Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends. Poem in italics at the end of this piece is an excerpt from Remembrance by W.B. Yeats and I claim no right or owner ship to those lines. That genius is nothing of my own.
A/N: Sorry it has been a little bit. I've been swamped.
Warning: PG (angst, mild adult themes)
xiii.)
his body is all high society&hyperbole
tirelessly full of (backhanded) compliments&exaggeration
his grammar is eXXXquisite (but his handwriting atrocious)
the use 3 letters as kindling
they're just weighing them down
it's best to remove the evidence
Even just before sunset - Mexico is scorching (like the fire she used to feel when he touched her) and bone dry (the way she is inside now). He promises she'll be thankful for the jacket soon enough (he talks like he's been here before). They sold his books back in California and his his car under some tumbleweeds before heading down to Baja (they snuck over the border – he calls it returning the favor). When the wind blows here she finds dirt in places she didn't even know existed (people had always told her not to drink the water but she hadn't been told not to breathe the air). Mud bricks make a crude patio and wall in the middle of a small town (she's seen houses with more square feet than this place) and white Christmas lights try their best to imitate the stars (a pathetic attempt at best) but the way they dance in the wind makes her think of fairy dust (how much would it take to get her out of this place?).
It is a simple place compared to the glitz of Las Vegas (he'd been fascinated by the open debauchery) and the glamor of LA (tinsel town's shine hadn't held him still for long). Maybe what he needed was something less complicated for an inspiration though she wondered if he could really find his words here if they weren't in English. He is seemingly entranced by this world with its black haired girls who were everything (dark, exotic, and sensual) that she wasn't (pale, mousy, and shy).
The girls danced around the patio with smooth motions and graceful arms (she can't dance) with enticing lips painted crimson and swirling skirts that match. They all have crescent moon smiles and cheshire eyes. The Mariachi are playing and singing words she can't understand (why she isn't the one dancing with Boy Vagabond tonight?) and a man comes over to her. He's shorter and darker than Boy Vagabond with dark curls and darker eyes. She accepts the proposition of this man whose eyes are blacker than the skies and whose crescent moon smile twists beneath a thick moustache (she tried to tell him that she can't dance but he couldn't understand a word she said). He sweeps her onto the floor and it is clear that she never had a chance to say no.
It had been years since a man had touched her before Boy Vagabond and now an uncountable number of days since she was touched by a man besides him (no one had ever touched her as deeply as he had) even in casual contact. The attention is captivating (she starts to realize just how much Boy Vagabond takes her for granted) and she feels the lure of her old undying need to be attractive. The words he says makes her dreamy even if she can't understand them (she is just sure they're romantic). It isn't until the music stops that they stop (he kisses her hand and leaves her) and she doesn't have to look for Boy Vagabond this time (he had seen exactly where she had been). There is thunder in his eyes (and she knows there will be lightning in his words) when he storms off with her in tow.
Boy Vagabond is the jealous type (he can't stand even the idea of sharing with someone else unless there is self-gratification involved). The words he says are foreign and she wonders which senorita taught them to him (he may be sparing her the literal meaning but there is no missing the death in his tone). In this moment he hates her because he's never been able to see past the Now and remember all of the Then where he couldn't get enough of her. In this moment she hates him because he can't offer her the warmth or satisfaction that a simple stranger had given. By the end of it she is crying in the cold dark of the desert (she's a hundred times colder and drier inside than the desert around her) but he can't comfort her this time even though he wants to (he just doesn't know how to be what she needs).
"I want to go home." She tries to make it obvious.
"Of ceaseless loneliness and high regret
Sings the young wistful spirit of a star.
There is no going back once you've left."
The words echoed in her mind, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard them before (but high regret never came close to explaining the despair she had for letting him into her world.).
A/N: Beethoven makes me write this way.