The Royal Flush

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Righto, this is the second chapter. Yeah, I expected I could update quick, but I ended up disliking the flow of it all, so I went on a spur of writing and just scribbled most of the chapter.

Some Spot in this one…and by the way, what you'll read isn't as cliché as you think.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Alright, on with the chappie!

From the Brooklyn Bridge, you could see practically most of New York. The city loomed large and majestic beyond, its skyscrapers reaching high and contrasting sharply with the setting sky, which had vivid colors streaking it a faint purple, red, and orange. The serene water below reflected the buildings and everything above, creating a breathtakingly beautiful and picturesque effect.

Spot Conlon leaned against the rails of the Bridge, gazing out across the view without any real comprehension or appreciation. His face was carefully expressionless, his stance casual. His golden-topped black cane was laid sideways across the rail and he rested one hand over it, thoughtfully running his thumb across the smooth, polished wood. Next to it sat his hat, worn and almost colorless from use. From a distance, he made an oddly innocent figure, strange because it defied his character. He was leaner and lither than most in Brooklyn and certainly seemed small and lonely as he stared out from the Bridge. His eyes however, were a stony, undeniable gray and one simple look proved that there was nothing harmless in them.

He lifted one hand and took the hat, idly fingering it before running a hand through his dark, blonde-streaked hair. Then he put the hat on, adjusting it automatically before staring out again, his compressed lips unsmiling as he delved deep into thought. He exhaled, slowly, and unnecessarily rubbed the back of his neck.

He was uneasy.

He hated himself for it. He, Spot Conlon, king of Brooklyn, was uneasy. He was even bordering dangerously on worried. This lull, this calm before the storm; it unnerved him. Outwardly, he knew no one had noticed. He always appeared calm and composed to the others and he had to make sure of it. It was his job, as a leader. But he had to admit it; he couldn't relax.

The strike had ended peacefully enough, despite all the trouble it had caused. Spot shifted, playing with the gold top of his cane. He no longer cared about the strike. It had finished. He didn't even care about the unsteady relationship between Manhattan and Harlems. He had predicted some boroughs would turn against each other sometime anyhow. It was Manhattan's problem, not his. He and his boys had helped them out enough.

No; it was Brooklyn itself that he was concerned about. A long time had passed since news of his archenemy being sighted here. Some of the Brooklynites, he knew, suspected Cat had made a mistake and Duke wasn't here at all. He was tempted to join them, but he knew Cat rarely, if never, erred in her job. He depended on her too much and she knew how much was at stake if she made a mistake. Duke was here, somewhere, and Spot knew he couldn't just be lazing away. He must have done something, or was doing something, already. And he was leaving it up to Spot to figure it out.

He swore softly. It was just like Duke to plan his retaliation in the form of a game. Everything had seemed like a game to him, Spot remembered. They both were like that, actually. But the difference was that Duke had never known or had ignored the point of when to stop playing. Last time, the prize had been the power of holding Brooklyn. And he had gambled with Spot's - his friend and leader – trust. It had been dirty, vicious, and treacherous. Spot knew too well that this time was going to be even worse.

Duke was playing with his patience here, Spot knew. It was either that, or Duke had expected him to have figured out his first move and was waiting for him to respond. Spot inwardly smiled grimly. Duke wasn't going to have all the control. He could wait.

He then heard footsteps walking towards him and he looked up to see Pike, his second-in-command. The other boy gave him a short nod and Spot turned his gaze back towards the stretching city beyond him, waiting for Pike to reach him. The other boy leaned back against the rail, his elbows supporting him and Spot acknowledged him with a gray glance. Pike was also short for a Brooklynite, but he was stockier and about an inch taller than he. The two were good friends, despite the difference of him being leader and Pike the lieutenant.

"Hey Spot," Pike greeted, his usually half-open, white shirt buttoned against the day's sudden breezes. He looked at Spot, who was dressed in his normal, checkered shirt with its sleeves rolled up. He didn't seem cold in the least. Pike inwardly shrugged. His leader never seemed to adjust with the seasons.

"Hey," Spot said, watching a flock of birds soar through the sky and at the same time observing Pike. He noticed that Pike's usually sleek, black hair was out of place. Probably because of the wind, Spot thought, and smirked. That must be irking him. Pike was picky about two things. One was girls. And the other was his hair to be perfect. Spot let himself feel smug. Pike still didn't know that most girls liked guys' hair to be slightly messy. An art Spot had mastered years ago.

Pike rolled one shoulder and turned around to look down over the Bridge. "What you doin'?"

Spot considered and said at length, "Thinking."

Pike paused and commented with a, "Mmm."

Spot answered his unspoken question by adding kindly, "'Bout everythin' in general."

"Cat told me to tell you," Pike said, knowing Spot didn't want to talk about the subject, "Manhattaners comin' over. Cowboy and the Mouth."

Spot frowned slightly. "Why didn't Cat come herself?"

"She says she's sorry," Pike lowered her voice, "But she's askin' dem Queens 'bout Duke."

Spot flicked him a look. Pike chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "Says some of da boys dere was talkin' 'bout a guy who sounds a little like him. But Cat thinks it ain't, but still. Says it's worth checkin' out."

"Interestin'," Spot commented flatly, feeling a faint nudge in his gut. He ignored it, knowing he could analyze this new information later. He watched Pike draw out a cigar and look in vain for a light. Wordlessly, Spot slipped out his own matches, struck it easily, and handed it to him. Pike nodded his thanks and lighted his cigar.

"You ain't smokin' so much now," Pike remarked, shaking the match to put out the light. "Ace against smokin' too?"

Unexpectedly, Spot felt a surge of humor and allowed himself to break into a rare grin. "I dunno. Better to be safe dan sorry though, eh?"

Pike threw the match away over the Bridge. "Or she'll start provin' things and gettin' herself sick again?"

Spot smirked, "With one of my Havanas?"

Pike laughed. "Dat'll be a sight."

Spot merely smirked wider, on the verge of laughter. Ace had such odd peculiarities. Some were truly amusing. One of the funniest had been her severe disapproval against drinking. Spot always had to restrain his laughter at the memory. She had declared all the evils of alcohol in front of them all, trying so hard to prove him wrong. He had tricked her into taking a slug of beer herself and her expression then had been hilarious. Well, he had felt a bit bad about it when she had become instantly sick. Still, it had been funny.

"At least Milkshake likes both drinkin' and smokin'."

"Yeah. I've got a civilized girl dis time."

Pike started to laugh, and then stopped. Spot watched him trying to choose whether to take that as a compliment or an insult and then pick the latter. "Hey," Pike gave him a mock-glare, "Don't bad-mouth my girl."

Spot started enjoying the look on his face. "I ain't. Ace just happens to be…respectable."

"Respectable…well, in some ways she is. She ain't throwin' herself on you like da others."

Spot felt strangely, oddly proud. "Well, she ain't like dem." Then he stopped, not wanting to sound disgustingly romantic. Pike was laughing already.

"Maybe," said the slick-haired boy slyly, "She takes pity on ya."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe she really doesn't like ya and just feels sorry."

"Nah," Spot said confidently, "She ain't dat good a performer; I'd know."

"Yeah?" Pike's eyes suddenly flickered, as if an idea had come across him. Spot just watched, feeling a faint flash of humor at how easy to read his face was. Pike then looked back at him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Y'know, we ain't had much excitement recently."

Spot raised his own eyebrows expressively and crossed his arms. "Brilliant observation, Pike," he drawled sarcastically and leaned back against the rail again.

Pike rolled his eyes, but persisted, "How much dough you got?"

Spot's ears pricked up as he instantly recognized where the conversation was going to. A bet. Pike wanted a bet to spice things up. He gave him a considering look. "Enough," he replied cautiously.

Pike grinned, knowing now that Spot just as well might have agreed to go along with him. "Enough for a bet?"

It was Spot's turn to roll his eyes at the childish excitement on Pike's face. "Okay, spit it out."

Pike winked cheekily. "An easy one, actually. Jus' for fun."

Spot eyed him. "Considerin' you, it probably ain't gonna exactly hilarious."

Pike laughed, one hand reaching up unconsciously to fix some loosening strands of hair. "Alrigh'. Dis involves Ace."

Spot nodded, still cautious. "I hope you know da terms when it comes to her," he said and Pike nodded back.

"No worries dere. See, it's actually on yoah favor."

Spot waited patiently and took his cane in one hand, bringing it up to examine its condition casually.

"Jus' to see if she's really into you or not," Pike went on, grinning.

"Dyin' with curiosity here," Spot muttered, though he actually was mildly interested. Pike's bets were always fun, simply because they were fairly easy to win.

Pike kept grinning. "Okay. You have to make Ace declare dat she loves ya, in front of us all," he paused and then added, "An' you can't ask her to; she has to do it on her own."

Spot didn't answer for a moment, silently marveling at Pike's simplicity. It was such an easy wager. Sure, Ace had never actually said the words right out loud, but he knew it was true from the way she acted, talked, kissed. The only part that was slightly difficult would be making her say it, but all it needed was clever maneuvering and a spot of luck. Simple.

"Sure," Spot drawled, unable to keep from smirking. "Piece of cake."

Pike smirked back. "Two dollars?"

That was high. Almost a week's worth of money. Spot straightened from the rail and slid his cane through his belt loop before looking back up at the taller boy, narrowing his eyes into an amused stare. "Only two? Scared, Pike?"

Pike's chin jutted it out and he flexed his arms. "Nah. What you proposin'?"

"Five," Spot threw out carelessly, as though remarking on the color of the sky today. It was a sure win over a stupid bet. Well, it was Pike's fault for thinking up something so idiotic. He had the satisfaction of seeing the other boy pale slightly.

"Five? Five dollars?"

"Five."

Pike considered. "Alrigh'," he said carefully at length, "But with some changes," he said, half-defiantly. "By this day next week. At Ray's."

Spot shrugged. "Your loss,' he replied smoothly, breaking into a slight grin. Pike spat in his hand and held it out. Spot did the same and the two shook hands on the wager, both of them thinking they had gotten the better end of the bargain.

I loathe newspapers.

Seriously.

The boring blend of gray, black, and white with horrendously even, clean printed words, the dry, rustle the paper makes when folded, and the smell of fresh ink. It makes me feel like throwing the paper down and stomping on it. Every day, the same ones. The only difference was the words, but it didn't help. Sighing, I scanned it, searching for keywords of interest to the public. My eyes caught on a story about some small defect in food in a cafe and I seized it, shaping it in my mind into larger words for a bigger impact.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and reached up to put my hat on. A breeze blew my hair into my face, blocking my view, and I irritably brushed it away. I tucked my hands into my pockets and started my selling. I decided to move towards the docks, slowly, and sell along the way. I would need to change my words drastically from time to time and to sell to the same crowd with different headlines wouldn't do at all. The streets were fairly uncrowded, with only a few people here and there, and I sighed. I wasn't going to do well.

I waved my newspaper around, keeping the rest of the load securely in my arms. "Food poisoning destroys the population!"

No one even glanced my way.

"Poisoning strikes terror in New York!"

Nothing. I was going to starve.

An old lady passed by behind me. I frantically turned around and walked up to her quickly. I waved the newspaper right under the nose of an old lady, shouting the headline again. "Terror! In New York! Food!"

She gave me a rather frightened look and said nervously, "Oh, I already had a newspaper delivered to my house, dear." She scuttled off with surprising speed, glancing back at me with an uncertain look. I stood there in wordless disappointment, not really surprised, but wishing she had taken the newspaper anyhow. Old ladies usually did, you see. I sighed and rubbed my forehead with the back of my neck, tired from a fruitless morning.

Why? Did one of the others say the same headline already? Was it too boring? I stood there, racking my brains. I pulled my hat firmly down over my head and rubbed my hands to generate some warmth.

"Oh my! Joanne, look! Look!"

My ears picked up giggles and my forehead creased as I turned my head to see three girls. They were huddled together on the street, whispering behind their hands and ducking their heads in laughter. They were dressed simply but expensively, the material evidently rich and precious. Their hair was perfected with silk ribbons and I noticed that their small hands were milky white and smooth from never having handled anything lighter than a spoon before. I unconsciously thought about my ragged trousers, its darkened ends rolled up because of their length, and my once-white shirt, pale yellow now, and my stained cloak wrapped messily around myself. I fought off jealousy and embarrassment as I noticed that their eyes were upon me as they conversed. My face slowly flushed as I caught tidbits of what they were saying.

"Is that a girl?"

"Her hair looks dead. Ratty."

"Those clothes…!"

"Hush, she's looking at us."

The last whisper was quieter than the rest, spoken by a short blonde with a rosy, healthy complexion. I glared at all three of them, not at all appreciating their comments. The blonde and the brunette looked away, obviously trying not to laugh, but one tall girl just stared back at me, her full lips curving into a pitying smile. My first instinct was to go right up to her and whack that leer off her face, but I was self-disciplined (hah!) and stalked down the street the other way. Barely controlled laughter reached my ears and my shoulders hunched defensively, my back feeling their unfriendly eyes upon my back. Irritated, I forced myself not to turn right back around. I knew Spot hated fights being started on his turf, especially if they were ones of no consequence.

I turned a corner, trying as fast as I could to get as far away from them as I could before I really did lose it. Knowing I was now out of the girls' line of sight, I breathed out, trying to shake my thoughts away. Even at the orphanage, I never knew how to deal with truly mean girls. Boys I could handle, for some reason; consider Fire. But girls? I'm not sure why. I always had ended up resorting to violence, which merely meant triumph for the bullies in the long run. I'd wind up getting into huge trouble from the mistresses, which was always just as bad.

But honestly, mean girls always scared me. They were creative in their cruelty, and they gang up on you. I was only glad that there was nothing that bad here among the Brooklynites. I folded my arms, huddling over as I walked away. I felt awfully dismal, though I hated myself for being affected by those anonymous girls. I sighed and then felt my ever-empty stomach rumble complainingly.

I was hungry.

Heh.

I've been hungry since forever.

Then I promptly hated myself all over again for sounding so dramatic and self-pitying. I knew I wasn't living a perfect life, being way down there in the social ladder. But what did complaining about it do at all? Really, just how much did social class matter, I mean, truly? We have as much power as the ones up there; the strike proved that. At least, in certain ways. Someday, I told myself. At least once, before I die. I'll wear nice clothes, like the ones those girls were wearing, I'll eat gorgeous food, and I won't be hungry. For one day. Then I grinned, feeling foolishly much better.

Now, to deal with the hunger I had now, I decided to snatch something off a vender. I wanted something to munch along my selling route to the docks. Maybe an apple. I glanced around, shifting my newspapers into a more comfortable position under my arm. I spotted a vender nearby. The man who was selling wore a dirty apron, was of average build and height, with a brilliant smile that looked awfully painful. I wondered whether I looked like that when I tried to look cheerful when selling. Maybe that's why I'm not doing well.

I eyed him, noting how he seemed aware of his customers. I wasn't good at stealing, never was, and the only times I could manage was if the 'victim' was dull and slow. I didn't think I could pull this one off. I was just about to turn away and get back to my selling when a voice stopped me.

"Hey! Ace!"

I whirled around rather guiltily, thinking that maybe someone had somehow read my thoughts or had figured out what I was about to do. I quickly swept my gaze over the street and then I settled on two boys, one of them waving at me noticeably. I instantly recognized him with some surprise and felt myself prickle with a faint sense of curiosity. I waved back. "Jack!"

The two of them ran up to me and during that short time, I saw that the other boy was David. I grinned, wondering whether Spot knew he was there. He just about hated David. I'm not sure why, but I always found it funny in a twisted way. Spot with his little nitpicks and pet peeves. David was one of them.

"Hi," I greeted, taking Jack's offered handshake, "What're you doing here?"

Jack was wearing his usual trademarks: a red bandana and a jet-black, felt cowboy hat. He managed to look dashing instead of ridiculous, which was quite a feat in itself. Honestly, most teenage boys don't go around walking around New York wearing clothes like a wanna-be cowboy. I had to tip my head back to see him, because he was so immensely tall. He was grinning his wonderfully disarming grin. "We've got news. Where's Spot?"

I shrugged. "I'm just 'bout to got to the docks and I'm thinking he's there. Wanna come along?"

"Sure thing."

I stole a look at David, who had not spoken yet. He had an average build and height, so he was only about half a head taller than me. He had the curly, brown hair I had noticed the first time I had seen him from far off that day at the docks. He also had, I realized, very, very blue eyes, which were now analyzing me from top to bottom. I caught his gaze purposefully and he stared at me for a second before his eyes sort of cleared in realization.

"Hey, I remember you," he exclaimed, gesturing with one hand. Jack looked from me to David.

"You two met?"

Then I remembered too. "Oh."

"At the rally-"

"Yeah, you screamed at me to help."

David looked startled and then cocked his head. "No, I didn't."

"You sure did," I teased.

"No," he frowned and said stubbornly, "I did not."

Gah.

"I was just kiddin'," I tried to make him laugh by laughing myself, but his eyebrows were still furrowed in confusion. Jack also looked confused and I trailed off, wishing I hadn't said what I had. Apparently David did not share my kind of humor.

"Tell me what happened…?" Jack asked, slightly sarcastic. David gave me another look and then explained.

"I asked her to help me find you at the rally. There was so much confusion and you disappeared. We had to get you out of there then."

"Yeah," I commented flatly.

I'm afraid I went off and gave David a scornful glance right then and there. David caught it and looked startled all over again. Like a frightened bean. A frightened big rabbit jelly bean.

I can see why Spot didn't like him. He was already exasperating and ever so extremely dull. Why'd he come anyhow? How come Race couldn't have come? He was much more interesting. Skittery even, because I somehow liked his sullen, bad-temperedness. I didn't understand why Jack seemed to have taken a liking to David. Maybe unlike Spot, he thought it would be better to have a various, broad range of friends, including goody-goodies like David.

"I…think I get it," Jack said, but he was laughing. "C'mon, let's get goin'."

We walked with Jack between the two of us. I was glad of it and I have to admit I completely ignored David. He occasionally gave comments here and there, but he seemed uncomfortable around Brooklyn. Or maybe a Brooklynite. Okay, maybe he was just uncomfortable around me. I glanced at him at one point and he looked away immediately. I don't think he liked me. Heh. The little joke must have thrown him off.

"So, how's Manhattan?"

"Good. Race actually won a bet on one of dem racing horses."

"Yeah?"

"Pretty happy 'bout it, he is. You guys?"

I opened my mouth to say, "Good," right back, but then re-considered. Jack, being the perceptive leader he was, noticed my hesitation. "Not goin' dat great?"

"Ahm…not exactly."

"Somethin' happen?"

"No, that's just it. Absolutely nothing is happening."

"Hah, I know what you mean. We get it sometimes too."

David nodded seriously. "People get restless. Don't worry, you'll get over it."

Like he knew anything about it. I just smiled sweetly at him and again, he looked away uncomfortably. Hahahahahaha.

"Okay, Jack," I declared, switching my gaze to him. "I'm desperately awaiting your news. Good ones, you said?"

He pressed his lips together into a surprisingly good smirk. "Nah. I think you need to wait." He proceeded then to clam up and refuse to say anything. I poked him in the arm.

"C'mon, what happened?"

"Just wait."

"Please?" I whined unabashedly.

"You do know Brooklynite ain't allowed to act like dis?"

"Who cares. C'mon, I'm dyin' for something new here."

"Wait for Spot."

I sighed and decided to let it go. Fine, I thought. The sooner we find him then, the better. I gave Jack another mock-glare and then smiled to show I was joking. Then I was just about to change the subject when David gave me a smile. "Ace, Spot needs to hear first," he said, ever so belatedly.

I stared at him. He used my name in such a way that was ever so…disgusting. It sounded horrid coming from him, so foolish and extremely childish. He also sounded very serious, like he was reprimanding me for a grave, grave reason. It annoyed me instantly. Sure, maybe he was right, but I did not like the manner he told me. He had rotten timing too; just when I was about to drop it. Now I felt re-irritated. I gave him a dark glower. "Is that so?"

"Yes," A trace of puzzlement at my tone.

"Spot trusts me, you know. I trust him too."

David eyed me. He eyed me. "I know about you and Spot."

"And?"

"It's just that Spot is leader, you see, and you're not."

I spluttered wordlessly.

(Jack was laughing. He probably never saw David get into an argument. Heh.)

"I'm simply telling you the facts," David informed me kindly.

"You…you're just so full of it, aren't you?"

"What!"

"Brooklynites aren't stupid, stop pretending we are."

"WHAT?" He gestured nervously again with his hand. "I never said that! Why do you Brooklynites always twist my words around all the time?"

I stilled. "Are you," I said in my best, threatening, Spot-like voice, "trying to say something?"

David came to the nearest I saw to a glower. Before he could speak, Jack cut him off. He was no longer chuckling in that surprised way, but laughing inwardly, "Look you two, I'm just gonna go ahead an' find Spot, 'right? Try to settle dis."

Horrified, I tried to protest, but David did that for me. "Don't!"

Jack grinned and slung a friendly arm across his shoulders. "Hey, think of dis as a chance to improve your social skills," he added in a stage whisper, "Brooklyn's probably da toughest."

Hey. Was that an insult?

Jack then patted him once and then with a wink at me, walked off in the direction of the docks. My mouth, trained from quite a lot of exercise, fell open upon reflex. He left us. Just like that. That is horrid, horrid. Jack was evil.

Because now I have to deal with David, who, by the way, I am still miffed at. I turned to him, crossing my arms. He looked very agitated and his hands kept twitching. I could almost see his brains at work, trying to find a way to smooth things over. I suppose I ought to do that too. Besides…I didn't like the way Jack had made me seem like a…a…challenge. I wasn't that unsocial and I wanted to prove him wrong. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke before I did.

"There are just some things some people can know and some things others can," he gave me an exasperated look, "That's all."

…

Why won't he just shut up?

Naturally, I lost my temper again. If he thought he was sounding wise, he was wrong. Very, very wrong. No wonder Spot calls him a walking mouth. He just spouts all kinds of junk. In fact, he sounded idiotic because he was trying to sound wise. I told him so. He told me I was being immature. I told him he could go stick his head up a pipe and stay there. He told me to calm down and see reason.

To calm down!

I wanted him to be annoyed; I wanted to see how far he could stretch that thinning control he had over himself. See, he didn't have the same kind of control and composure Spot or Philip had. They kept their self-control without showing that they were in their faces. David on the other hand, lacked the composure. He looked like he was going to burst with displeasure. And the most awful thing is, I was starting to have fun. Really. It's been a long time since I had a good, sharp tiff with anyone. David was boring, yeah, but it's stress relieving. But I truly was irritated with him. He grated on my nerves.

"Why'd you have to come anyhow?"

"Wha-what is it about me that you just seem to hate all of a sudden?"

He stuttered with startled anger. Hah!

"Because you're a stuck-up git," I informed him eloquently.

"You're overreacting."

"I am not!" (I think I am.)

I glared at David and he stared widely back, doing that whole rabbit impression again.

My lips were just about peeling back into a sneer and I was beginning to wonder what kind of expression he would have if I told him he looked like a jelly-bean when I felt an arm wrap around my waist from behind. I squawked in surprise and jumped back to bump against someone.

"Woah, jittery, Ace," said a voice, a smirk evident in its tone, and the arm loosened. "Relax."

I looked up and my tension deflated as I felt a wonderful thrill chase itself down my spine when I met familiar, intense grayish-blue eyes. As usual, my breath caught audibly in my throat. Something gave way inside of me and I was embarrassed to find I felt awfully, marvelously weak all over. Does Spot always have this effect on me? Yes, he did. Pathetic, I know.

He looked different and I was trying to figure out why. His hair was wet and his skin felt damp, even through my shirt, so I gathered he had been at the docks. But that wasn't it. Then I finally noticed that his hat was on backwards, making him look incredibly roguish and…well, cute. He caught my appreciative glance and he smirked. I grinned back. "Hi."

"Hey," he said and kissed me lightly. "What's new?"

"Somethin' is, but they won't tell me."

"Who?"

"Jack and David."

He looked over at David. His eyes turned cool and collected quickly, almost like he had automatically switched to another personality. He used to do that to me a lot and it annoyed me immensely. I used to think he was mocking me and thus thought him seem like an arrogant prig. Well, he is arrogant. But he's not a prig. Not at all. He doesn't even come close.

"Where's Jack?"

I shrugged. "Don't ask me. Went to find you; didn't you see him?"

"I didn't."

Then he looked back again at David, who paled slightly. "Hi Spot," he greeted quickly and, to my surprise, glanced at me. What did he think I was going to do? Spot looked him over and nodded before rubbing the back of his neck casually.

"So what you doin' here," he deadpanned, not ending with a question mark.

"Um, we have news from Manhattan."

"And."

Spot does that pretty well, the deadpanning. It unnerves people. David was definitely unnerved. "Jack…I think he-"

"Why don't you just tell us?" Spot said, smiling a smile that was not friendly in the least.

David rubbed one arm, looking somewhat sheepish. I cocked my head at him, waiting for the News that both Jack and David had been making such a big deal about. Something to do with the other boroughs, perhaps? But they had said it was good. Maybe…well, the price of the papes, you see, had merely returned to its normal state. Maybe…maybe it had lowered? That would be spectacularly good. Spot coughed slightly, making David's eyes to flicker over at him, as though gauging his reactions.

"Well…?" Spot drawled, effectively lengthening the word into a slow, careful tone that hinted at what would happen if David continued the suspense. But Spot didn't seem very much in suspense. In fact, he looked bored.

Then David blurted out, quite suddenly, "Someone's invited us for a dinner!"

Author's Note: I'm sure you can all imagine Ace's expression and reaction to something like that…But yeah, explanations later. David is rather pathetic in this chapter, but you have to understand that it's all from Ace's POV and through her eyes, he's truly idiotic. If I wrote this in third person, David would seem to have acted better and Ace more…well, childish. Yes, she has faults.

Oh, and if you caught that parallel about her trying to stretch David's patience with that part in the previous story where Spot was doing the same thing to Jack on the Bridge, it's supposed to be like that. To show how Ace is becoming more and more into Brooklynite, and you know Brooklynites aren't really the most pleasant newsies in New York.

Again, this one's fairly non-active, but it'll pick up pace, don't worry.

Thanks for all the reviews, hope you enjoyed this one!