The first thing I thought was that I would be saved, like so many other girls in this seemingly fictional situation by a hot guy. I even looked around for a second, expecting a guy who fit my idea of attractive to walk around the corner and say in a charming New York accent that he'd be willing to help me.
The first person who walked around the corner was an old man wearing a greasy apron. His hair was a grizzled white. The fat from his apron seemed to have at one point been boiling hot and had burst upon his face, leaving scars from bad burns.
Though I had gotten used to the normal scent of what I realized was the Lower East Side. This man brought a stench to it like none other. I hurried away from him, worried he would look at me. My hand stroked my hair feeling the matted braid, caked with blood. Somewhere I remembered that head wounds bleed the most. I fact told to me by an EMT friend.
I'm a strong person, but as I walked away, gulping back tears I realized how horrible this could be. I didn't have any money, or any idea of the lay out of the city. Years of research on this time told me of how unlikely my odds for survival were, and how helpless I was. But I wouldn't allow my self to cry. Crying here wouldn't help me one bit. If I wanted to survive the first thing I needed was money, then food. Then shelter. And in the near future a more authentic looking outfit.
I'm not stupid. I could have easily been a hooker. But I'd rather beg, then learn to steal, then perhaps get a real job. I'm a hard worker, and I have a ton of skills. Most of which were completely irrelevant here. I can wash dishes, but that's a job best left to nepotism here. It looked like I would need to beg. I didn't trust my then feeble pick pocketing skills. I figured I could steal food for a little while. Because my first priority was to find a cheep flop house for the night. And to be able to pay for it.
I don't know if you've ever tried begging. But its humiliating. Holding my scraped up hands out, whimpering, begging quietly.
"Please Sir, Ma'am. Me ma' through me out, my pa's sick. Me brother jist died" My feeble attempts got me about a nickel, enough to stay in something better then a floor bed. My body was weary. My mind was about to crush itself. My entire being just wanted to crawl down and die. But my father didn't raise me to be a quitter. This was just another thing to deal with.
One thing no movie ever mentions, very few history books go into and no one writes in their diaries. The smoke in New York, was hell. Factories used fire, this is important for one crucial reason. It helped me blend in. When I first appeared, time traveled. Whatever I didn't look like I belonged, however three hours of walking, begging and generally submersing myself in the area. I looked a heck of a lot closer.
I've always been able to adapt an accent, my family has a ton of different accents in it. So I grew up hearing the differences in accents. This has always made it easy for me to understand and mimic passably foreign accents. And even the English spoken in different areas was hard to understand. Like ordering over the phone in a Chinese restaurant. You know the words sound familiar, but in reality they couldn't be more different. My mouth started taking to the vowel patterns, not even thinking about it. And my vocabulary in this new Dialect didn't need to be very extensive. Just a short pity story and a beg.
I put aside my pride, begging as I searched around for a flophouse that would take a girl. There weren't any I could find. The night was drawing closer, and I was getting worried. I know that little kids and drunks could sleep everywhere. But I didn't delusion myself into thinking I'd be able to survive on the streets. As I walked and begged my stomach made its self known to me. I hadn't eaten since a bowel of cereal at breakfast. And the hamburger for lunch. Which did me no nutritional good.
Again I found myself near tears. And this time I crawled into a niche and cried. It was the only time I allowed myself to do so for the next two years. That night I slept all hunched up. But I was hungry and tired and all I wanted was to be home.
Author's notes: I'm not as happy with this chapter as I am with the others. But I think once the character gets into the life it will be easier to write. Then I don't have to worry about her learning/knowing to much. Also, yes this character is based very much on myself. My thoughts on doing that is because I'm trying to write a story realistically it would be best to know my character's thoughts on everything, know her faults (We haven't gotten to those, but the are there in spades) and her perks (the accent thing is true. It takes about half an hour for me to do a basic of any accent) This isn't me though. I've yet to choose a name for this character but it won't be mine. The newsies will be in this. And they won't have turned into ass holes or rapists. They'll be pretty cannon (As cannon as you can get with this fandom)
Disclaimer: As of now I own it!