Kay, so I think this one is a little longer than my first two, which is what I was aiming for. And by the way, my name is actually Brooklyn. No joke. So you can imagine all the fun I had when I watched Newsies for the first time... And I'm craving coffee more than usual lately. Not that I can afford Caribou, but I kinda want to make myself a pot even though it's 12:58 am. Review!

Sun was shining in her eyes when Zoey woke. Her whole body felt warm and cozy, wrapped up in a blanket. Except the blanket was kind of itchy. And her bed wasn't in reach of the sun.

Zoey shot up and looked around the room she was in. Bunks lined either side of the walls and a few were haphazardly placed in the middle of room as well. The beds were all unmade, and most looked recently used by someone. Could she be-

A sharp rap against wood pulled her out of her thoughts, and Zoey twisted around to see her captor, and met sparkling blue eyes. At night and in her delicate state it could have all been a dream, but there was no mistake, Spot Conlon stood in front of her, cane in one hand, and a few loose newspapers in the other, with an amused look on his face.

"So the sleepin' beauty awakens," he intoned, gradually coming nearer. "Youse had a pretty big bump on ya head, ya know."

Zoey unconsciously felt at the base of her skull, and noticed the dull pain that resounded through her when she touched it lightly. Her knee, too, stung when she bent her leg. These wounds were real, this pain wasn't fabricated, she- she was in eighteen ninety-nine.

"How am I here?" she whispered to herself, forgetting Spot for a moment, before he coughed slightly in annoyance at her apparent lack of interest in him for the moment. His ploy worked, for now all she could think about was that she was in a movie. Which should be impossible.

"You're here 'cause I brought ya here, obviously." He misinterpreted her words. And him sounding like one of the Godfather's cronies was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Anyways," he continued without noticing her mood, "Ya shouldn't be walkin' round these here streets without some decent clothes on." He paused and looked her up and down, even though she still sat on the bed. "Weird clothes…" he muttered to himself. "One of the boys' sisters had some extras though, so feel free to use 'em." Spot tossed some clothes on to the mattress, and Zoey tried not to show her distaste. Of course she had landed in a time where it was accepted the women wore dressed and not pants. She'd rather stay in her leggings… Couldn't she have ended up in the eighties or something?

"You're not real." Zoey shook her head. "This can't possibly be happening."

"Well I know it aint exactly clean in here, but it's betta than the street." Spot rolled his eyes as if to say, 'stupid girl'. Or in his case Zoey reasoned, it would be more like, 'stupid goil.' He spoke again, "Don't worry, I can send one of me boys to bring ya back whereva ya come from."

A moment of silence ensued, and Zoey didn't know how to respond. If she was here with Spot Conlon that must mean she was in Brooklyn, which was only an hour and a half from her home in Manhattan, depending on how close they were to the bridge. The only problem was that her home didn't exist in this time. What could she tell Spot?

Spot stared at her and waited for her to speak, but when she said nothing he sighed, "Well then? Where're ya from?" His hands were expressive, and he gestured towards her grandly.

"I'm from Manhattan but-"

"Great, Ise got boys who know that place likes the back of their hands," he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Something was thrust into her arms and it took a moment for Zoey to recognize it as her overnight bag. She peeked inside quickly to see if anything was missing. There didn't seem to be any theft, but everything was obviously looked through, her makeup bag was opened and her clothes unfolded.

"You can change in there." Spot pointed to what Zoey assumed to be a bathroom. "When you're done ya can come downstairs and meet up with Long-legs. He'll have the pleasure of escortin' youse to 'Hattan."

"I-I don't have anywhere to go in Manhattan," she stuttered. That was the truth at least. Her home was no longer in Manhattan, but she doubted her real explanation would fly with Spot. "I-I ran away."

"Why?" Spot bent his head curiously towards Zoey. His eyes were slightly squinted, as if there were a zit on her face.

Zoey squirmed under his gaze uncomfortably, but didn't answer; she hoped Spot would take her silence as a sign that whatever the reason was, it would be too hard for her to talk about. She was right, because after a moment Spot scoffed and pulled back. Crossing his arms and leaning on his cane, Spot shrugged. "Well you can't stay here, I'll have to pay a visit to Manhattan with you and see if anya-dem peewee newsies got a place for ya to stay."

Zoey nodded but didn't respond. Careful of her hurt knee she made her way into the washroom with the raggedy and overly complicated dress in hand. Zoey supposed that she would need to blend in for a while if she didn't know how to get back yet. There weren't any sort of knickers that she could identify, so she opted to keep her leggings on underneath the light blue dress. The lacings weren't as difficult as they seemed, and she was able to do them up without much difficulty.

Looking the mirror Zoey gasped at her appearance. Her eyes were rimmed with her smudged eye-liner, making her look similar to a raccoon. Her face was pale and haggard looking, causing her to wince, and she didn't even want to look at her hair. She wasn't normally overly excited about her own reflection, but this was certainly the worst she's looked in a while.

There were only combs lying around, and though they wouldn't do much with her hair Zoey tried her best to tame it into a braid of some sort. Wiping most of the remnants of her makeup off she sparingly redid it, opting out of any eye makeup though, besides a touch of mascara. Thanking the lord she had deodorant for herself. Just because she had to look like a girl from the 1890s didn't mean she was required to smell like one.

Spot was waiting downstairs for her when she finished in the washroom, along with a very tall boy who she assumed was 'Long legs'. Spot rose an eyebrow when she appeared, as if her attire surprised him in some way. He whistled while turning away and leading them out the front door. Long legs didn't introduce himself, and Zoey realized that Spot had never even told her his name yet. It was good that she didn't slip up and look like a stalker by knowing who he was when he hadn't granted her that information.

"Hey," she spoke up finally. "Who are you anyways?" Both boys turned around and Spot looked a little shocked to be honest.

Long legs' mouth gaped open and he pointed weakly towards Spot. "Youse tellin' me youse don't know who Spot Conlon is?"

Was it a bad thing to pretend she didn't? She had assumed knowing who he was right off the bat would have been strange. "Um," she said uncomfortably. "I mean, I've heard of him."

"Well forget about hearin' me." Spot narrowed his eyes. "Now you've seen me." He chuckled to himself, as if he thought she should be impressed by him or something. She supposed she should look more in awe, but it was difficult considering Zoey's never been afraid of someone so close to her own age. She didn't quite have the energy to pretend she was in the presence of some sort of idol, though.

It had been approximately twenty-two hours since she had had any coffee, which essentially was her life force. She spirit animal. Coffee was the Han Solo to her Leia, the Sun to her Shine, the nirvana to her Buddha, the- the... Michael Vaughn to her Sydney Bristow. Unfortunately she was pretty sure there were no Caribou Coffees hanging around.

"Spot…" she heard Long Legs whisper to the newsboys' leader. "She looks real angry…"

Zoey looked down and avoided Spot's curious glance backwards to her. "Everythin' alright there, Shorty?"

Zoey looked up sharply. "I'm not short." She was five six, a perfectly average height.

Spot snickered, and held up his hands. "Whateva you say, doll face."

Zoey decided not to pursue the argument. She was smart enough to know that whatever his pretenses, Spot indeed had a reputation, he was dangerous. It wouldn't be in her favor to instigate something with him, jokingly or otherwise. She would decide what to do when they got to Manhattan.

The walk was long, Zoey hadn't realized how much of a luxury modern transportation was. Her ankles were beginning to be sore, and she swore that she was getting the shakes from coffee deprivation. Zoey could barely think enough to her place her feet in front of one another, and barely dodged other pedestrians. Eventually though, they made it to where Spot was leading them.

A small, unimpressive building stood before them, and Spot walked in as if he owned the place. His swagger was confident, and a lazy smile graced his lips as he crossed the threshold. Long legs held the door open and gestured for her to go first. Following close behind Spot, Zoey saw several boys lying on bare mattresses and old sofas, greeting Spot loudly, but not moving. Someone from the corner called to him, "He's upstairs, Spot. It was a fast sellin' day." Spot nodded to the boy in response and gestured with his head to Zoey and Long legs, walking up the narrow staircase.

The three of them entered a room much like the one Zoey had woken up in, filled to the brim with bunk beds and various belongings of the boys who occupied them. Someone sat with their back to them, leaning against the post of a bunk bed, scribbling into a journal of some sort. It was a boy with long brown hair, wearing a light gray shirt and vest.

"Jacky-boy! Long time no see." Spot greeted with a smile on his face. Zoey froze.

No way.

'Jacky-boy' turned around with an amused grin on his face, rolling his eyes at Spot. "Not nearly long enough, Spot," he said.

"No way…" Zoey whispered to herself, but none of the boy's took notice. They spit and shook hands, Long legs shaking Jack's hand as well, though not speaking.

It was Christian Bale.

It was seventeen year old Christian Bale right in front of her. Zoey praised herself for not fainting this time round. She should have been expecting this, as if Spot was the only character in whatever this world was. It suddenly seemed much more crazy though with mini Batman standing in front of her.

She really wanted that coffee now...