariofArda- you ORDER lasagne? I just put that President's Choice stuff in the oven. Weird...
Written Sparks- I'm trying to give each section a chapter. So far I've had bar workers, computer guys, grooms and now special effects people.
Ireland O'Reily- I am terrible at French writing also. I got a 76% in it. That was my LOWEST mark!!! Ahh! And I hate you! You're meeting Snitchy! No fair!
Bobcat:slashgoil- I saw your picture. Cassie's pretty. You think being 5'4" sucks? I'm an inch shorter than you! A whole inch!!!
Madison Square- I love the clueless Snitch!
Cassies-Grandma- do you go to Junior High or whatever? We just have elementary school and high school in Canada. Elementary goes to grade 8 and high school is grade 9-12/that word for 13...OAC or whatever. Basically what I'm saying is that I know everyone in our school and if they like Newsies or not. Well, at least the grade 8s.
((I thought I'd update sooner so that y'all could have something to read. And I was bored. But yesterday I had a panic attack. It wasn't pretty. Anywho, here's another chapter! I hope it's to your liking and length!))
Chapter 7
Bumlets' PoV
"Buuummmlleeeetttsss!!! Where arrrreee yooouuuu???"
I hid in the corner of the ring, trying to make myself as small as possible so Buckles wouldn't notice me.
"Granny is looking for you! She says it's time for a break!"
I watched in the darkness as her silhouette disappeared through the heavy tarp and into the back room. I slid down to the sandy ground and tied the rope in my hand onto the loop for it.
I panicked spotting Buckles' shadow in the door again. "BUMLETS! It's time for a break! Granny has COOKIES! Are you in here? Where are you Bumlets?" and she left, probably assuming that I was gone and already in line for cookies. Yuck.
I pressed my back against the border of the ring and sighed in relief. Something fell and hit me in the head.
"You really shouldn't sit in the sand like that. Your pants will get dirty," said a voice above me in the stands.
I rubbed my head and picked up the chocolate chip cookie that had hit me. I glanced up.
"Shooter, what are you doing here?" I asked.
Shooter shrugged and leaned back in her seat, resting her legs on the barrier. "I came to find you."
"Won't Buckles be missing you?" Buckles was supposed to be teaching Shooter her job with special effects. She wasn't very good at it.
"Nah, Buckles won't miss me." Shooter took a giant bite out of her own cookie. "Theses are really good," she said through a mouth full of chocolate.
"She won't miss you?"
"She's kinda..." Shooter lowered her voice to a whisper, "ditzy."
I nodded. I knew that.
"But eat your cookie!" she insisted, flourishing her own in my direction.
I scrunched my nose. "I don't like cookies." What were these people's fixations with cookies?
"Eat it!' she demanded, more than coaxed this time, flourishing her cookie more violently now. Shooter took a large bite out of her cookie and grinned.
"Cookies. Are. Gross."
Then she did something I didn't think she'd do. She jumped over the barrier into the ring and sand, and force-fed me my cookie.
"Ew, get it out of my mouth! Get it out!" I sputtered, spitting all over the ground.
"Don't spit on the ground!" Shooter kicked fresh sand over the area of my spitting attack.
"I hate cookies! They're nasty!" I ran my tongue over my teeth and peeled off the remnants.
"I don't know anyone who hates cookies! How can you hate cookies?" Shooter had stopped her Cover-Up-Bumlets'-Spit dance and was facing me now.
"I don't know. I just don't like them."
"Do you like cake?" she tilted her head to the side and blinked.
I nodded. "I just don't like cookies."
For a few seconds we were silent before Shooter cleared her throat, sunk down the ring's wall to the ground, and asked, "Why do they call cookies 'cookies'? It seems like such a funny word."
"There are lots of words like that," I sat down beside her, "like 'moist'."
"Moist," said Shooter, stressing the 'OI'. "How about 'fork'? It's weird too." She said next.
We sat in the ring listing weird sounding words for a while, when all of a sudden the lights turned on. The effect was purely blinding. I squinted my eyes in reaction.
"Stop fooling around you two, it's time to work!" Granny strode into the middle of the ring. "I'm going to teach you how to do the smoke when Magic comes on. It is crucial to turn it on at the correct time for the best effect." Behind her Buckles snickered.
Granny showed us the dry ice machine and warned us not to get any of the ice on our skin. "It will burn so badly," she said.
Buckles flipped a switch and grinned madly as the smoke poured out. "I'm good! I'm good!" she chanted.
When Granny noticed the dry ice machine on, instead of praising Buckles she yelled, "Buckles what are you doing? You're no better at this than these two. You don't know what you're doing!"
"Yes I do, I turned the ice on."
Granny switched the machine off. "Just don't touch this. I'll show you what to do here first." Once again she positioned herself in the centre of the ring. "This is where Magic will be standing," she yelled to us, "you need to direct the fog about here," she pointed a few feet in front of her, "that way the smoke will hit the ground and rise around her. It is very cool to look at if done properly," she said the last parts with special care, ensuring we heard every syllable. "Each of you should have a try."
Shooter stepped up and hit the same switch that Buckles had a few seconds earlier. The Smoke reacted in the way Granny said it would.
"Hey, look, she's better than you Gran!" Buckles grinned from where she sat. Granny ignored her.
"Good job Shooter! Let Bumlets have a try now!"
I stepped up to the machine, positioned it at the place Granny said to, and leaned over. I was interrupted from turning it on by Buckles.
"Ew! What is that gross stuff in the sand? It looks like a chewed up cookie!"
Shooter and I laughed, and I turned on the smoke machine, hiding all evidence of anything on the ground.
((Bumlets doesn't like cookies? How weird is that? How can someone NOT like cookies? Does anyone actually know where the word 'cookie' comes from? Or 'fork'? I'd really like to know. THANKS!)) ((Oh, and R&R!))
Shoutouts: (my favourite part of the story))
AlamariofArda- you ORDER lasagne? I just put that President's Choice stuff in the oven. Weird...
Written Sparks- I'm trying to give each section a chapter. So far I've had bar workers, computer guys, grooms and now special effects people.
Ireland O'Reily- I am terrible at French writing also. I got a 76% in it. That was my LOWEST mark!!! Ahh! And I hate you! You're meeting Snitchy! No fair!
Bobcat:slashgoil- I saw your picture. Cassie's pretty. You think being 5'4" sucks? I'm an inch shorter than you! A whole inch!!!
Madison Square- I love the clueless Snitch!
Cassies-Grandma- do you go to Junior High or whatever? We just have elementary school and high school in Canada. Elementary goes to grade 8 and high school is grade 9-12/that word for 13...OAC or whatever. Basically what I'm saying is that I know everyone in our school and if they like Newsies or not. Well, at least the grade 8s.