A/N: Hey all. This is my first crossover story so I hope it works. The two
different movies are of course Robin Hood Prince of Thieves and the other
one is The Newsies. The only characters that I personally own are Dodger,
Spike, Gus and Dodger's mom, Kitten. Ice belongs to my good friend Ice
Renegade whom I must say..POST SOME STORIES! Stress and Frenchy belong to
those two people. I know I should have asked before hand if I could use
your names in this story, but I wasn't sure how to contact you. If you
don't like the fact that I use you, please email me and let me know.
I don't own any of the Newsies or the Robin Hood characters, but don't worry; those ones will come into play later on in the story. Pebbles and Elf are somewhat my own creation but they are derived from two of my close friends at school. Well, I think that's all the disclaimer.. Oh ya, there's the whole music thing. I don't own Come On Feel The Noise, Heartbreaker or Wanted Dead or Alive. Those all belong to Quiet Riot, Pat Benetar and Bon Jovi.
Crusade of Her Own
Chapter One
Cast List
Dodger-----Herself
Specs-----Will Scarlet
Ice-----Maid Marian
Spot-----Robin Hood
Jack-----Little John
Stress-----Fanny
Frenchy-----Sarah
Kid Blink-----Bull
Mush-----Much
Kloppman-----King Richard
Boots-----Azeem
Les-----Wulf
Pebbles-----Leighanne
Elf-----Jade
Spike-----Hawk
David-----David (Chef)
Mr. Pulitzer (History Teacher)-----Lord Joseph of Pulitzer
Man, does life suck. First it starts with my parents going on about how I dress and act. Okay, so maybe I prefer to dress in black from my nail polish to my hiking boots and act with a real attitude, but that should be my choice and not theirs. I've dressed the whole, 'gothic' way ever since I reached middle school and was earning my own cash. My wanting to dress like an individual shouldn't cause my parents to go into hysteria. They shouldn't be trying to drown out my individuality with the stereotypes that they grew up with in the 1960s.
Let me first begin with my mother. If you can picture Mrs. Cleaver, Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Brady and how they acted in the television series they stared in, well you can pretty much bet that that's my mom. Her pre-teen and teen years were spent of her being drilled that the only place for women were either in homes or as schoolteachers by my grandmother. She has tried to impress that unto me, her only child but has yet to work.
My dream isn't to make a man happy or to teach little kids, but to write and reach out to people of all kinds. Kitten, as my father likes to call her, has tried to get me to dress the way she thinks girls should dress; in long dark skirts, pale colored shirts and saddle shoes. Yuck! Whenever she buys me those clothes, I go right back to the department store. We exchange them for either clothes that I like or cash. They cashiers have pretty much gotten used to it. When I do trade in for cash, the cash goes towards getting myself away from home.
Next parent: my dad. I must say that like my mom, he's a stereotype version of an overprotective dad and I must say, he's extremely overprotective. He has set my curfew to be at 8:00pm at night the entire week, but unbeknownst to him I have snuck out of the house tons of times to meet up with my best friends Gus and Spike. Those two have several reasons as to why my dad doesn't like them.
They are both guys. My dad doesn't believe that girls should be friends or even associate with guys unless they are family friends, family or the two of you are dating.
Those two were pretty much the ones who started my nickname Dodger. I got it one night from them and after that, it stuck. Guys and girls would try to get into fights with me around town and I always seemed to get out of it without any bruises.
Both aren't "proper" gentlemen to my dad. Spike is the punk person out of our group of friends. He's also a really good guitarist and skateboarder. He was able to do a 360 grind by the age of 10 or so he tells me. Gus is our ever-loving art freak. He can take anything and put a picture to it. He's always got his sketchbook with him like I have my own writer's book.
Oh onto their nicknames. Spike got his from the way his hair looks. He always has it poking up every which way. Gus is short for August and he hates that he's named after a month. My dad thinks that nicknames should only be for guys on sport teams or married couples. Dad calls mom Kitten for some reason and my mom call him Racetrack or Race. I've seen pictures of him from his high school days; he was a track star.
Another reason as to why my life sucks is also my beloved parents. My hometown is Aspen. I've always lived there, was born in the local hospital. I've gone through countless ski seasons where people from all over the globe come for the slopes. The farthest we've gotten is Germany. Well, that's by my count anyways. I've worked there for the past 5 years since I turned 14. I don't know if they've gotten people from farther places before I worked there. Well anyways, my parents have gotten sick (about time) of who I choose to be so I'm moving to a place called Sherwood to live with my Great Aunt Medda Larkson on my mom's side. Yes, I did say I. My parents have figured that having a different adult in my life for the rest of my final year will help change my ways. As I loaded my things onto the airplane, my dad told me that all this was for my own good. That I would be ready for when the real world takes me in from the prison I'm in.
So, here I am. Two days later and sitting in my new schools principal's office waiting room. Surprisingly, my Aunt Medda is a pretty cool person from what I've seen the past two days. For most things, she's not stuck in the 1950s time warp that my parents are. She's down to earth and doesn't dress like Mrs. Cleaver. In her house, she gave me a room on the second floor that looks out over Central Park. When Aunt Medda showed me the room, she said that she hoped it fueled my writing juices. An adult who is encouraging my writing..go figures.
There are just two things that she's somewhat picky about, a) my music and b) when I eat dinner. About a. I love music from Poison, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Michelle Branch and Savage Gardens. My Aunt Medda doesn't mind me listening to the stuff, just so long as it isn't so loud that she can hear it down the hallway. Onto food. She stated that I must eat my dinner before 6pm. This was because she works till 5 and is only giving me an hour's time to decide on what I want to eat. She literally padlocks the refrigerator and cupboards so I can't get in. She is my mom's aunt though so she's gotta be weird in one way or another. If I don't eat before 6, I either have to go out to eat or wait until morning for breakfast.
Another great thing about my Aunt Medda is that she knows girls can have friends that are guys. Why couldn't she have been living in Aspen and convince my parents that? She also doesn't care about the way I dress and so lets me wear whatever I want! My closet has not one piece of pink or purple in it finally. I've got white shirts and some really dark blue ones. Aunt Medda even likes the way I've done my hair. She says that the red highlights bring out the color in my skin. (Oh ya should have mentioned my hairstyle. It's cut just above my neck and is a really dark brown with intense red highlights.) I know I'm definitely related to her though. We both have really green eyes.
Anyways, now that I'm done explaining my Aunt Medda, I'll get back to why I'm in the principal's waiting room. This morning, I walked in at 8am, hoping to be able to get to my first period class. Today's lovely ensemble was pair of black faded jeans that I had cut off just below the knees and my favorite pair of black hiking boots that I must say is so comfortable. My shirt is black and had the original sleeves cut off. I then took a pair of kid's costume pirate pants and cut them in half and then sewed them on as sleeves. (A/N: I actually have a shirt that I did that to.) The shirt looks pretty neat when I put it on. Lastly, there is my trench coat. Oh my lovely black leather trench coat that my mom actually tried to stop me from packing. I don't go anywhere with out it. I wear it everywhere I go, even to classes.
When I entered this morning, the secretary's jaw fell onto the floor. Okay, so maybe it didn't, but if she were a cartoon it would have. My guess is she's not used to people of my clothing taste coming into the office so early in the morning. The reason why I think this is that when I did walk in, besides her jaw figuratively hitting the floor, she watched me with a very keen eye. She looked like a goldfish with her mouth open and looking at me over her glasses. She didn't realize what she had been doing until I glared at her. With a swift movement, she closed her eyes, pushed her glasses back up and went back to her typing.
From the depths of my trench coat, I pulled out my ever-loving CD player. This was another object that came everywhere with me. Now I don't listen to it during class, I'm not that inconsiderate. I also have a supply of CDs for the different moods I'm in. Slow mixes, Rock mixes even clubs mixes take residence in my little black case. When I got comfortable, I one of my Bon Jovi mixes in and pushed play. The first song was "Wanted Dead or Alive."
That's where I am now. Two hours later and I'm still sitting in the waiting room. I've gone through my Bon Jovi CD and have changed over to my Rock mix. I've strummed my fingers against the arms and have been getting looks from the secretary every five minutes. Several people have come into the room to get notices from mailboxes or to use the photocopier.
Pat Benetar's "Heartbreaker" comes on and in walks a girl that reminds me of my mom in her high school yearbooks. The Capri pants were denim, and her black tank top had the word 'Angel' written across the chest in silver. She had brown hair that was a light color and from the looks of it was pulled into a high ponytail. Every now and then, I caught sight of her looking at me from the photocopier. She would gaze at my boots, up my cut off pants and to my hair. I was very tempted to say, 'What? Never seen a Goth before?' That would have gotten under her skin.
After about 10minutes of her copying, she finally finished and said good- bye to the secretary with a smile that filled her heart-shaped face. She gave me one last look over as I sat in the chair and I just gave her a smirk. She tossed her hair and left down the hallway, her shoes making faint noises as they went down the hall. Going back to my CD, Quiet Riot's 'Come On Feel The Noise' comes on over the headphones. I start beating my fingers on the arms of the chairs to the beat and tapping my toe. The secretary gave me another odd look over her glasses, but I just ignored it.
"Miss? Miss?"
Pulling my headphones down, I saw that the secretary was standing in front of my chair.
"Yeah?"
"The principal will see you now."
Looking to the door that she was pointing to, I saw a somewhat elderly man standing with a warm smile. 'Oh great, some guy that wants to be my buddy.' Turning off my Walkman, I packed it into my bad and stood up. The secretary scattered away a little when I stood, scared of what I might do or say. I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed Mr. Hurst into his office.
I don't own any of the Newsies or the Robin Hood characters, but don't worry; those ones will come into play later on in the story. Pebbles and Elf are somewhat my own creation but they are derived from two of my close friends at school. Well, I think that's all the disclaimer.. Oh ya, there's the whole music thing. I don't own Come On Feel The Noise, Heartbreaker or Wanted Dead or Alive. Those all belong to Quiet Riot, Pat Benetar and Bon Jovi.
Crusade of Her Own
Chapter One
Cast List
Dodger-----Herself
Specs-----Will Scarlet
Ice-----Maid Marian
Spot-----Robin Hood
Jack-----Little John
Stress-----Fanny
Frenchy-----Sarah
Kid Blink-----Bull
Mush-----Much
Kloppman-----King Richard
Boots-----Azeem
Les-----Wulf
Pebbles-----Leighanne
Elf-----Jade
Spike-----Hawk
David-----David (Chef)
Mr. Pulitzer (History Teacher)-----Lord Joseph of Pulitzer
Man, does life suck. First it starts with my parents going on about how I dress and act. Okay, so maybe I prefer to dress in black from my nail polish to my hiking boots and act with a real attitude, but that should be my choice and not theirs. I've dressed the whole, 'gothic' way ever since I reached middle school and was earning my own cash. My wanting to dress like an individual shouldn't cause my parents to go into hysteria. They shouldn't be trying to drown out my individuality with the stereotypes that they grew up with in the 1960s.
Let me first begin with my mother. If you can picture Mrs. Cleaver, Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Brady and how they acted in the television series they stared in, well you can pretty much bet that that's my mom. Her pre-teen and teen years were spent of her being drilled that the only place for women were either in homes or as schoolteachers by my grandmother. She has tried to impress that unto me, her only child but has yet to work.
My dream isn't to make a man happy or to teach little kids, but to write and reach out to people of all kinds. Kitten, as my father likes to call her, has tried to get me to dress the way she thinks girls should dress; in long dark skirts, pale colored shirts and saddle shoes. Yuck! Whenever she buys me those clothes, I go right back to the department store. We exchange them for either clothes that I like or cash. They cashiers have pretty much gotten used to it. When I do trade in for cash, the cash goes towards getting myself away from home.
Next parent: my dad. I must say that like my mom, he's a stereotype version of an overprotective dad and I must say, he's extremely overprotective. He has set my curfew to be at 8:00pm at night the entire week, but unbeknownst to him I have snuck out of the house tons of times to meet up with my best friends Gus and Spike. Those two have several reasons as to why my dad doesn't like them.
They are both guys. My dad doesn't believe that girls should be friends or even associate with guys unless they are family friends, family or the two of you are dating.
Those two were pretty much the ones who started my nickname Dodger. I got it one night from them and after that, it stuck. Guys and girls would try to get into fights with me around town and I always seemed to get out of it without any bruises.
Both aren't "proper" gentlemen to my dad. Spike is the punk person out of our group of friends. He's also a really good guitarist and skateboarder. He was able to do a 360 grind by the age of 10 or so he tells me. Gus is our ever-loving art freak. He can take anything and put a picture to it. He's always got his sketchbook with him like I have my own writer's book.
Oh onto their nicknames. Spike got his from the way his hair looks. He always has it poking up every which way. Gus is short for August and he hates that he's named after a month. My dad thinks that nicknames should only be for guys on sport teams or married couples. Dad calls mom Kitten for some reason and my mom call him Racetrack or Race. I've seen pictures of him from his high school days; he was a track star.
Another reason as to why my life sucks is also my beloved parents. My hometown is Aspen. I've always lived there, was born in the local hospital. I've gone through countless ski seasons where people from all over the globe come for the slopes. The farthest we've gotten is Germany. Well, that's by my count anyways. I've worked there for the past 5 years since I turned 14. I don't know if they've gotten people from farther places before I worked there. Well anyways, my parents have gotten sick (about time) of who I choose to be so I'm moving to a place called Sherwood to live with my Great Aunt Medda Larkson on my mom's side. Yes, I did say I. My parents have figured that having a different adult in my life for the rest of my final year will help change my ways. As I loaded my things onto the airplane, my dad told me that all this was for my own good. That I would be ready for when the real world takes me in from the prison I'm in.
So, here I am. Two days later and sitting in my new schools principal's office waiting room. Surprisingly, my Aunt Medda is a pretty cool person from what I've seen the past two days. For most things, she's not stuck in the 1950s time warp that my parents are. She's down to earth and doesn't dress like Mrs. Cleaver. In her house, she gave me a room on the second floor that looks out over Central Park. When Aunt Medda showed me the room, she said that she hoped it fueled my writing juices. An adult who is encouraging my writing..go figures.
There are just two things that she's somewhat picky about, a) my music and b) when I eat dinner. About a. I love music from Poison, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Michelle Branch and Savage Gardens. My Aunt Medda doesn't mind me listening to the stuff, just so long as it isn't so loud that she can hear it down the hallway. Onto food. She stated that I must eat my dinner before 6pm. This was because she works till 5 and is only giving me an hour's time to decide on what I want to eat. She literally padlocks the refrigerator and cupboards so I can't get in. She is my mom's aunt though so she's gotta be weird in one way or another. If I don't eat before 6, I either have to go out to eat or wait until morning for breakfast.
Another great thing about my Aunt Medda is that she knows girls can have friends that are guys. Why couldn't she have been living in Aspen and convince my parents that? She also doesn't care about the way I dress and so lets me wear whatever I want! My closet has not one piece of pink or purple in it finally. I've got white shirts and some really dark blue ones. Aunt Medda even likes the way I've done my hair. She says that the red highlights bring out the color in my skin. (Oh ya should have mentioned my hairstyle. It's cut just above my neck and is a really dark brown with intense red highlights.) I know I'm definitely related to her though. We both have really green eyes.
Anyways, now that I'm done explaining my Aunt Medda, I'll get back to why I'm in the principal's waiting room. This morning, I walked in at 8am, hoping to be able to get to my first period class. Today's lovely ensemble was pair of black faded jeans that I had cut off just below the knees and my favorite pair of black hiking boots that I must say is so comfortable. My shirt is black and had the original sleeves cut off. I then took a pair of kid's costume pirate pants and cut them in half and then sewed them on as sleeves. (A/N: I actually have a shirt that I did that to.) The shirt looks pretty neat when I put it on. Lastly, there is my trench coat. Oh my lovely black leather trench coat that my mom actually tried to stop me from packing. I don't go anywhere with out it. I wear it everywhere I go, even to classes.
When I entered this morning, the secretary's jaw fell onto the floor. Okay, so maybe it didn't, but if she were a cartoon it would have. My guess is she's not used to people of my clothing taste coming into the office so early in the morning. The reason why I think this is that when I did walk in, besides her jaw figuratively hitting the floor, she watched me with a very keen eye. She looked like a goldfish with her mouth open and looking at me over her glasses. She didn't realize what she had been doing until I glared at her. With a swift movement, she closed her eyes, pushed her glasses back up and went back to her typing.
From the depths of my trench coat, I pulled out my ever-loving CD player. This was another object that came everywhere with me. Now I don't listen to it during class, I'm not that inconsiderate. I also have a supply of CDs for the different moods I'm in. Slow mixes, Rock mixes even clubs mixes take residence in my little black case. When I got comfortable, I one of my Bon Jovi mixes in and pushed play. The first song was "Wanted Dead or Alive."
That's where I am now. Two hours later and I'm still sitting in the waiting room. I've gone through my Bon Jovi CD and have changed over to my Rock mix. I've strummed my fingers against the arms and have been getting looks from the secretary every five minutes. Several people have come into the room to get notices from mailboxes or to use the photocopier.
Pat Benetar's "Heartbreaker" comes on and in walks a girl that reminds me of my mom in her high school yearbooks. The Capri pants were denim, and her black tank top had the word 'Angel' written across the chest in silver. She had brown hair that was a light color and from the looks of it was pulled into a high ponytail. Every now and then, I caught sight of her looking at me from the photocopier. She would gaze at my boots, up my cut off pants and to my hair. I was very tempted to say, 'What? Never seen a Goth before?' That would have gotten under her skin.
After about 10minutes of her copying, she finally finished and said good- bye to the secretary with a smile that filled her heart-shaped face. She gave me one last look over as I sat in the chair and I just gave her a smirk. She tossed her hair and left down the hallway, her shoes making faint noises as they went down the hall. Going back to my CD, Quiet Riot's 'Come On Feel The Noise' comes on over the headphones. I start beating my fingers on the arms of the chairs to the beat and tapping my toe. The secretary gave me another odd look over her glasses, but I just ignored it.
"Miss? Miss?"
Pulling my headphones down, I saw that the secretary was standing in front of my chair.
"Yeah?"
"The principal will see you now."
Looking to the door that she was pointing to, I saw a somewhat elderly man standing with a warm smile. 'Oh great, some guy that wants to be my buddy.' Turning off my Walkman, I packed it into my bad and stood up. The secretary scattered away a little when I stood, scared of what I might do or say. I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed Mr. Hurst into his office.