Now Spot didn't used to hate early mornings. Used to be that early mornings meant starting the coffee for the Superintendent and getting a cup himself for his troubles while he admired the beginnings of the sunrise. Mornings meant time to focus what little control he had over the magic he's inherited from his ma to heat up enough hot water to wash up for the day, being the first to stop by the nuns and their wagon and get himself the best of the questionable biscuits and donuts they hauled around. The earlier Spot got up the more likely it was he'd be first in line at distribution and first out the gates to sell the morning edition. He'd had a whole slew of regulars who bought from him just cause he was the only newsie out and about the streets the same hour they were. Used to be that Spot loved early mornings.
But that was before Blue left.
These days Spot got up first to get breakfast started. His mam had taught him the basics of a kitchen soon as he was old enough to hold a spoon properly and Old Lady McGonagall who'd lived a couple doors down from them had made sure he could bake good as any housewife. Last his birds had told him she wasn't faring too well herself these days, he'd have to pay the old broad a visit. But first he had to get the big pot of porridge going and bake the bread he had left to rise overnight and set the percolator on the stove to get the coffee started. He lets his fingers linger on the edge of the pot as he fills it with water and oats and the last of the milk, his hands hover over the percolator as he starts the flame under it, and he uses a silver knife to carve simple runes in the top of the bread as he shapes it before sticking it in the oven; muttered charms and incantations spilling past his lips all the while.
Just another thing his mam and McGonagall had made sure he knew before he went off into the world on his own.
Most mornings by the time he's got the porridge off the stove, bread cooled and sliced enough every boy gets at least one piece and pouring himself that first blessed cup of coffee all but the youngest of his boys are up and getting themselves ready for another day of carrying the banner. He finishes his coffee and heads back up the stairs to get the littles up and keep the rest of his boys on track. By now he's got enough control to get the water to a nice heat and hold it while all his boys get themselves washed up. The next hour is full of making sure the younger ones get downstairs and eat without making a mess of themselves and his older boys do their share of the cleaning once they've finished up. He drinks another cup throughout, scarfs down a slice of fresh baked bread, and even a bowl of the porridge if he's lucky.
He barely has time to rinse off his hands and splash his face with freezing water before scooping up the last of the bread into his bag and leading his boys down to the distribution gates. The littles scamper off to grab their papes and Spot hangs back to make sure the girl newsies coming in check in with him on their way into the distribution center. He memorizes any new faces and places a soft kiss on the brow of every single girl that passes through the gates, old and new before sending them off to join the line, a piece of bread in hand as they go. Then the littles are back, papers in hand and it takes everything he has to make sure they stay put while whatever older kid they'd decided to sell with that day gets his papers. He switches about selling partners as he sees fit as pairs are reported to him and makes sure everyone is off to their own selling spots and not taking any of each other's business. Before they step foot past the gates every little under the age of ten gets a soft kiss to their brow, the same charms he had given the girls washing over them. Then they're off, every single one of his newsies determined to sell their papers and make their Head proud. Spot lets out a heavy sigh before he sets his cap atop his head and goes to put his money in the cashbox, grab his own stack of papers and heads off to carry the banner alongside his newsies.