A/N: I know I said it would be about a week…but I couldn't control myself and had to update sooner. The plot consumes my mind. I am in love with this fic. Also, a special thanks to Buttons14 for the incredibly sweet review. You make me so happy…and yes, the first paragraph, and first chappie for that matter, is surprisingly difficult to write.
Someday My Ship Will Come In
Chapter 2 "Exploring Unfamiliar Waters"
By: The.Pelvic.Thrust (Only Ink.)
"A hundred…" Spot said monotonously as he stepped closer to the portly bald man behind the main desk at the New York Times Distribution Office, if one could call such a place an "office". He yawned and blinked his eyes several times before placing a rusty half dollar coin on the damp desk in front of him and pushing it forward with the tip of his cane. The slowly disintegrating slab of wood before him served as a desk and was made of many different types of wood nailed together and never painted, but discolored by the salty breeze from the harbor. Most noticeably, there were strangely shaped gouges in the surface and an odd slimy green substance grew in scattered areas.
"Mornin' Conlon," the man replied gruffly, before nodding to an unkempt young fellow just emerging from under the desk. He slammed down a large stack of newspapers a few feet down, and smiled at Spot as he retrieved them seconds later. With a customary tip of his cap, Spot strode lazily out of the decrepit shack, and began to walk down the small dirt path leading past the paper mill and the harbor to the center of Brooklyn.
"Ya ain't plannin' on makin' a detour somewheah 'round da academy, are ya?" Finn questioned with a smirk, as he jogged to catch up with Spot, papers held loosely under his arm.
"Now, tell me, Finn…what makes ya think I would evah do somethin' like dat?" Spot said lazily with a small smirk up-turning one corner of his lips. He effortlessly slid his ebony colored cane into one of the frayed belt loops of his trousers, and lifted his papers to rest on his shoulder, shoving his empty hand into his pocket.
Finn grinned in response and ruffled his disheveled dark brown hair, easily falling into step with Spot's long strides. "I dunno, Spotty-boy. Good scenery 'round those parts, or so somebody told me…" He finished mockingly, retrieving a cigarette and a miniscule box of matches from his pocket.
"Scenery? So dat's how we refer to 'em now, huh?" Scoffing, Spot took his stack of papers and hit the back of Finn's head with them jokingly, just as he was holding an ignited match to the tip of his cigarette.
"Hey, watch it! Guy wit a…dangerous flamin' object heah…" he mumbled through the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, as he swayed slightly from the impact of the papers to his head.
Chuckling, the two newsboys emerged through a small amount of trees, unusual to the cityscape of Brooklyn, and made their separate ways to sell the papers that they were carrying. Finn nodded as he turned a corner toward an outdoor boxing ring close by, while Spot strode slowly, dragging out each step until Finn was out of sight. He eyed his surroundings quickly before making up his mind to turn up a hilly street leading to the upper area of town. Smiling to himself, Spot brushed a tuft of sandy brown hair out of his eyes, and raised his eyebrows at the stately brick buildings slowly becoming visible over the horizon.
It was a good two hours later when Spot had finally finished selling the majority of his papers around the wealthier side of town, about a half an hour longer that it usually took him in his daily selling areas. He supposed that he had to be procrastinating…every time he caught a glimpse of the large stone academy, he made a quick excuse to himself that he just had to sell ten more papers and then he would make his way over to the building. Well, ten papers became forty…and forty became eighty, and soon he was left with merely four tucked easily under his arm.
At least the weather was substantially more pleasant than the suffocating heat and stagnant humid air of yesterday, and he had the cool harbor breeze to thank for that. Spot judged that it had to be at least noon by now due to the empty feeling in his stomach, and Finn would be wondering why he wasn't at The Rusty Nail for their usual lunch. A bit farther down the cobblestone street, he noticed a large wooden sign advertising a small restaurant, and decided to go in for a quick drink to ease his parched throat and then head back to the docks.
He strode quickly to the eatery, and pushed the heavy, carved oak door open gingerly. A thin cloud of smoke hung over the candle-lit room which housed about ten velvet booths around polished wooden tables, and on the far side was a long bar with glittering glasses and hundreds of bottles. The place had an air of rough elegance, and Spot noticed that only four or five of the booths were occupied and the people in them were laughing, playing cards, and chatting over cups of coffee or plates of food. He slid easily into a rather small booth around the center of the restaurant with several large candles in the middle of the table. Taking off his tweed cap, he ran a hand roughly though his hair and scanned the room.
"Vat'll it be, cherie?" questioned the distinct French accent of a middle-aged woman dressed in a waitress uniform. Her pen was poised above a crisp pad of paper ready to take his order, and her mouth remained slightly stern while her eyes smiled at him through her spectacles.
"Uh, just an ale, thanks…" Spot replied rather quickly, as he was thrown off-guard by the boisterous laughter coming from the main door of the restaurant which had just opened, admitting a group of five teenage girls. He watched intently as they moved toward a large booth across the restaurant, varying hues of long pastel skirts and crisp white blouses bunching up slightly as they slid into the velvet seats one after another.
Among the group of eye-catching strangers, a familiar head of silky red curls caught his eye, the illustrious color illuminated further by the soft candlelight. Spot looked on in wonder as she reached a delicate hand up to undo the silk coral ribbon of her white sunhat and bring it carefully off of her head to rest on the table top. As soon as the object brushed against the surface, someone must have said something rather amusing yet again, for her hazel eyes shut once more and she grinned with laughter, throwing her head back. Not that he could hear anything at the moment of barely to focus on anything else. It was truly captivating. "Beautiful…"
"Ah, merci! You like my 'air? I jus' got eet done zis morning," the waitress said with a blinding grin, ruffling his hair, and putting his ale on the table in front of him. She winked and sauntered off, leaving Spot with a rather horrified expression as he hardly knew that he had actually spoken out loud let alone that someone was within hearing range of his mumble.
Rolling his eyes, Spot took a generous sip of the drink in front of him and began to leaf though one of his extra papers that he had placed on the seat next to him when he came in. He ignored the tingling sensation as the large gulp of liquid slid down his throat and focused on an article about a new train station opening in Midtown. About halfway though reading the article, he heard a bit of soft, musical laughter that seemed as if the person was both near him and attempting to suppress their mirth.
Lazily, Spot pulled his eyes away from the small print and willed them to travel across the table and rest upon the pale coral fabric of a skirt. He swallowed subconsciously and his heart skipped a beat as his eyes continued past an ivory blouse with pearl buttons and smooth porcelain skin, to finally stop at a pair of rather amused hazel eyes.
"Can I have one?" she asked cheerfully with a pleasant Irish accent, removing one hand from behind her back to slide a shining copper penny slowly onto the table.
"One what?" Spot said as more of an exclamation than a question, as he was surprised to hear her voice…and directed at him, no less.
She placed a hand lightly over her mouth and giggled before replying, "A paper…" Her engaging voice was incredibly distracting to his logical train of thought along with the fact that she now bit her bottom lip with a small amount of nervousness.
"Oh, yeah…" He replied, a smile slowly creeping up his face as he reached down next to him to retrieve an unused paper. As he was bent over slightly, out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl in front of him turn around and motion for the table housing her group of friends to cease their laughter by placing a finger to her lips. When he handed the paper to her, she turned quickly back to face him and grinned.
"Well, dis is one fine bit 'a merchandise ya jus' bought yerself, Miss…"
"Brady…Brigitte Brady," she finished for him, delicately taking the paper from him and glancing quickly at her feet before returning her gaze to him and beaming. "Well, thanks…"
With her words, Brigitte turned on her heels and meandered back to her booth. Spot shook his head languidly after watching her take her seat, and quickly drained the glass in front of him.
" Brady…Brigitte Brady…"A/N: Well, I really hope you found this chapter the least bit amusing, and remember that no matter what you opinion is, I'd love to hear it in a review. The reviews honestly do affect the quality, length, and frequency of my updates. I adore all who are reading this…you are amazing.