Gravel Roads
THANK YOU: big big BIG shout-outs to Reffy, NewsieGoil1899, Garen Ruy Maxwell, and MyKa HoLLy!

Chapter One: Losing Ground
I used to get high
Now I just get lost
I used to bark at the moon
The first one I came across
PJ Harvey

"Fucking figures," Spot growled as he approached the Brooklyn Lodging House. Two newsies were circling, blades already out. He picked up his stride to an unhurried, unnoticeable jog; hand resting on his cane in case he needed to use it. Usually his boys were good about listening to him, but with the recent goings-on, he didn't want to take the risk. Especially if knives were involved.

As he came closer, he noticed he only knew one of the fighters which troubled him. He knew every Brooklyn newsie that sold, and he knew how to take down every one. They all had dirty laundry, their weaknesses. It his was job to figure them out, and take them down as easily as possible. He had to be the one to strike the deathblow with only a look of his turbulent eyes.

Shoe, a normally placid even-tempered boy, had a gash on his cheek. The blood was running in many rivulets along his jaw, staining a shirt that he had recently saved up for. The sweat ran from his wet hair, clogging like dewdrops into his eyelashes and forcing him to blink rapidly. He was a well-liked boy, never really got into anybody's business, usually tended to keep to himself and a few close buddies.

He dodged another swipe as the stranger took another stab at trying to land a blow.

Spot idled up to the circle of newsies that had gathered to watch the fight, cane withdrawn. A girl next to him, shorter with fire-orange hair that frizzed out massively around her head turned to look at Spot, startled at his sudden appearance.

"A...Are you Spot?" she stammered nervously, looking down at the cane in his hand. He merely looked at her, nodding at the fight with his jaw, indicating with inquiring eyes that he wanted to know what was going on.

"Uh...well... It's... I don't know; I don't know them. I came along only a few moments ago..." she trailed off as he leapt in, almost heroically, into the battle scene.

"Back down," he growled, the very edges of his lips twitching into a smirk, though he tried his hardest to keep it down.

"Conlon," the boy snarled at him. Though his eyes followed Shoe as he surreptitiously slipped back into the crowd, into the waiting arms of his friends, he slapped him on the back and helped him sit down on a nearby crate.

"Ain't you a Harlem boy?" Spot asked, looking down his nose. His hands clenched his cane tightly, though he gave off the air of nonchalance as he swung it back and forth idly.

"Knives wasn't too pleased with me, he kicked me out," he said bluntly, relaxing his stance as he straightened up. His fingers twitched around the handle.

"So you come here and start trouble with my boys?"

"Called me a nigger," his eyes went to slits.

Spot's jaw set and he whirled around to face Shoe, who was holding a dirty cloth to the cut on his face, it looked like the bleeding had finally slowed down. Though the blood had left stains on his skin.

"Shoe?"

The taller boy looked up glumly, eyes battling with Spot's. He eventually nodded, "I didn't mean nothin' by it and we were all joking around at the time. Didn't think he'd take it so hard."

Spot, though he hadn't turned his back on the boy, curled his head back around. "That was as close to an apology as you are ever going to get here. What's your name, kid?"

He licked his lips nervously. The hand which held his blade was now hanging limply, as he tapped the razor lightly against his thigh. "Box."

"All right, Box, you get a trial week. You start anything else, though, and all these guys," Spot took the time to point with his cane to the group that had huddled around Shoe, "get their fair chance at you. That's how it works here in Brooklyn."

Box flicked his blade closed with a snap of his wrist and pocketed it fluidly. He gave one last haughty look towards the legendary king of newsies, and walked into the crowd, disappearing easily.

Once his bobbing cap was completely out of sight, the rest of the newsies merged and went about on their way once more. Spot sheathed his cane back into the loophole of his pants and started to head towards his place at the docks – the evening edition wasn't due for another hour or so – but a small hand grabbed at his shirt sleeves.

"Um... Spot?" It was the red-headed girl from earlier. She wasn't that much more shorter than him now that he took notice. She came up to about his eyes, and she was biting her lip furiously. He could already see a few sores there already.

"What do you want?"

"I... I want your permission to be able to sell here in Brooklyn and stay at the lodging house!" She yelled like a sergeant before ducking her head down and scrunching her shoulders up, like she was expecting a lashing.

"Sure. Just make sure you keep up on your rent."

Her head shot back up and she looked at him with wide eyes for a moment before she nearly dived at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly for only an instant before she released him and looked at him once again.

"Thank you, very much!"

He looked at her distastefully as she ran off towards the lodging house, hand digging into her pocket – possibly getting out the change to pay the first night's rent.

His attention, however, was quickly brought away as he looked around and spotted one of his best birdies. "Slink!"

The rail-thin boy with the white hair strolled up. "Yeah?"

"I want you to keep on eye on Box for awhile, I don't trust him. At all."

"No problem, Spot."

"Daily reports."

Slink nodded, before tossing his cap back onto his head. He had been twiddling with it nervously.

"SPOT!"

He sighed and walked back towards the docks already too stressed out for the day.

:end chapter 1:

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