A note: Emma's full name is not Emily, but Emeline.
Through a series of deeply unfortunate decisions that Emma was not privy to, she found herself sitting in between Sarah and Blink. The former, she was sure, would drive her slowly into the raging abyss of insanity, while the other, she was equally certain, would add cheeky insult to proper injury by laughing in Emma's petulant face. Emma was nervous already, and the night was still young.
To her utter relief, Emma found the food fabulous, and the Jacobs brothers provided decent conversation. She remembered, a bit belatedly, to complement Mrs. Jacobs on the food, and was just about ready to admit her preconceived grudge on Sarah a hasty one, when the torment began.
"Emily?" The girl began, making Emma wince, heavily, at the atrocious presumption. Emily was not her name; it had never been her name. Why did everyone think that was her name?
"Emma" she corrected, and then, to further impress her point, she stressed "Emma." Blink smothered a laugh at the pained look on her face, while David sent his sister an annoyed look. (Les was, for the moment, ignoring everything but his food.) At the other end of the table, the adults were conversing earnestly with Jack, and therefore were not going to provide Emma with any assistance.
Sarah graced the newsie with an apologetically benevolent look, which somehow left Emma feeling as though she was the one who had been in the wrong. It was a very complicated exchange, and only added to Emma's, rapidly growing, apprehension.
Just leave me alone, Emma begged, silently, sending Sarah telepathic mind waves of astounding mental intensity. Sarah ignored, or missed, the despairing plea and continued her speech.
"Do you ever wear blouses?" she asked, a polite smile returning to its ever-present position on her face.
"No, I—" Emma began, but found herself talking to an oblivious audience.
"Because I think you would give you an almost lady-like air. You might even be handsome looking," she added, happily, then paused apparently ready now for Emma's input.
"Ummm…" Emma muttered, vaguely, buying some precious time with a precariously large bite of whatever delicious blessing adorned her plate. She chewed slowly, hoping something, anything, else would come up. She realized, subsequently, that she should have known to be more careful with her wishes.
"Oh! And Emily—"
"Em-ma!" The newsgirl insisted, impulsively, around the food she had yet to swallow. This, consequently earned her a shocked look from Sarah, who paused a moment before again allowing Emma that same benevolent look, this time with an added edge of, decorum-minded, impatience.
"Why do you keep your hair in such a severe bun? I think you would look so much better with your hair down!"
Not on your life.
"Jack! Um…Jack's…friend…" Sarah looked slightly perturbed at her inability to draw Blink's name from her superior memory, but shook it off quickly. "Don't you think so?"
Emma turned mutely towards the two boys. Failing miserably in a frantic attempt to glare and plead at both the boys at once, and silently, Emma only succeeded in goading the two jokers even further toward the most obvious answer.
"Yeah."
"Yes."
They answered in perfect union, with admirably straight faces, and honest voices. Emma did not appreciate the effort, and mouthed a few, particularly black, swear words she'd learned from Spot himself, before turning to quickly, but forcefully decline involvement. She wanted no part of Sarah's intended experiment.
But with her nimble, doily-enhanced, fingers, Sarah had already instigated her attack, releasing Emma's painstakingly subdued locks. Emma felt her hair winding free, mocking her in the cruel voices she was sure none of the others heard.
"There!" Sarah sighed, happily "Isn't that an improvement!" Emma smiled, weakly, at her oblivious tormenter, before throwing some nearly hysterical looks towards first David, who had his head propped on his hand, covering his eyes, obviously embarrassed for his sister, and then to Les, who rolled his eyes, winked, and smoothly changed the topic of conversation.
Emma, with a fervent telepathic 'thank you' she could have sworn Les caught, bent over the food that had so deviously lured her here in the first place, and contemplated the many, many, ways she knew she would never be able to kill Sarah Jaccobs.
The Brooklyn newsie remained quiet, and carefully unobtrusive, other then a harsh kick to Blink's shin when he told her how the hairstyle made her 'a whole new woman. The rest of the meal was spent observing the other people at the table. She discovered just how nice the Jaccob's were, when they refilled her plate, though she knew that they had little enough for sharing. She saw that Les was, of course, the first one to finish, and sneak away from the table to Candide knew where. She also noticed the unreadable, yet vaguely conspiratorial look that passed between Jack and Sarah. It made her veeery nervous.
Immediately following dinner, Emma excused herself, with an icy glare towards Jack and Blink, briefly thanked Mrs. Jaccobs, and fled to the freedom of the fire escape!
After bumbling down the stairs and indulging in a few, delicious swear words, she leaned against the bottom of the building, and groaned. Though she hadn't the willpower to spend another ten minuets tugging and coaxing her rebellious hair back into its bun, she none-the-less swatted at it, angrily, before blowing a frustrated, relieved sigh, glad to be out of that place! She dug around her pockets, searching for something to smoke, something to ease her nerves. After finding a dingy looking cigarette, she began fumbling again, this time for a match, or, really, any flammable device.
"Damn" she moaned, when she came up empty handed. What a night! Even her beloved pockets had deserted her call! And the day had started out so very promising! Emma felt her mood dipping dangerously near sulky.
"Light?" The question was little above a whisper, and so close and unexpected that Emma jumped, startled to find Blink standing next to her. The boy laughed, easily, pleased to have caught her off-guard, as he lit her small, white, cylinder.
Emma breathed in deeply, inhaling the mixture of nicotine, tar, and who knew what other chemicals, and let out a strangled choke, belatedly remembering her peculiar taste for cigars did not extend to their albino cousins.
"Damn." She could have used a little stress relief. She didn't quite understand why Sarah had such a damaging effect on her, but it never failed to send her scrambling for a cigar. Blink arched an eyebrow at her, as she put out the offending joint, and crushed it under her foot.
"I cannot stand her," Emma groused, by way of a muddled explanation as the two made their way back to the lodging house.
"And you, what sort of friend allows, even encourages, such vile acts!" she admonished him, half-heartedly, but with a decidedly dangerous edge.
"But Emily—" He started, provokingly, before expertly ducking the well-aimed fist she threw at him.
"Emma" She growled over her shoulder, as he grinned, smugly.
"Emma." He mollified, wisely opting to keep the inflammatory original ending of his sentence for future fun.
The two walked a long way in semi-amicable silence, the night being as nice as the slums of New York allowed. The street lamps had been lit while they were yet inside, and they glowed with a warm, counterfeit, reassurance. The familiar streets were comforting to Emma and the nice night softened her petulant mood. She watched the city pass her slowly by, beneath her sure stride. As the city worked its subtle magic on her, Emma found herself incapable of further animosity.
She gave the boy beside her a forgiving, if reluctant, smile. Blink had been her first friend in Manhattan. He had been rather hard to miss, with that distinctive eye patch, and golden, laid-back, smile. Besides, he'd believed her theories on Candide, and that was rare.
Emma stopped when they'd reached their destination, turning from Blink to look back at the city, her city. She reveled in New York's drastic mood swings. She marveled at the peculiarities unique to the night, so different from those the day hoarded. Emma loved the city; it was in her bones, and in her heart.
"Emma?" Blink's breath was warm on her neck and his question gently compelling. Emma felt her pulse dance a bit, at the sound. She turned quickly, to see him standing less then a foot from her, his gaze intent, and a lingering smile softening his face.
In a flash, she remembered the secure, easy feeling of his arm wrapped around her, and the warmth of his chest against her back. She was subsequently glad that the night's shadows hid her light blush.
Meeting the one eye not hidden by his eye patch with her own inquiring gaze, and was surprised by the depth she found there. His usual cheek, had vanished, replaced with something that pleased Emma, though she could not set a name to it. Her blush deepened, but she didn't retreat, as Blink leaned closer to her, their bodies were inches apart, and his lips so close to hers, that Emma could feel their warmth, scant microns away.
"Emma…" he breathed again "Can I—" Her lips met his, interrupting his request with her answer.
Inside, Emma's world stopped, reversed momentum, and began spinning counter-clockwise, at an alarmingly rapid pace.
Gentle, he was so gentle. The tenderness she was so unaccustomed to warmed her, and Emma felt herself sigh softly into the kiss. And what a kiss!
Blink reached casually for her wrist, to bring her a little closer, but the innocuous gesture sent Emma recoiling sharply back, from the flash of a memory she'd have sworn she'd overcome. The brief inner glimpse of a dark alley, and drunk, senseless boy, faded swiftly, and Emma turned back after only a moment or two's firm self-reminder of just how far she'd come from that night.
The easy apology and explanation petered from her lips, as she turned to find the boy gone.
"Damn."
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