A/N: FFnet apparently banned shout-outs, so I'd just like to thank all those who reviewed…your support makes me oh-so-very happy.
Someday My Ship Will Come In
Chapter 3 "Drifting off Course"
By: The.Pelvic.Thrust (Only Ink.)
"So…I'm guessin' ya took dat detour, eh Spotty-boy?"
"Huh?" Spot replied after a rather lengthy pause during which he was staring aimlessly over the harbor from atop his perch. Finn rolled his eyes at the inquiry and pulled up an abandoned crate next to him, letting the silence expand as he followed Spot's eyes over the ships departing into the setting sun.
"You went uptown didn't ya?"
"What's it ta you?"
Finn shrugged and leaned back against the small mound of barrels that Spot had claimed, ignoring the slight bitterness in the statement. "Well, some 'a da guys were wonderin' where you'se gone off ta. Thought you done somethin' stupid."
"Like what?"
"Dunno. Go aftah Flash without backup."
"I ain't that stupid."
Finn nodded, not wanting to press the situation further when it was plainly obvious that Spot had absolutely no intention of disclosing even the least bit of information. Just as the silence was about to drive him mad to the point where he was going to join the rest of the newsboys on the lower docks, Finn heard the faint creaking of old wood as Spot finally turned to face him.
"You'se was right."
"That ya done somethin' stupid?"
"Her name's Brigitte Brady."
At this point, Finn couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at the sensation of being correct. It was difficult to crack the outer shell of Spot, but after almost ten years of knowing him, Finn managed to have a fair grasp on his personality. This was one of those shining moments. "What's she like?" he asked tentatively.
Spot let out a large sigh after several moments of thought, crossing his arms with a certain defiance about him. "Like nothin' else…" With that, he swiftly descended the entirety of the perch and strode over to the Lodging House with the power that only he could manage to personify with his strong, deliberate strides.
---
"Hot day ain't it?"
"Yeah, Finn. Real hot."
"We've been havin'the same conversation ferthe past week," Finn muttered, shoving a clump of his damp hair out of his eyes and sitting on the crate that he'd just occupied the previous night. "Still ain't gettin' any less hot."
Spot nodded and rotated his body slightly, so that instead of staring over the harbor, his eyes scanned the lower docks and the nearby street.
"Time yet?"
"A couple 'a minutes…" Spot asserted without so much as glancing at his pocket watch. Like clockwork, within several moments time, a familiar head of red curls appeared around a corner slowly advancing toward the docks. With each step she came clearer in to view…her copper hair…the soft pink tinge on her cheeks, she stared forward unshaken by her surroundings. Everything about her seemed to sway in the ocean breeze…it was like watching night turn into day, everything brightened…the dingy, rough wood of the docks…the fading afternoon sky. Even the air felt cooler to the touch and smelled less of the fish being hauled in across the harbor and more of the fresh sea salt.
Despite the fact that Finn had been in the middle of some story, Spot stared forward wide-eyed then promptly stood and scuttled down the ladder.
"…so then I told 'em, I'se said 'You'se ain't takin' my sauerkraut'-HEY! Where ya goin'? Didn't yer mudda evah teach ya nothin'?" The comment fell on deaf ears, as Spot was far too busy attempting to nonchalantly stroll over to the main road. "I see how it is…chase her!"
By the time Spot had finally passed through the lower docks, not without inquisitive stares from a good majority of the newsboys, and stepped onto the street, Brigitte was only several feet away. Brigitte Brady, smiling at him in her perfectly pressed blouse and flowing indigo skirt…always with her sunhat. Smiling at him…him in his torn charcoal trousers, faded blue shirt with unevenly rolled sleeves, and those unforgettable red suspenders.
One corner of his mouth upturned slightly as he watched her approach, his hand shoved lazily into his pocket. Running the other hand quickly through his haphazard hair, Spot nodded as she slowed her pace a few feet in front of him, several small textbooks clutched in her arms.
"Hello." Her reply was simple as she smiled and nodded politely, then breezed past him and continued walking at her normal brisk pace. Spot stood dumbfounded in her wake, blinking several times before jogging up next to her and matching her steps. Brigitte watched him out of the corner of her eye and let out a small laugh. "May I help you?"
"I was jus' about ta ask ya the same thing."
"What?"
"Well, ya must know how dangerous da streets can be at dis time." Spot glanced over to his left where a group of five or six young children were playing hopscotch on the side of the road.
"Really now?" she inquired, matching his smirk with an eyebrow raise of her own.
"Yep."
"At three o'clock in the afternoon?"
"You bet. Anyway, I was goin' ta ask you if ya wanted the company of a gentleman on your walk, ya know, just in case."
"Good idea." Brigitte began, elongating each word sarcastically, "…if you see one, make sure to tell him all about me." Attempting to mask her amusement, she turned a corner down a shady street. Spot noticed that as they continued through the neighborhood, each house that they passed seemed to be significantly larger than the one before it. He had almost forgotten that streets such as this one actually existed in Brooklyn, the only part of New York City where you could be under a bridge with the most filthy circumstances one moment and then on a street with monstrous houses and laughing children the next.
He chuckled at her comment, still harmonizing his steps with hers. "So, do ya live in Brooklyn?"
"So we're friends now and you can just ask me whatever questions you want as if I did not just make several obvious blows to your curiosity?" Brigitte questioned with a loud laugh, glancing at him as she spoke.
"Can't get nothin' past ya. So do ya?"
As her giggles subsided, she turned back to him. "Do I what?"
"Live in Brooklyn."
"Oh…yes. I have all of my life."
"See, we already got somethin' in common." The two shared in a quick smile before resuming their concentration on the cobblestones under their feet. The silence was only accompanied by Brigitte who had begun to hum softly, kicking absentmindedly at the ground with each step.
"Do you have a name?" She finally asked after several minutes, turning back to face him with a small smile.
"Nah, not really."
"People normally catch your attention with a series of unidentifiable squawks and grunts, do they?"
Spot met her gaze and laughed, flicking several non-conforming strands of hair out of his eyes. "Spot Conlon." he answered finally. If it had been anyone else who had asked, he would have shared in a good chuckle with anyone nearby at the dense person who did not know who he was. Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn. But…it wasn't anyone, it was Brigitte Brady, and that made all the difference.
"Is that one of those ridiculous nicknames that your crowd seems to come up with for each other?"
"Nah. My parents named me."
"They honestly named you Spot?" Brigitte questioned, as if she didn't truly believe him. It was more of an interested inquiry than one meant to pry or degrade.
"Is it that hard ta believe?"
"No." She paused, and bit her lip thoughtfully. "I like it." Her simple words weren't directed to Spot, they were more of an observation, but amused him none the less. Silence blanketed the two once more as Spot took to staring at the ground with his thumbs through his suspenders, slouching slightly and kicking at a rock. Brigitte, on the other hand, walked at her full height with the posture that could only have been formed through lessons, fighting the grin that was threatening the corners of her lips.
"This is it." Brigitte revealed, stopping in front of a brick path winding through a uniformly cut lawn up to a serene white town house. She turned to face Spot, giving him a fleeting smile before down-casting her eyes and making her way up the path.
"See ya tomorrow, then?" Spot called up to her, from his position at the edge of the lawn, a hint of hope in his normally passive drawl.
"Maybe you will." She replied mischievously over her shoulder, well aware of the intense gaze upon her as she vanished through the front door and into a completely different reality.
A/N: Whatever your opinion is, please do review. If you're an author, you know how much even a "This is good." reply means. Adoration for you all.