Author's Note: Guess what? Guess what? GUESS WHAT?

DALTON: (tiredly) What?

I'VE SOLVED THE ASTERISK PROBLEM!

DALTON: Really? (perks up) How?

Lookie!

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…It's a succession of periods and commas typed at even intervals! It's like asterisk-wavy thing-asterisk-wavy-thing…yet simpler, and more refined. (pause) I am a genius.

DALTON: Well, that's great, but…it still doesn't solve the asterisks-used-to-denote-action-problem, does it?

(pause)

CURSES! Foiled again!

Well… (sigh) in short…a big hug to all you guys, 'cause you're what's keeping me sane during this prolonged crisis. Shout-outs are at the end of the chappie, and grab a complementary snickerdoodle as you leave. (winks) Dalton's personal recipe…

…And now, on with the fic!

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Chinese Lantern

Chapter Four—

"It's Not Easy Being Green"

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"Don't tell me truth hurts, little girl…'cause it hurts like hell."

--David Bowie, "Underground"

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Ershey's room was on one of the uppermost floors of the Dall mansions, not quite as high up as it needed to be to catch any real sunlight, but enough so that it was spared from the worst of the layers of grime that seemed to permeate the lower levels. On the very first floors, where the girls stayed when they were starting out, they left their rooms clean and faintly glowing each morning only to come back every night to find a greasy soot of ashes settled like snow on everything from their bedclothes to their robes. The room that Maddox had woken up in that morning had, apparently, been one of the better ones—although, compared to the luxury she saw now, it was nothing.

Ershey's quarters were four sprawling rooms furnished with thick carpets and polished wooden furniture, closets full of satin and silk and air heavy with the fragrance of hothouse blooms. It was lush and opulent, but much more importantly, it was her own—fixtures spotless with care, shelves crammed with the books she was ridiculed by the lesser women for loving, for the ability to read was a rarity among the girls of the Dall Mansions. Certainly they all lived well here—these women who bathed in milk and roses and wore diamonds at the breakfast-table—but Ershey had an even better life; she lived almost completely on her own terms. Even after a cursory tour of the Dall Mansions surroundings, it was clear that this freedom was hard won.

Maddox was astonished as she set foot in Ershey's apartments, and even after the sticking lock had been prized open and Ershey had wandered in, tugging off her slippers and strolling into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, Maddox was still standing dumbstruck beneath the lintel, almost frozen at the sight of such luxury.

"My God," she murmured. "Ershey. It's beautiful."

"Well, it should be," she called from over her shoulder. "I've been here since I was twelve."

Already with a fairly good idea of what the Dall Mansions were, Maddox didn't really like to think about this.

"Goddess," Ershey muttered a few moments later, as she padded into the living room, a glass of water in hand as she pulled her robe tightly around herself. "It's frigid in here. The heating must be on the fritz."

The rooms were hot and humid as a greenhouse, but Maddox didn't say anything, in part because in comparison with everything else she had dealt with today, this was almost close to normal.

Maddox sat down on a divan in the corner of the room, and watched as Ershey pulled on a loose woolen cardigan in a shade of pink so pale it was almost white, the sleeves falling well past her wrists and the fabric hanging beautifully from her narrow shoulders, over the coral of her lace-trimmed half slip. She pinned up her dark curls, crossed her arms, and sat down on the carpet, sipping at her water.

"Are you still cold?" she asked, gesturing to Maddox's (rather plain and rather rumpled) pink cotton sundress.

"Not really," she said, politely. "Um. Ersh?"

She smiled. "Yes'm?"

"Why does everybody here wear pink all the time?"

She frowned as she contemplated this, twisting a lock of hair around her forefinger as she thought. "Well, I suppose there are quite a few social and governmental reasons for the typical dress of the Dall Mansions, but overall I'd have to say—"

"No," Maddox cut in. "I mean, why does everybody here wear pink all the time?" Ershey looked at her, somewhat confused. "Do me a favor here—talk to me like I'm four."

"We wear pink," Ershey said, slowly enunciating each word, "because it's what the courtesans wear. All of us. For ever and ever."

"But why do the courtesans wear it?"

It was clear from the happy look on her face and the way she got up and began to pace around as she spoke that Ershey loved being asked questions like this, and that it also happened very rarely.

"No one really knows why," she began. "Ever since the great war back half a millennia ago, everyone's worn colors to show who they are, and separate regions have been marked by the clothing and uniforms…so the Nouris wear black, of course, and the courtesans pink, and up north in the Glissians always wear white—well, cream or pale yellow if they're really daring—and the lands between…"

Ershey knelt next to Maddox, tracing the paths and curves of a map of the country in one of her atlases from up on the high shelves, showing how the colors came to vivid brightness and then graded together and became something else—the coastal people up north with clothes and skin and hair of gold, fading away into the silverfish barren expanse of the badland deserts before the pale-glowing gem of Gliss; the Ivory Mountains and the caravans of gypsies that traveled up and down the middle counties, wearing always shades of blue, from cobalt to forget-me-not, because in the oldest strains of gypsy blood the people had skin as blue as their clothing. And how the encampments of the blue-skin gypsies slowly gave way to the witches and the hermits and mystics in the dry timberlands before the coast, with their shawls and rough-spun wool of the purest purple—and of the Blood Pirates of Crimson Harbor, with their turbans and leather boots bright as rubies; and the peasants, and the thieves in the northern forests, and every other outlaw and murderer and mystic in the land of Möbia.

"…But of course you know all this," Ershey said at last, after they had pored over the atlas for a good amount of time. "Surely, wherever you come from, you've known of this before."

Maddox hadn't.

And what of that boy that she had been supping with in the dining hall today? Where had she met him? And how had she turned up so suddenly?

"Look," Maddox said. "You have to promise me you won't think I'm crazy."

Ershey promised.

After Maddox finished speaking, she was staring at her open-mouthed, with an expression no one could have gauged.

"I told you it was insane," Maddox began, meekly, but Ershey didn't seem to hear her.

"Goddess," she said. "I always thought it was a myth…"

"You believe me?" Maddox asked in disbelief.

She swallowed. "Against my better judgment…yes. This is incredible." She paused. "…There's only one person to see about this. Coin."

"Coin?"

"Well…her real name's Anna Carrigy, but no one calls her that. She's top girl here, and she got her nickname because she'll cost you a pretty penny. We used to be close, when we were girls, and…well, she knows everything there is to know about Möbian history, the great color-war, and the worldwall theory…" she trailed off.

"Can I see her today?" Maddox asked, quietly.

"Probably not. But I can get a conference with her tomorrow, and—oh, Goddess…" she looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I've completely lost track of time. I've got three separate charges tonight, one from the high Nouri court…" Ershey bit her lip. "Listen, Maddie…would it be really terrible if I were to set you up in a room on one of the lower levels, just to stay in tonight? I mean, they're not much, just a bed, and it's only to sleep in, but…"

"It would be perfect," Maddox said, and was rewarded with a smile. "Hey Ersh?"

"Yes?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

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Racetrack would always remember the exact moment that Spot Conlon officially went AWOL, because at the moment Jack came in with the news, he was sitting on his bunk, just beginning to seriously contemplate buying a new pair of socks.

Sock-buying was a very important part of Racetrack's life. Wet socks or socks with holes in the toes could ruin an otherwise decent afternoon, whereas a nice new pair of thick, warm, dry, woolen socks could make him deliriously happy for weeks. So when Jack walked into the bunkroom, looking distinctly like he was about to throw up, Race was so deep in thought that he barely even registered it.

"Hey Jack?" he began. "D'you think I should spring for a new pair a' socks? These ones aren't so bad but they're worn all thin an' there's this little hole in the toe, so—"

Jack looked around the room, oblivious, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Dis is the worst thing that's evah happened ta me…"

Race was taken about. "Gee, Cowboy, it ain't that big of a hole…"

Jack looked at him. "No, not that. It's Spot I'se worried about."

Race nearly jumped out of his skin. "They're stained too? I didn't even notice! Wheah—" but of course he couldn't continue after that, as Mush had clamped his hand firmly over his mouth.

"Mmph," Race said indignantly.

"This isn't the time to be worryin' about your socks, Race," Mush said solemnly, at which point Kid Blink laughed so hard that he nearly choked.

"Shh," Mush said, sternly. "I think he's gonna say somethin'."

Jumping up on top of one of the bunks, Jack stuck a valiant pose. "That's right!" he crowed, even though no one had bothered to say anything yet. "Spot Conlon has been missing these last seven days—and only I, Jack Kelly, leader of the Manhattan newsies, formerly known as Francis K. Sullivan, can—"

"What's da 'K' stand foah?" Race piped up, having managed to get Mush's hand away from him mouth.

"Um…" Jack paused, looking intently at the ground. "It's…Kermit."

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! KERMIT!"

"Race!" Jack hissed. "Shut up! You're ruinin' my speech!"

"Hey, I call an election!" Race yelled. "Who wants a leader without a stupid middle name?"

A number of hands went up at this. Jack sighed. "Race. Your middle name is Elmo."

"It's better than Kermit, though, ain't it? Kermie?"

"It's Gaelic!" Jack sputtered. "It means 'proud warrior'!"

"It means you're a pansy, is what it means…" Race muttered.

"You wanna say that to my face, Elmo?"

There wasn't a lot that could be done to avoid the ensuing fistfight; eventually, all the other boys could do was gather around, cheer on Jack and Race as they attempted to kill each other and make bets as to who would win. In the end, it was a draw—both ended up sprawled on the ground, Racetrack with a bloody nose and Jack with a purplish bruise blossoming on his forehead and a sizable fat lip.

"So," he said, meekly continuing his speech once they were both lying side-by-side, spent (although it came out more like "tho," due to his aforementioned mouth injuries). "So—I'm gonna try to find Spot. You guys behind me on this one?"

With what little strength he had left, Race reached out and ruffled his hair, speaking for all of them. "Sure thing, Jacky-boy."

"Yeah?"

"Aw, c'mon now. What are friends for?"

[TBC…]

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A/N: Well, that was thoroughly ridiculous. But there's nothing more fun that torturing the heck out of Our Boys—and if you had half as much fun reading this as I did writing it, well, I had twice as much fun as you.

DALTON: …I don't get it.

(smiles) Nor should you, Nuwanda, my pet. Now…on to shout-outs!

DALTON: YAY!

(easily pleased, isn't he?) (winks)

Klover: I have to confess…(sobs) I'm a pink person. It was pretty intense when I was a kid and I never dream about sequins anymore, I swear to God—almost never—and I've gone five years without a hair ribbon…(stands up) Hello…my name is Dakki…and I…(dramatic pause)…am a pinkaholic. (breaks down crying)

Buttons: (gasps) "Back to the Future"! Marty! AAH! Michael J. …is he ever a Fox? (giggles and high-fives) Oh, you've got the quotathon started now… ("That's your name, isn't it? …It's all over your underwear…")

Nani: sings Looooove…is a many splendored thing…tralalalalalaaaa…I don't know…the lyrics…hums contentedly

Ccatt: Never fear, m'dear (hey! I rhymed! (is momentarily distracted))…I print fics out all the time. The way I see it, staring at a computer screen for hours on end just can't be good for the soul…

NadaZimri: Oh, we SO can fly! (grins in that way that makes Dalton hide under the bed) And other assorted superpowers…for instance, I have the power of unlimited free Krispry Kremes. Oh yes…it is good to be a caped crusader…(winks)

Sapphy: Welll…Ram says that normally he wouldn't go all-out for a wedding, but for you, Sapphinatrix (his words, notmine) he'd get you a real classy affair—a Little White Chapel wedding in Vegas, with Idina Menzel there to sing "Purple Rain." (grins) I'll be sure to buy you a toaster oven…

Rubix: YAY! IM's! (glomps) My favorite thing…next to, you know, kittens and brown paper packages and the like… (wink)

Ershey: Could I resist newsie-rap? COULD I? The answer is no…I'm just saving it for later chapters, when Jack is most sleep-deprived and homicidal…ahh, how I so love to torture that boy…winks

Coin: (gasp) You have pink Converse too? (glomps) YAY! SOUL SISTERS!

DALTON: You know, the company probably has manufactured millions of pairs of—

Charlie. Dude. Stay out of it. clings to Coin

DALTON: sigh

Soaker: sobs I KNOW! My asterisks! My squiggly things! MY ASTERISKS AND SQUIGGLY THINGS!

DALTON: Who else thinks this is getting a bit repetitive?

everyone raises their hands

Sparks: (gasps) NO! Not the updatedness! (sobs) Oh, and btw…that email you sent me…computer ate it…kicks at aol could you send it by my way again dahling?

DALTON: I thought you were crying?

Oh, right…sobs

DALTON: Much better.

m-e lee12: sighs I love Labyrinth…yep, totally bizarre, you gotta admit it but then…so are pelvic thrusting turn-of-the-century street kids, right? …You just gotta love it.

Checkmate: Circus Peanuts…inspiration…what's the difference? Both of them are equally delicious and orange.

DALTON: (hides)

Teehee.

Teepot: Somehow, me not including Jack would be like the UN going on Fear Factor…that is, Just Plain Wrong. Like Dalton in a tutu. Suffice it to say, our Jacky boy's so gonna be in it. And the confusedness? All part of my master plan. (evil laugh)

DALTON: (pirouettes)

CiCi: Yes! (gasp) The Fieries! Love those guys! sigh Ahh, childhood memories…

DALTON: Didn't you last see that movie about a week ago?

(sighs) Charlie?

DALTON: Yeah?

Shut up.

Splashey: (sighs) I love that song! My and my friends all call it "Pants, Magic Pants," though, for…well…obvious reasons. (wink)

BrooklynGrl: Me, not put you in? Inconceivable! Unbelievable! Im—

DALTON: Please stop rhyming.

…That's very bad timing.

BabyXtreme: Sadly, I have not seen any of his other movies…I'm tragically poorly-exposed when it comes to Anime. As for Spirited Away, though, I truly love it, and some of the idea for this fic came from it…even though Dalton's terrified of No-Face…

DALTON: SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP.

Teehee.

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Next Up: Chapter Five—In Which Spot Acts Very FanLust Inducingly, We Meet The Lovely And Mysterious Coin, Some Of This Mess Gets A Little Cleared Up, And Dakki Is Upset About Her Askerisks. Again.

DALTON: Again?

(grins devilishly) Again.

DALTON: sighs