Disclaimer: Disney created Newsies. Disney owns Newsies. Kenny Ortega embellished Newsies with pelvic thrusts. Obsessive people such as myself write fanfiction. I think that about covers it. Good, yes?

A/N: Spot'sStepDancer, aka my good friend Amanda, owns the name "Brigitte Brady", yet I own all of her personality traits and appearance. I also own Flash, Finn, and Bottlecap…whom you shall meet as you read on. As a side note, this story was written entirely by Ink even though this account belongs to Ink, Shake, and Ace equally. Please do enjoy!

Someday My Ship Will Come In

Chapter 1 "Setting Sail"

By: The.Pelvic.Thrust (Only Ink.)

It was hot…no, it was mind-bogglingly, skin-meltingly, horrifyingly sweltering. Because New York City could follow whatever pattern it wanted when it came to weather, and there was nothing that any of its inhabitants could do but to take off or layer on articles of clothing throughout the day. Today it was take off, obviously, with the harsh orb in the sky beating down on the Brooklyn newsboys as they jumped off and on the docks, swam lazily, and swam competitively. That was one of the high points of living in Brooklyn despite the somewhat vulgar manner of the lower class citizens…the harbor, and what a gorgeous harbor it was. The pride of New York. Ships with masts taller than the most monstrous buildings on land, sparkling depths of water that stretched father than the eye could see, and the classic hustle and bustle that personified New York up and down the winding mazes of docks.

"Hot day ain't it?"

"Yeah, Finn. Real hot." A strong Brooklyn accent rolled off the tongue of a slightly undersized eighteen-year-old who sat atop one of his great many perches with an air of superiority about him that was revered by all those in his presence. Even his name set fear and respect in the voice of anyone who uttered it. Everyone knew Spot Conlon…you couldn't live a day on the streets of New York City without hearing those two words. In a sense, Spot was Brooklyn; he was rough around the edges, somewhat dark and mysterious, he had his good parts and his bad, he was feared as much as he was respected, he somehow happened to know anything and everything going on in all of the city, and…his eyes always seemed to mirror the color of the harbor water at that exact moment.

At the current time, Spot was seated on a barrel atop a small platform raised five or six feet above the rest of the dock. It was built many years ago by the New York Dock Association for a sailor to sit on to view and document arriving and departing ships. As the years rolled by, it fell into disuse when a taller outlook point was built away from this older dock and closer to the main shipping area. Now Spot added this to his large grouping of perches and sat above all of the Brooklyn newsboys with pride. The platform was surrounded by a strong wooden railing, and large stacks of crates and barrels acted as a makeshift staircase with nets and rusty fishing supplies cascading from them. Only Spot used the ladder on the side of it…it wasn't a rule, it was just…known, like many things when it came to Spot Conlon. He had Brooklyn at the tip of his cane, so to speak.

"Got any word on Flash yet?"

"Nope, last Bottlecap heard was dat he's been slumin' 'round Queens." Finn pulled up a barrel next to Spot and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Betta deah 'en heah, right?"

"Betta noweah." Spot removed his cap and ruffled his light brown hair, making it stick up awkwardly in places. He squinted through the harsh sun at Finn, sitting back to let his head rest on the barrel behind him. All of the buttons on his shirt were undone as it blew in the rare breeze, his sleeves were rolled past his elbows, and his crimson suspenders hung in disuse at his sides. Finn nodded at Spot's words and pulled his striped shirt back on, letting his sunburned back rejoice in its cold dampness from the harbor water.

"You'se gonna swim, Conlon?" Finn flashed a cheeky grin at his friend, as he redid the three lowest buttons on his shirt.

Spot shook his head at Finn, strands of hair falling into his stormy eyes, and ran his hand over the cool metal of the top of his cane. "Do I evah?"

Finn nodded and grinned in a lopsided manner, standing and stretching his arms above his head. He slowly began to descend the piles of crates and barrels with one hand shielding his faded green eyes from the sun, when the sounds of slightly obnoxious yet virtually harmless and joking whistles and catcalls erupted around the docks. The object of these reactions? An angel.

Or at least she was what Spot believed to be the closest being to one that he'd ever laid eyes upon. Everything about her was flawless. She looked to be about his own age with shining copper curls pinned low on her head and spilling from underneath a while sunhat tied around her neck with a thick, light green satin ribbon, small tendrils peeking out to frame her face. Her face…it was like a painting, that was the only description to do it justice. Everything from her smooth porcelain skin to her warm hazel eyes could not possibly have been more perfect, it was as if the scorching weather had no affect on her whatsoever. Unlike other girls who often walked by the docks from the academy down the street, this one did not flaunt herself nor did she bow her head low and act as though the newsboys did not exist. She tilted her head toward them as she walked, a half smile present across her lips and a look of fascination shining in her eyes.

Spot shook his head quickly, knocking him out of his trace-like state as she turned her gaze away from the docks and back to the road upon which she was walking. "Hey, control ya selves!" he yelled, banging the bottom of his cane loudly against the floor of the platform as was tradition for the situation. He grinned and chuckled with the majority of the newsboys who were used to the customary action, and rested his back against the barrel behind him once more, overlooking the others as they returned to their previous activities. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the mysterious redhead as she turned a corner and her light green skirt swished out of view.

"She's a pretty one huh?"

"Don't you got somewheah ta be, Finn?"

"…Nah. Not really." Finn replied as he turned around on the barrel that he was currently balancing on and faced Spot. "You do know who dat was, right?"

"Should I?"

"Well, she's just the only child of Benedict Brady…"

"Brady, as inthe infamous Brady Papermill in Queens?" Spot arched an eyebrow and slouched forward.

"Yeah, dat one…she's been betrothed since da day she was born-"

"Ta who?"

"Why are ya askin' me? Do I look like I know everythin'? You're Spot Conlon…King of Brooklyn, shouldn't ya know? Anyway, he's probably some rich idiot whose fadda owns…like, New York, or somethin'. " he finished mockingly with wild hand gestures and a large smirk planted across his face.

Spot missed the sarcasm in Finn's voice and ran a hand though his hair, serving no purpose other than to make the light brown waves sit even more awkwardly atop his head.

"There's something about her…" He mumbled, frustration apparent in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Spotty-boy, I didn't catch dat…I never thought dat you of all people could be turned soft by a goil."

"Soft, whaddaya talkin' about? I can't express interest in da female population anymore, is dat it?"

"Yeah. You got it, can't get nothin' past ya."

"I just…she seems different, ya know? Not like…"

"Other goils, right? Hate ta break it ta ya, but dat's probably because people like dat don't live in Brooklyn. No one like dat gives two pennies 'bout people like us." Finn let out a low laugh, turning serious all of a sudden. "As a friend, Spot, I just gotta tell ya this. You practically own Brooklyn, everyone knows you…people would give anythin' to get just a taste of the power you have…just a minute in your presence. Yet you want da one who wouldn't look your way if ya got hit by a carriage."

"Who's sayin' I'm gonna be stupid enough to run into a carriage?"

"You know…you could have just about any goil in the entire city if you wanted, but ya just had to choose da one ya can't have. Real nice," Finn shook his head slowly, and turned around, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers and descending the makeshift staircase.

Spot groaned and slammed his back against the barrel behind him, causing it to fall and roll off the platform only to crash onto the dock below. No one noticed.

A/N: So…I hoped you all enjoyed the first chapter, and you may expect some more in about a week or sooner, but only sooner if there is interest. Please do review with whatever your opinion is, just for my own personal reference. Luff for all and I look forward to continuing!