(Author's note - Featured characters for this chapter are David, Sweet Tart, Tragic, Snoddy/Echo, Bumlets/Rogue, and Ryker.)

Chapter 3: Voices Carry

by Stretch

The lights flashed on the stage as the curtains rose, the pianist cracking his knuckles as the evening entertainment began. With the events earlier in the day, those within Irving Hall were still trying to wrap their minds around the idea that one of their own was dead. An eleven year old boy was beaten to death for no other purpose than sheer enjoyment of twisted individuals, and those currently sitting in the back of the theater were trying to swallow the thought while downing a few drinks.

"I can't say I'm not worried about what Jack has planned," David said, one of the few opting for a lighter drink as even some of the females were downing a series of wicked shots.

"Oh, Davey, why should you worry? When has Jack ever done anything rash or…wait," Sweet Tart teased, at least as much as she could, taking a sip from her gin and tonic.

At her remark, David couldn't help but send her a smile, forgetting his anxiety for a moment and even chancing a chuckle. She, however, didn't seem to notice as she watched the piano player and sent him a wink, biting her lip and hiding a green eye behind her red hair.

"Jack's not really the guy that pulls a stupid stunt without thinking about it. Besides, he ain't led us wrong yet, right?" voiced Snoddy, breaking David's attention from Sweet Tart. Though, the girl still seemed rather preoccupied with the musician across the room, anyway.

"Yet," Tragic felt the need to add, sending Snoddy a look, smiling despite the serious tone in her words. "One of us hasn't been killed yet, either, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen," she continued, her tone becoming more serious as she glanced in the direction Sweet Tart was glancing at. A swell of jealousy coming over her before she quickly turned her head back to present company, her good hand, or only hand, toying with a cigar as the stumped end off her left arm lay there useless on the table. She had longed to be up there, her fingers fluttering over the keys as her father's had done, but she simply tossed her dark curls out of her olive face and decided to return to the conversation.

"You really think he's the type to, you know…I don't know," Echo tried, nervously attempting to voice her own concerns as she sidled up beside Snoddy, watching as several members of their little group attempted to dance away their own nerves as the music rose to a rather high, up-tempo number.

Sighing deeply, David took a drink and offered, "Dunno. Whatever happens, though, we can't split up. This has gotten serious. He said they were laughing about it up in Midtown. Laughing. I mean, if someone did that to Les…" Trailing off, David decided to steal Bumlets' glass while he danced with Rogue, feeling the need for alcohol at the mere thought of the same fate meeting his little brother.

"Well, it didn't happen to Les, and nothing will, alright?" came Flare firmly, idly biting her nails as she opted to join the discussion. The fact she had said anything relevant at all, however, was enough to get everyone at the table to look, surprised at the thought that she voiced anything that made sense. The bobbed-blond was typically mentioning something asinine, such as how horses gave birth or whether or not newspaper could feel considering it once came from a living thing, rather than voicing anything serious at all. If Flare was snapped into reality enough to make sense, this had to be a serious occasion.

Tragic seemed to be the first to snap back from shock, voicing a phrase she never believed she would considering the usual conversation Flare tended to get involved in. "Flare's right," seemed to say it all, the usually perky girl glancing around her table with an increased feeling of apprehension, Irving Hall considerably less cheery than it had been mere days, even hours before. How some could be dancing was beyond her, but she supposed others dealt with grief or shock in ways different than she did.

"Does Jack have a plan or, well, do you have one and is he going to use it?" Snoddy asked, attempting to prepare for the worst and putting an arm around Echo when the girl began to nervously chew on her nails. He didn't blame her, and he knew he had to help protect her in whatever way he could. However, he found his arm soon shrugged off, the girl apparently too caught up in her current thoughts to want to be touched.

"We're supposed to talk about it tomorrow, at lunch. Figure out a plan, or a plan for the plan or something. I think we're all still trying to figure things out. I mean, an eleven year old!" David finished, slamming his drink down in a show of true Davey emotion.

At the loud 'clank' to the table, Echo jumped, biting her nail so hard she drew blood from her fingertip. The brunette hissed in pain, carefully tucking her brown curls behind her ear as she inspected the damage. "Watch it, Dave. Give me a heart attack, why don't you?" she finally voiced, wrinkling her small nose as she blotted the blood away with Snoddy's sleeve.

The boy sent her an apologetic glance before opting to gather himself once more, putting his anxiety regarding his little brother on the back-burner for the moment. "Is everyone here going to show up? We all need to be in this, together, or we got nothing to keep this from happening again.

A series of nods answered his solemn question, save for Sweet Tart whose mind continued to wander. Or, more her eyes.

"Sweet Tart?" the boy asked in a gentler tone, carefully touching her hand to get her attention, the girl simply twitching it absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, I'll be there. I'll be right back, okay?" she finally offered, sending the table a wink as the piano stopped its melody. The girl was apparently out for a bit more entertainment than the grimness of her current table was providing her, several of her fellow newsies rolling their eyes as David simply looked on as she sauntered away.

Within a moment, a breathless Rogue and Bumlets rejoined the table, the raven-haired boy taking one look at his depleted alcohol supply and sending Snoddy a look considering, after all, who would suspect David? Snoddy simply held his hands up in innocence as Rogue watched the red-headed Tart walk away.

"Did I miss something?" she asked, having been a little preoccupied in enjoying what she could of a ruined day with a close friend, though her attention was once more taken from the table as a familiar face entered the theater and, with a wicked grin, opted to join their little group.

"Evening," Ryker greeted them all with his typical smirk, those who knew him well enough (all of them knowing him more than they would have liked) not surprised to see him sans his girlfriend.

That didn't stop Tragic from voicing the obvious, resting her chin against her handless arm. "Where's Relic, Ryker?"

"Hell if I know. Oh, Brooklyn or some shit. She had to meet someone or something," he answered, waving off her question as he sent the nervous Echo a wink, causing the girl to unintentionally grin in return.

"Charming, Ryker," Tragic returned with eyebrows arched over her hazel eyes, which finally got the boy to look over at her, unamused.

"Cute. Look, could you put that thing away or something, it's really starting to creep me out," he voiced, sending a look toward her stump before going back to looking over the other females of the table, Snoddy none too pleased to have his Echo as one of the sights for the evening.

Seeing the potential danger in the situation, David cleared his throat and asked Ryker, "You were at lunch with Jack today, right? He find anything out? Anything we need to know?"

"I don't know. He's got some plan or something. I think he's going to try and get everyone together to talk about it, say something loud and inspirational before we storm something. I wasn't really listening," he replied, his eyes still glancing at the intact females of the table, asking an ever-so charming, "So, who wants to get me a drink?"