#but those newsboys smoking was just too good

[micamicster]

Bruce Springsteen's third album BORN TO RUN as Penguin Classics (inspo): Odilon Redon / Romere Bearden / Max Regot Selling Company / Lewis Hine / Ulpiano Checa / Edgar Degas / Thomas Cole / El Greco

[emmedoesntdomath]

RACETRACK MOTHERFCKING HIGGINS YOU GOSH DARN HISTORY NERD

RACERACERACERACERACERACE

also, i feel so seen rn *wipes away emotional tear*

so, ed ‘racetrack’ higgins was a newsie who helped lead the 1899/1900 newsboys’ strike against william randolph hearst and joseph pulitzer with louis ballat (who was known as kid blink), dave simons (who we don’t know the newsie name of), and (reportedly, because there aren’t that many sources with him) spot conlon (and, honestly? they could have been the same kid. not likely, but possibly). he was a brooklyn newsboy (from brighton beach specifically), and was between the ages of 16-21. he spent a considerable amount of time between the two racetracks he was near (hence the nickname). he had talked about william c. whitney, who owned a private racetrack, trained horses, and spent a lot of time at sheepshead (he said he had run horses for him, but that could be false). in just about every article he was interviewed for, it was noted that he talked A LOT about the races, even when they weren’t mentioned. like, at all (I love that for him, actually). he was charismatic, bold, and a natural-born leader. unfortunately, after the strike, he essentially disappears. there were a lot of ed higgins in the new york/jersey area, and it’s hard to track an idividual person, especially after the war started.

for more historical racetrack stuff, go check out @musicalcuriosity ‘s blog, they’ve got some great stuff over there.

now, because this isn’t actually my historical area of expertise, AND because I have actual hcs, we’re going to move on to the fun stuff.

ANTONIO ‘racetrack’ higgins is a manhattan newsie. he’s the second in command to jack kelly and more or less the ambassador to brooklyn. he’s snarky, loves gambling and spot conlon, and is probably the reason adderall was invented. he’s brilliant with numbers, but couldn’t tell you how to spell algebra to save his life. he’s petty, smokes more than anyone should, and will risk life and limb for those that he loves. he doesn’t plan to make it to 25, but will lie to anyone who asks and says he wants to be doctor for kids.

he becomes a newsie at nine, right after his mom dies, and he looks (maybe) seven, so he’s immediately taken under the wing of an older newsie. he’s dragged to the races after they finish selling, and it’s like something just clicks inside of him. he notices the trends, gets good at counting the cards, finding the tells of a good bet.

when asked, he would just shrug, a jaunty grin on his face. “it’s jus’ numbers,” he would say.

he meets a young francis sullivan (newly jack kelly) and charlie (now crutchie) when he stumbles upon their hiding spot in an alley. he recognized jack, and laughed instead of cowering when he threatened to soak him. he cheerfully informs them of a better place to hide on top of the lodging house, and from then on, they’re brothers friends.

he travels to brooklyn by himself the first time on a dare from albert (who has since become his best friend), and gets caught by hotshot within thirty minutes. he gets told to never come back with a hearty punch to the ribs for good measure.

he returns the next day.

he’s not allowed coffee (per jack), because he’s apparently “too damn jittery” as it is.

he can speak a little bit of italian, and converses with itey when they’re both at the lodging house. if he’s in public, he pretends he doesn’t know any.

when finch and albert start dating, part of him is sad, no matter how happy the rest of him is. it’s not fair, and he doesn’t know why, but it feels like a door’s shutting. he laughs, and holds spot a little tighter afterwards.

skittery taught him how to throw his first real punch, and then immediately started a fight with him “to make sure he understood the lesson”.

he’s scared of loud thunderstorms.

he hates the sound of a creaky wheel on a carriage.

he doesn’t mind girls, but he would prefer short brunettes with a temper (he’s very much got a type, and he’s not ashamed of it).

he would love harry potter, but despise JKR.

he believes in god, but doesn’t go to church.

if he had a kid, he would name them either maria or sebastian, after his mother and uncle respectively.

[laracrofted]

baby, it's halloween (and we can be anything)

synopsis: since TGM takes place around Halloween, the Daggers would definitely dress up and go to the Hard Deck Halloween party, right?

pairings: none but many a couples costume

warnings: explicit language, bad irish accents, drinking and mentions of alcohol, anachronistic tiktok trends, all fluff all the time, too many pop culture references, not edited

note: inspired by this ask i sent to @theharddeck. all of the excellent costumes were her idea because i couldn't stop thinking about the mr. and mrs. smith costume all day. for you, darling!

(top gun: maverick is a halloween movie, pass it on. and yeah, i did use a phoebe bridgers lyric for this incredibly unserious fic. title from halloween.)

It is Halloween night, and the Hard Deck is all decked out – and yeah, pun intended – with the best decorations the local stores had to offer. And then a few more that young Amelia Benjamin ordered online with the credit card in her wallet that definitely wasn’t for emergencies only. 

Purple lights adorn the wooden pillars, wrapped carefully around the faded stickers and other memorabilia, casting the whole bar in an eerie glow after the sun goes down. Two dozen or so balloons float against the ceiling, black and orange, and any available inch that isn’t blocked by a balloon is expertly covered in more fake cobwebs than Penny has ever seen in her life.

She did, however, have to draw the line upon catching Amelia on top of the bar, trying to stick glow-in-the-dark skeletons into the model planes. 

It looks great. And the whole Top Gun team shows up in full costume – including the ones that Penny knows Pete favors for the mission, even if Maverick would never say it himself.

This, for Amelia Benjamin, is simply an opportunity too good to pass up. 

[Penny Benjamin enters the single bathroom at the end of the Hard Deck’s back hall, the one that Amelia marked with a HAUNTED BATHROOM sign that made patrons think it was out of order. She sets the phone on the counter and clicks over to the camera, starting the video.]

“Okay, well, I don’t really know how this all works, but I’m Sarah Williams from the movie Labyrinth, and I think…” 

She adjusts the too big skirt of her bejeweled ballgown, damn the appeal of authentic poofs and ruffles, and tosses her hair over her shoulder, trying to remember what Amelia told her to do. 

“Ahhhh… What was it? Drunkest?” 

She has an answer, but unfortunately, Pete had a prior commitment to fly in that Halloween Airshow this weekend. Otherwise, Penny knows Maverick would be here, giving the young hotshots a run for their money.

“Who is here tonight?” A light bulb goes off in her head, probably purple to keep things in theme. “Well, from prior experience, I think Peaky Blinders will be the drunkest tonight. He still owes me $20 for knocking those planes off the ceiling back at Top Gun.” 

Gathering up her skirts, Penny gets to thinking, “He still owes me for the two steins last week too. Dammit…” and huffing, exits the bathroom in a whirl of skirts and jewels. 

[After a surprisingly intimidating shakedown from Penny Benjamin, Payback makes his way to the out-of-order bathroom. Not before grabbing his WSO by one of the many, many straps on his costume and pulling him away from the gaggle of fawning women in sexy alien costumes.]

“Hello,” Payback says in the empty bathroom, feeling stupid. He digs his cigar out of a vest pocket and re-lighting the end, takes a thick puff. An atrocious Irish accent comes out the other side. “Right, govunah, name’s Tommy Shelby from Peaky fooking Blinders, and I tink that – oi, are you taking the piss then, mate?

And Fanboy smacks him again just for that, knocking the newsboy hat right off his head with a flat palm. “What’s your problem?” 

“Can’t hear you, mate,” Payback says, smoke curling from the end of the cigar. He flashes him a good-natured grin around it. “Better pop that helmet off, right, Boba Fett?” 

“I’m not…” comes from under the helmet, all garbled. 

Damn battery must’ve died in the voice modulator. 

(He tried to save a few bucks here and there by ordering off Amazon and not from the Etsy store that designed the rest of the suit. Never again. He should’ve known not to cheap out on perfection.)

Damp curls spring from underneath the helmet as Fanboy pulls it from his head, wiping them across his forehead. They stay there, plastered from the heat and condensation inside the helmet. 

“I’m not Boba Fett. I’m the Mandalorian. He’s like… a whole different character, dude.”

He gets a dismissive cigar wave in response. 

“It’s all Star Trek, innit, mate?” 

“Star Wars. And your Tom Shelby accent needs some work. You’re starting to sound a little Australian now.” 

“Can’t sound proper Irish without my cap, and you, sir,” Payback jams a finger into his WSO’s shoulder, then pulls it back when it actually hurts. God, how much did Mickey pay for that suit? “Nicked it from my fooking head, mate. Explain yourself then.” 

“You pulled me away from the girls, man. I was this close.” He shifts his helmet from one hand to the other and pinches two gloved fingers, this far apart. “This close, man. They all wanted pictures with me.” 

“You can get back to the mask kink brigade later. Penny sent me back here, upon threat of death, mind you. Her daughter wants us all to do some TikTok trend for the Halloween party.”

“Fine,” Fanboy huffs, still pouting over the Star Trek comment. He knows Payback knows the difference. “But I’m putting the helmet back on. Need to get my money’s worth, now that I’ve given up my retirement fund to buy this costume.” 

“Whatever you say, Darth Vader.”

“I am not – ” 

Payback knocks the helmet the rest of the way down with a closed fist, ignoring the disoriented Mickey that flails around in the background of the video. He puts on his best movie star smile and blows a perfectly round smoke ring at the camera.

“‘Ello there, love, I’m Tommy Shelby. This good man over here is one of those… what’d ya call them? Stormtrooper lads?” 

“Reuben, I swear – ” 

“And I think,” Payback continues, unperturbed as his WSO makes another grab for the newsboy. “Now I’d bet my life that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are the most binned tonight. I’ve got it on good authority that Mr. Smith’s got a flask in those short shorts of his.” 

Smoke curls up from the cigar, and Mickey spots a blinking dot on the ceiling.

“Hey, Payback, d’you want to maybe put that out? It’s getting a little smokey in here.” 

“Chill out, Mando. It’ll be – ” 

[And some time later, after Federal Fire San Diego cleared the premise and declared it to be a false alarm, probably faulty wiring with all the string lights, Hangman and Coyote make their way back to the bathroom.]

Hangman sniffs the air. “Do you smell that? It stinks back here.” 

“It’s a bathroom, dude.” 

“Not…” Hangman lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind.” 

He finds the phone, still propped up on the counter and brimming with battery life somehow. Adjusts the crisp white button-down in the mirror, pulling it tight over his shoulders. 

It is several sizes too large, hanging loose over his firm torso and leaving a scandalous amount of thigh and calf muscle exposed, between the hem and the top of the ruby-red rain boots. 

(And yeah, Phoenix, Jake is wearing briefs underneath the shirt. It’s not a free show after all.)

“Well now, I’m certified MILF Angelina Jolie from the iconic 2005 classic Mr. and Mrs. Smith, only gets better with age. I’ll let you guess whether I mean her or the movie.” A dashing wink at the camera. “And Coyote here is…” 

Coyote is adjusting the white boxer shorts that keep riding up his muscular thighs – skies out, thighs out and all that – and wonders if Brad Pitt ever had to deal with having such incredible thigh strength on set. Probably not. 

His shirt is white and skin-tight, almost see-through, over his chest. “Certified bad-ass Brad Pitt from Mr. and MILF… wait…” He loses his balance a little bit from thinking too hard. “That’s not right. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Nailed it!” 

He flashes an overly proud grin, and Jake wonders if perhaps, Jake might need to cut off his access to the flask tucked into his left galosh. He wanted to have a fake gun stashed in the other one, but Penny spotted him waving it around near the dartboard and confiscated it. 

“Right…” Jake deadpans, then turns back to the camera. He loosens the top button of his shirt, popping it open to reveal more of his chest. Metal winks from the gap, the chain of his dog tags. “And I think…. You know what? I think Magnum PI will be the drunkest tonight.”

Coyote looks skyward, shaking his head.

Drunken agitation leaks into his voice. “You know why I think that?” 

“Not again,” Coyote groans.

He reaches for the flask, and Mrs. Smith swats his hand away, pointing a stern finger at him, then at the phone.

“Because Magnum PI is slow. He’s not cut out for a real Halloween party. He’s slow in the air, slow on the ground, and slow to handle his alcohol. He’ll be passed out by midnight. I’d put money down.”  

And as the Haunted Bathroom door swings shut behind them, the iPhone mic barely picks up on the low mutterings. 

..slow...

…nepotism pick...

…fuck with a stupid-looking mustache…

…can’t have the flask, go buy a beer, Coyote!

[Midnight arrives, and Yzma and Kronk from The Emperor’s New Groove enter the bathroom. Holding the miniature trophies that Penny awarded them for a well-deserved first place in the annual Hard Deck Halloween Costume Contest.]

Fixing the neckline of the purple dress (and after definitely flashing a nipple on stage out there), Bob wipes at his drooping eyeliner and puts in another splash of eye drops. Contacts make his eyes so dry.

Phoenix holds the trophy over her head like a gladiator, grinning from ear to ear, flexing her muscles in the cut-off sleeves. “Hello friends and foes, winners and losers, I’m Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove…” 

It takes Bob a few seconds to notice Phoenix staring him down.

He straightens up, clearing his throat. “And I’m Yzma, also from Emperor’s New Groove.” 

“We think,” Phoenix leans closer, like Amelia’s iPhone is an old friend, and holds onto the edge of the counter with dignity. She probably could’ve left that last victory shot on the table. “that Mrs. Smith will be the drunkest tonight. He’s got a flask in his boot.” 

“It’s Coyote’s. I saw him with it earlier.” 

A frown wrinkles her brow. “Well, I still vote Mrs. Smith because Bagman’s a douche, and I want him to have a violent hangover tomorrow. I want him to spend his whole day downing Gatorades and fruitlessly wishing for his suffering to end. How’s that?” 

Sweat pricks at Bob’s brow. He likes Phoenix. He really does.

(But sometimes, Phoenix scares him a little.) 

His swallow is audible. “Yeah. Sure, yeah.” 

And Bob keeps to himself that Rooster has been MIA for over an hour now, after cashing in on three bell rings in a row and following a girl in a Sue Storm costume out to the parking lot. 

[And now alone, in the backseat of the Bronco, Magnum PI absentmindedly wipes at the lipstick print on his cheek and lets out a loud snore. Humming a tune in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like Great Balls of Fire.]

end note: then, amelia benjamin uploads this to her secret daggersafterdark tiktok account and goes viral. the end.

(making my fic debut with this one, so i would love to hear all your thoughts, and i gave danny's look both ways hair to fanboy just this once because i can.)

[bigmack2go]

Watching german newsies. Am disturbed. Need sleep now.

Update

Jack „duzt“ (the not formal you) kloppman and i love it

So they have absolutely no singing skills which is weird considering its a musical

YK THE PART IN CARRIING THE BANNER WHERE THEYRE ALL SINGING ABOVE EACH OTHER??? HALF OF THOSE ARE ENGLISH???

Not abt the german sync but i love boots so much ydek i love him almost as much as albert

They also call themselves newsboys in the german version like BRO WHAT ARE YOU CHANGING THE NAME FOR IF YOURE NOT TRANSLATING IT ANYWAY

PLSSSS „hast du keine aguen im kopf“😭

They did make it a whole lot clearer what jack meant when he talked about oscar with his shoes on

And you can understand what they say in the backround soooo much better

Mush’s voice actually fits better than his real one

Snaps is so funny😭😭

Omg boots singing in german is smt I didn’t know i needet (because i dont. Its terrible)

Blink cant pronounce Harlem „helm“💀💀💀 you go boy! Don’t let anyone tell you not to where that helmet!

WE LOVE U DENTON UR AN ICON *fucking fangirls*

„Spot kanlen“

They made „i spent a month there one night“ into „a night there always feels like a whole month“ :(

Wheres the fun in that???

What the hell is a spot kanlen

I take the thing with races sync back. In fact i think its really really good. And so is blinks (especially blinks) and skitterys.

STOP SAYING KANLEN WHAT TH HELL

I already didn’t understand why they would make a song called seize the day when it could be carpe diem but i guess in English it makes sense cause you can say both versions. In german u cant. No one ever said „nutz den tag“ if anything they say „nutze“ but like just say carpe diem christ. Maybe u can actually find some fitting rhymes then that aren’t just the same thing twice.

THE NEWSIES BACK UP A GAY KID IN THE GERMAN VERSION!!! I REPEAT!!! THEY CANONICALLY BACK UP A KID THAT GOT CALLED A schwuchtel (which is the german equivalent to f4got) THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS

„das hinkebein? Ich hohl ihn“ why was that actually kinda cute????

„IcH wIlL NiChT dAS JeManD MicH tRäGt“

Istg crutchie is such a slow talker in german i cant even

RACHE FÜR CRUTCHIE

AINT NO WAY THEY QUOTED STARWARS😭😭😭

„Brooklyn hält euch die Stange“

Thats what he said—

(Im so invalid for this😭)

Ok just lemme get this straight cuz im not sure im correct. The newsies on the pic are the characters that actually got named right??

I have so many feelings about german kony and only very few of them are good

But snipeshooter still kind sounds like himself in it so i guess that good

WHY R THERE NO GERMAN SUBTITLES THO????

Ok but „harlem bis nach sonst wo“ was actually handled pretty well

I only just realized mush swalloing a laugh when davey doesn’t wanna spit shake

Why do they juat completely change some things they say?? Like they could have easily translated it??

Why is the refuge and orphanage in german

IS LES SMOKING???

Edit: nvm its just a lollipop

Istg Esther is so done

GEWERKSCHAFT

(I didn’t even know that was a word)

Still can’t believe blush is cannon

Ok but in santa fee jack talks to a crowd, to himself and to someone else entirely all at the same time

The way jack say snoddy is simply just wrong

Skittery is weird too

„Spot conlen macht uns n bisschen nervös“ nawwwwww fucking cute ass

Omg the men in the backround talking????? Awesome!! Can hear every word!! „Die werden sich noch umsehn“ yass

Why tf they calling him captain instead of kelly

„ICh FrEsS n BeSeN“

Ast-rein

Boots is so poursouled

Edit: i take it back

Reminder to anyone hc‘ing mouth as daveys nickname that in german his nickname would be SpRacHrOhR

WHY DO THEY TAKE DIFFERENT ENGLISH WORDS??? Either u translate it or you leave it. But if you’re changing it but not translating wheres the point??

WAS WILLST DU DAMIT SAGEN? HAT SPOT ALSO RECHT??

Nothing. And i mean nothing. Makes sense in seize the day. And it doesn’t rhyme.

WiR GEBEN IHNEN SAURES

Fucking blink

Edit: rn -mush

Why is crutchie so dumb?

I just realized some of the scabs were already convinced before the fight w the Delancys

What is the woody gate??

Boots is a fucking icon

Spot just livked his palm instead if soitting in it??

NO O E FUCKING TALKS LIKE THAT

What denton says doesn’t make any fucking sense istg

Some of the rhymes in kony are actually okay

THEY REMOVED SPOTS VIBRATO

cant fucking understand a word snipeshooter says

„gut so“ KLOPPMAN LOML

Why did snider donate to the strike??

Herrliche aussicht STFU ALREADY

Who casted Sarah‘s sync???

Motherfucking Pulitzer is licking the paper

Motherfuxker is one of them the guy frim umsere kleine farm

„Brooocklin“

Wtf they didn’t even try to make emphasis‘s similar

They removed meddas accent:(

Just realized the bodyguard spot turns into when snider shows up

Also one lf the guys looks exactly like live‘sies spot

Blink being a bodyguard is the reason i‘m alive

Istg what did spot expect dumbass

HOW DID DAVEY HET AWAY BUT NO ONE ELSE

Not them changing the order 💀

I love that the newsies have priority

1 children

2 women

3 jack

4 themselves

5 davey

6 their friends

7 other newsies

8 other people

I motherfucking love 92‘sies henry

Why is the mayor plying bodyguard now

Pulitzer poking jack is even better in german

Seiz is talking such bullshit tho??? Doesn’t even make sense. Je litteraly does have somewhere to go

what DID crutchie do to the sauerkraut??

Santafee be like📈📉📈📉📈📉📈📉

ScHoN gUt BiN nIcH tAuB

JA MERKT MAN BRUDER DU HAST IHN GRAD NE HALBE EWIGKEIT IGNORIERT NATÜRLICH SCHREIT er

„Wie ein pinkel“????? Huh??

Boots is so dedicated about the clothes what the hell??

Why does davey say i dont even know your real name instead he of you didn’t even tell me your real name.cause lts not true?? And He could have said that?

Why did i think they replaced weasel at the end??? They didn’t. They have two at the beginning too

sarah decking morris is my motto of life

Les 🥺🥺🥺

MorriS‘s german laugh is my life istg thats so funny

Und das ist für crutchie

YOU TELL EM LES

vorallam nicht klug? Yop. Absolutly. Positive. Correct.

Wait theres a picture of the irl Katherine in pulitzers office

How did they get the word „kriegsberichterstatter“ in the word „warreporter“ but not „kenne“ in „tell me“

WHY R WE TALKING ABOUT BAGUETTE NOW????

Why does denton say pulitzer so weird “pOUUUlitser”

[krsonmar]

I just realized something that needs to be remedied: Guillermo doesn't have gear. He has his cool vampire-killing getup with the vest and the gloves and whatnot--because practically speaking, you just cannot slaughter an undead horde in the same outfit you've been cleaning the house in (at least not intentionally, although having him have to unexpectedly fend off an invasion of the house siege-style in a sweater and cleaning apron with some plastic gloves would be awesome too)--but he doesn't have an arsenal. He doesn't even have a sweet ride; there's no Batmobile or Mystery Machine, I mean do the vampires even own a car, or is he renting one whenever he needs one?

Although as another quick tangent, I'd suggest the most nondescript, boringly mundane vehicle ever for him because it's all he can afford and maintain. He needs a deep burgundy-red 1990s-era Chrysler minivan and he likes to keep scribbled-on mix CDs that he makes for the ancient sound system. One is a mix of battle music--and yes, it includes Dragula by Rob Zombie and maybe some mid-2000s My Chemical Romance, because we all know the little weirdo makes up fight playlists for himself for fun--and another of stuff that makes him think about Nandor because of course Guillermo himself has a Nandermo playlist.

Basically, he really can't have some sweet ride, practically speaking, because Sean and Charmaine, dumb as they are, and the rest of the neighborhood, will notice if he has a hearse with red LED undercarriage lights always blaring Rob Zombie parked outside, that just draws too much attention, so if he has a slayermobile it needs to be as lame as possible. This just means he needs an arsenal all the more. He needs to be able to have cool toys when there's about to be a big boss fight so we can have a gearing-up-and-hyping-up montage set to AC/DC or something. Here are my ideas:

The minivan has a rosary hanging from the mirror. Everyone thinks it's a regular "don't fly faster than your guardian angel can drive" kind of thing, which is the point; in reality, it's a good way to disguise his car's vampire-proofing system.

He also tried making mix CDs of gospel and Christian contemporary music he can blare out the window of the van with a speaker to scatter crowds or chase them out of the way for a quick getaway. Anything that keeps talking about either God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit or quoting scripture works, but it can’t be any of those songs that sound like they’re about a dating relationship so they’ll get radio play but turn out to secretly be about Jesus, because metaphors don’t irritate vamps enough, you have to directly invoke a specific religious belief or ritual or they won’t start smoking out the ears at all. Beyond this, Guillermo started off trying to figure out the rules of what counts and effectively makes the formerly-living squirm, but he was having to listen to a lot of bad music to figure it out and The Newsboys were actually starting to grow on him, which was annoying, so he simplified the idea and just bought a full CD set at a garage sale of the audiobook version of The Bible as read by James Earl Jones. This works reliably, but just for the flair, right before a big fight, he makes his entrance with an old-school boombox from Goodwill on his shoulder, which causes his soon-to-be-victims to laugh until he hits play on the God's Property cassette loaded into it and starts strafing left and right, stakes flying from under his coat as the vampires writhe and moan to Stomp.

About once a week, he sets aside time to make more wooden stakes and is always scavenging wood for them: "oh hey, lemme see that broken broomstick you're throwing out", "oh golly I wonder if anyone will miss this wooden doorstop wedged in here", ect., ect.. Turns out the Chamber of Curiosities library has whatever texts on vampire-slaying it can house with the reasonable expectation that reading a given text won't kill the reader (it's counter-intelligence, "know thy enemy" stuff), so Guillermo discovers that while any wooden stake will suffice, some woods are better suited to specific purposes, and he develops this odd habit of being good at identifying what kind of wood something is made of.

He’s started growing bulbs of garlic in a corner of the basement. Sometimes instead of using one clove at a time, he’ll just chuck a whole bulb at once like a grenade so that when it hits the ground it bursts open and the cluster of attempted vampire assassins surrounding it hiss in pain as they disintegrate into dust. He just has to be careful not to try to bite off the top leafy part before he throws it like he’s pulling out the pin on a grenade because that tastes gross.

These are mostly kinda lame but I saved the best for last. Every action hero needs their signature weapon. Guillermo’s is a SuperSoaker. He bought the biggest, most mondo-looking SuperSoaker available and modded it to accept soda bottles as extra "cartridges" of ammo, gets water-cooler-sized jugs of holy water that he picks up from a shady priest who doesn't ask questions, and uses that to fill up the SuperSoaker and soda bottles so that once he's blasted a bunch of bloodsuckers until his MaxiSplasher 5000 or whatever runs out of juice, he can screw in a fresh soda bottle of sanctified H2O and keep going. This is his Excalibur, and I am proud of myself for coming up with it.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (1/?)  - Tommy Shelby

Summary: you been a ‘patient’ at the asylum for years. A punishment brought upon you by your terrible Gangster father. One day a devil comes to you with a deal that brings upon consequences. 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!reader (not really romantic...yet)

A/n: first time actually posting this kind of writing. I'm used to poetry (I know it doesn't show) This is mostly for fun so if you like it cool, if you don't tell me why and how I can make it better :)  I’m always down for some constructive criticism.  

  You sit across the table with only the sounds of ticking clock to keep you company. You were handcuffed to the table a courtesy by the nurses who stood behind the door, leaving you alone in the big empty room. You never been in this room before. Not in your whole 2 years of staying in Blue Hills Asylum. The room was reserved for patients who had visitors. You never had any. Truth be told, you never expected any. You had believed that living and dying here would be the rest of your life. But then the devil showed up and offered you a deal of a lifetime.

      It was strange when the nurse knocked on your room door and in hushed voices said, “You got a visitor.” At first you had laughed, thinking they were playing a joke on you, a cruel joke, but a joke nonetheless. But the nurses faces remained serious and their eyes contained a bit of fear within them. A detail that didn’t go unnoticed by you. You had asked who it was but they would not answer. The nurses just wordlessly led you to the visitors room, cuffing you to the table, and leaving you to wonder who this mystery visitor was. And then he walked in.

  You had never seen him before. He wasn’t family or a friend. The mans face was shadowed underneath a newsboy cap, a cigarette hanging loosely off his lips. He sits across from you, his head still hung low. You don’t move or say a word. He lifts his head finally and your eyes meet with piercing cold blue eyes. He lights the cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours.

 “Y/N, right.” The man says a deep voice pouring out of him along with a Birmingham accent. A place you have never visited. You keep staring at the man, trying to hold the confusion from showing on your face.

 “My name is Thomas Shelby,” he leans back in his seat, “ and I’ve heard you have some information that might be of value to me.”

 “And what kind of information would you need from a person in a place like this?” You ask holding your voice steady and gaze strong.

 “You and I both know you don’t belong in a place like this,” He digs into his pocket breaking eye contact for the first time, “Cigarette?” He holds it out to you.

You hesitate before moving to grab it, a task more difficult when cuffed to a table. Noticing your struggle, he slides the cigarette across the table gently along with the lighter. You almost forgot what the taste was like as you smoked the poison straight into your lungs.

“How long have you been in here?” He asks.

 “This is isn’t an interview Mr. Shelby. Ask your questions.” You say.

 “How’s your father?” he asks nonchalantly.

 It was like a rock had dropped into your stomach at the mention of your father. A man who you couldn’t get away from. You hold your face together tapping off the ash off the cigarette. You watch it fall to the table.

 “What is it that you do Mr. Shelby?” you don’t know why you ask, its safe to assume that you’ve already figured out. You can see the blades sparkling from under the cap and he makes no effort to hiding the gun inside his coat. He wanted you to know what he does, he wasn’t trying to hide it but show you.

He doesn’t say a word.  His face in place like stone, giving away nothing but trying to read everything off of you.

 “From what I hear, he’s doing fine.” Sharpness can be heard in your voice at the mention of your father.

 Thomas Shelby laces his hands together and leans forward on the table.

 “ I’m going to need some addresses (Y/N)”

 You burst out laughing. “You think I know where he is? Do you not see where I am? Where he put me?”

 “You’ve been to plenty of his hideouts and homes. You know where those are. You know his territories.”

      Whoever his source is was right on that. You didn’t know that and much more. There was a time where your fathers approval meant the world to you, where you would hang around the business watch him deal with gangs peacefully or not. You at one point wanted to be like that man but now you fear you can become like him after seeing the evil that leaks from his soul. You know a lot of information about the man that could destroy him in more ways than one. Where he kept the money, the bodies he ordered to killed, the body of your mother he murdered…it was why he locked you up in here. Who would believe a girl locked in the asylum? You had no formal diagnosis of course but a man with a lot of money can keep things wherever he wanted. And you had no idea what Mr. Shelby would do with the information. Set up a meeting? kill the man? You wonder why the Mr. Shelby came to you for this when anyone would of squealed for the right price. So you ask him.

“Because you have no loyalty to him. Ill believe what you say.”

 “They’ll know its me who said anything and ill be dead before next week.”

 “Not unless I get him first.”

 You stare at him with uncertainty wondering if there’s any truth to his words. You can’t be sure your not able to detect a lie or truth from anything he says. You lean towards the table, your eye looking towards the nurses knowing they were desperately trying to listen in. you weren’t for sure who, but you knew some were under the staff of your father.

 “You need to get me out of here.” You say in a low voice.

 He nods and rises without another word. Quick strides to the doo r with his coat flying behind him like a cape you watch him leave and listen as his footsteps retreat away. The clock continues ticking whole  your heart beats fast as you think of actually leaving. And then you think of the consequences. Of running into one of your fathers workers on the street or even himself. It was too late to back out as the doors fly open and a nurse and Mr. Shelby return. The male nurse reluctantly uses the key to undo your handcuffs. You rub your wrist and hold a moan of pain. Under the nurses arm a dress. Most likely from the lost and found. Mr. Shelby has his hands in his pockets as he stands before you.

 “Put on the dress.” He says and he walks way the nurse following.

“That’s it?” You called out.

He does not answer.

                                       *********

Outside both you and Mr. Shelby sit inside his car. Neither of you speak as you scribble on paper all the addresses on the paper quickly. You hand it to him once your done and he puts it inside his coat pocket.

 “Where do you think you’ll go, (y/N)?” He ask, our business now finished.

 You shrug. “I don’t know.”

 Before you open the car, he shoves a handful of money into your hand. You hand it back without hesitation.

“I’m not going to start my life owing anyone anything, Mr. Shelby. I appreciate the gesture.”

 You leave the car and give one last look at the man who changed your life.

 “Mr. Shelby.” you say.

 He nods. And you walk away. He watches you from the rearview mirror until your nothing more than a speck. And then he starts his car and drives home with a plan to kill your father already developing in his head.

                          You walk for miles loving the feeling of the use of you legs and feet. You ignore the faces and eyes of people as they watch you swing your arms and smile at little things like the sky and trees. You did not know how much you would miss this. But its all brought down quickly at the sound of a voice you only heard in your fathers business meetings; Darby Sabini.

“now is that (Y/ FN) (Y/LN) I though they out you away for good.” He says walking towards you. You try to remain calm, cool and collected but then a horn decided to obnoxiously honk, and you jump in surprise. Making Sabini chuckle and his ego inflate at the thought of you afraid of him.

Sabini smiles menacingly  “does your father know you’re out?”

You don’t say anything knowing the situation was bad no matter what.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want him knowing anyway,” he grabs your face and squeezes you wince, “I think I can make good use of you girl.”

You think to yourself that this is all for survival and you trudge your feet along following Sabini to his car.

READ PT.2

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

you were shunned and burned your cradle

Newsies Gen PG 4,365 words AO3 Living in New York isn't easy for a boy on his own. It's worse for Crutchie between his leg and the air itself trying to poison him. But things really can only go up.  For @i-got-personality as part of @newsies-secret-santa! You said you like Crutchie, canon era, and any kind of magic and well I hope that you like this!

Being a changeling in New York City hurts. It makes his skin itch and his lungs burn and his eyes water. From the iron that surrounds him, fills the very air along with the smoke. If he’s not careful when he reaches out or brushes against something his skin comes away with a sharp, searing scar.

Being a changeling hurts in a different way too. Knowing that, for whatever reason, his mother gave him up. That a human baby was far preferable to him and so he was left in some other child’s crib. To make matters worse, he was given up twice. That hurt even more.

On his crueler days, the ones filled with self-loathing, he blames himself. That it was some personal failing, his bum leg perhaps, that made his mother exchange him. That the same failing is why the woman who believed herself his mother threw him out onto the street. Logically, he knows this isn’t the case. For one, he remembers what happened to his leg and it involved an iron poker that proved to his mother he wasn’t really hers as fear burned in her eyes.

Being a changeling in New York hurts and it’s hard too. Trying to grow, to thrive, in a city that was made in opposition to your very nature. It’s even harder when you’re just a kid. When you’re living on the streets. His first few nights are the worst. He’s cold and hungry and tired and he hurts. Oh does he hurt.

Being a changeling is no walk in the park, though ironically walks in the park help some. Help a lot. Until he tires. But being a changeling in a city as big as New York means you’re not alone. Well, you’re never alone but there’s others too. If you know how to spot them.

He’s been sleeping in doorways and sneaking food from market stalls – but not begging, whether an innate part of being a one of the Folk or an innate part of himself he did not want or need anyone’s pity – for a few weeks when he sees her. She’s tall, very tall and with the tatters her skirts are in he’s able to see the pale pink of her calves from knee to muddy leather boots. It’s not a normal pink, not like the glimpses of his own cold cheeks in shop windows, but the dusty pink of a rose. Her fingers are the same color as she waves and calls, catching passersby’s eye and gesturing to the basket of flowers on her arm. The violets match her thick, plated hair and the bluebells her bright, solid-colored eyes.

He stops, shocked on the other side of the street, when he sees her. A cart and then trolley pass between them and still he can’t tear his gaze away. She’s smiling at him once the street is clear, wide and kind. The light almost sparks off her pointed teeth. She winks and crooks a long, thin finger to him. He crosses without another thought, barely managing to remember how to even walk before he’s in front of her.

“Hello little one,” she coos, tilting his chin up so he can meet her gaze. Her pink fingers then trail through his hair, straightening it, before running down to brush over his shoulders and tug lightly at his vest. This close he sees that she has small white flowers woven into the braid of her purple hair. They look like stars in a twilight sky and he’s fairly certain they sparkle too.

“Hello, miss,” he manages to reply.

Her grin sharpens. “You’re a polite young man. And that smile! Sweeter than stolen cream.”

At those words he can’t help but preen. “Thank you, miss. I quite like your hair myself. I’ve-” he stumbles, tightening his grip on the crutch under his arm, “I’ve never seen hair that color.”

Eyes widening, she straightens. “My, you’ve not met one of your own before, have you?”

“No, miss,” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. He reaches up to brush it back but she’s faster. Brushing it away with her rosy fingers again.

“But you know our ways?” She says it like a question but the flash of her eyes makes it a challenge.

He straightens, feeling so proud it borders on smug. “Never give your true name, always be polite, and nothing is a gift.”

Her head tilts and he honestly can’t tell if she’s thrilled or disappointed. Though they both know it’s not all the ways of the Folk, just the important ones. The ones the humans know in order not to err on their bad side. But for a changeling like him, it’s a good start and all true. That’s another thing he knows, the Folk cannot lie.

“Very good little one. You may know, but I doubt you have much practice. Let us strike a bargain, shall we?” Again, her head tilts and more than her long limbs or resemblance to a garden or sunset, this looks the oddest to him. Sets her apart from the humans still buffeting them on the busy street.

“Only be it fair and true,” he replies on instinct. Because, there’s nowhere else it could have possibly sprung from.

Pride and amusement has her spine straightening as she nods. “My proposition is thus; you give me the two buttons from your vest and I shall weave you a crown that will never wilt. That will remind you of who you are.”

He has to think about it, faerie bargains are notoriously tricks meant to cheat the person hapless enough to make one. There are normally catches and clauses. There are twists and double meanings and you always, always lose more than you gain. Yet, this seems simple. Straightforward. And it would be rude to say no.

“A trinket for a trinket,” he says, stalling.

She inclines her head. “A mortal trinket for a faerie trinket. A piece of a life that was and will be again.”

His heart and mind catch on that last bit but to puzzle it out could take all day and he’s getting hungry. He was trying to find food when he saw her in the first place. It’s a risk, but a benign one. “My two buttons for a flower crown woven by you that will never wilt.”

Again, her smile is sharp. But her knife his sharper as she leans forward and cuts the buttons from his vest, hand moving quickly to cup them before they can do more than fall from the fabric. She slips them into the folds of her skirt, her knife disappearing too. Just as quickly she begins to pluck flowers from her basket with her too long, stick thin fingers and begins to weave them into a crown and in a blink it’s on his head.

“May you wear it in good health,” she says and it’s a blessing he didn’t bargain for. His stomach twists and he nods; remembering not to thank her at the last moment. She flashes one last grin as she turns away, her skirts flaring out, and walks down the sidewalk.

He manages to not lose his flower crown as he falls in with a group of satyrs living in Battery Park, though he leaves after a few weeks when he learns the fish they always have for dinner comes straight from the aquarium in the castle. He goes back to sleeping in doorways and on fire escapes after that. He’s hungry all the time but he can never be sure if it’s his nature or his circumstances that cause it.

Eventually, his clothes become too thin and short, showing off his wrists and legs and strips of his stomach. Sleeping on fire escapes has a new bite as the fabric begins to cover less and less and more and more of his skin is exposed to the iron. The worst is how tight his boots have become, pinching and squeezing at his toes. He refuses to go barefoot though, not because of the cold but because it reminds him too much of the others. The women who walk on the breeze and become one with the trees. The men who blink at him before disappearing into shadows and around corners. The beings and creatures who pinch and poke and trick and steal and cackle and dance, dance, dance in between the oblivious crowds.

He finally manages to trade with an immigrant family from the Lower East Side, not feeling sad to hand over the last items his mother gave him in exchange for shoes that are just a hair too big and clothes that keep his skin from the sparking itch of his fire escape beds.

It’s this sleeping arrangement that gets him in trouble. Faeries are meant to be swifter, stronger than humans. But with his crutch he’s not able to outrun the police. A shopkeeper reports him for vagrancy and even his charms aren’t able to keep the police from dragging him to the Refuge.

Another boy, a newsboy, sees this from a little ways down the street. He freezes and his face darkens. His face with its too sharp angles and too bright eyes. The boy is moving before he has the time to process this, making a messy grab for a trinket from a nearby vendor’s cart, dropping his papers in the process. The police notice – everyone on the block notices – and grab him. The boy struggles but it’s a show, he can tell it’s just for show, and soon they’re both being lifted into the wagon.

The trial is short, the other boy cocky, and the warden at the Refuge cruel. At least here he has a bed, a real bed, for the first time in years. The other boy smooth talks his way into getting the one next to him.

“You can call me Jack, Jack Kelly. Though some of the boys call me Cowboy too,” he says with a quicksilver smile.

He raises a skeptical brow, his thoughts catching on the phrasing and the sharp points the boy’s ears come to. Sharp points that match his own.

“You’re like me,” he says instead of giving his name. He knows better than to give anyone his name. He knows Jack certainly isn’t this boy’s.

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Jack says slyly, stretching out on the thin bunk.

“How do you do it?” He asks with genuine curiosity, leaning forward so he can lower his voice and study Jack’s pleasantly bored expression.

Confusion pulls at Jack’s brow. “Do what?”

“Work as a newsboy.” It wasn’t obvious? “They lie all the time to make money.”

The quicksilver is back. “I never lie. I just embellish the truth. Tell a story. The facts are there, just maybe not all the facts. If it weren’t true, I couldn’t say it.” Jack shrugs and it’s an odd motion since he’s laying on his back with his hands propped behind his head. Made odder by the fact that it seems almost graceful. “It’s not so bad. Get to go all over the city and the lodging house means you’ve got a bed if you can afford it.”

He frowns at the non-sequitur. It deepens when he realizes it’s an abrupt topic change. “We’re stuck here and you’re offering me a job?” he can’t keep all the disbelief out of his voice. Even if he hadn’t checked, he could feel that the windows and doors were barred with thick iron rods.

“I’ll be out of here by dawn, question is if you’re coming with me?”

For a solid minute he weighs his options. The Refuge with its coldness and crying children. Jack with his silver tongue and faerie arrogance.

When they manage to sneak out into the courtyard a few hours later they’re met by the boys who helped break the lock and distract the guards. The first causes him to stop, he’s so obviously a sprite that the scowl is the only thing keeping him from laughing. The other is mortal and chomping on an unlit cigar, the scent of which still makes him wrinkle his nose. The four slink out and into an alley before twisting around the block and through another back alley until they’re farther and farther away.

“We’re even now, Kelly,” the sprite finally growls once the sky begins to lighten.

“A deal’s a deal, Spot.” Jack offers his hand, spitting into it first. If he hadn’t already figured the boy was one of the Folk that would have confirmed it. The spit shake marks him as a newsie. Spot turns to him and the mortal, nodding at them both before turning off a side street and disappearing.

“Bell’s gonna ring soon,” the boy says, almost nervous as he bounces on his toes and glances down the street. His eyes dart to where Spot disappeared to, then to him, and finally back to Jack.

“And we’ll be there, right new kid?” Jack raises a brow at him. It’s a taunt.

“Course,” he replies. No bargain was struck, no deal made, but he is in Jack’s debt and they both know it.

Jack nods, smiles, and turns back to the mortal. “Go get in line, Race. Make sure Weasel don’t give us no grief for being late.”

Race, apparently, grins around the cigar and takes off running. Maybe that’s where the nickname comes from.

“You can trust Racetrack,” Jack tells him vaguely as they follow, “he’s good people.”

Or maybe that’s not where the nickname comes from.

In the next few weeks, he learns the ins and outs of selling from Jack. And of “charming folks” though truthfully, it’s just magic. Jack starts calling him “Kid” and the other newsies “Crutchie” and he doesn’t really care because neither are his name and that’s what matters. The night in the Refuge isn’t the first or last Jack spends there, but it is the only one that’s intentional. He works harder to repay Jack who seems less and less inclined to care.

Finally, he feels they’re even when he manages to discover the nook in the corner of the roof of the lodging house. The air is still filled with smoke and iron but not the smell and sounds of mortal boys. He takes careful trips up with bedding and supplies until he feels it’s suitable. Sleeping under the stars just feels right and he can tell Jack agrees by the expression on his face when he sees it.

They grow close. The other newsies learn he can predict the weather with startling accuracy and say it must be thanks to his leg, he never corrects them. They talk as the city chokes them, about going to someplace that’s nothing but stars. The money comes in fits and starts as he grows into his own sharp features. The other Folk avoid him but mortals feel almost compelled to buy his papers. Stories come in across the river of a young newsie rising through the ranks of Brooklyn and ruling with an iron fist. They don’t tell any of the others that the rumors sound an awful lot like the stories of Court drama they hear.

He keeps his own crown in the bag at his hip, as unchanging as the day he received it. Though now, years later and clothes traded and swapped and bought he misses the buttons she took. Misses having something that reminds him of the place he used to believe was home. For even his crutch is different, having long outgrown the original.

They’re teenagers too soon, a blink in their long lifetimes. With it comes something they don’t expect, an odd almost awed respect from the others. Except Race but he never counted. He’s tied up in Brooklyn as a rule and so is exempt. They never sought the power they seemingly have, power different than that which they were born with, and they discover it in the most dramatic way.

It starts with a raise in prices. A raise which isn’t fair, and they of all people would know. Jack is outraged, he is angry too but in a colder way.

The new boy, the one who either didn’t heed the stories of the old world or else his family hadn’t passed them on – and that did happen as people sought to keep the good and leave the monsters behind when they came to America and never would they imagine to find so many pretty ones in the center of the city – and offers his name as though it was on a platter. Even his little brother gives a nickname. But Jack had been kind and called him Davey and the others had too, much to Davey’s unknowing chagrin.

The new boy, Davey, matches Jack in his heat, at least momentarily, offering the spark to Jack’s powder and unknowingly unleashing that power.

When Jack says they should strike, they strike.

He finally understands the appeal of the Courts for the first time.

“Do you think she’s really going to show up tomorrow?” he asks that night on the rooftop, head still spinning from the rush of their decision. The thrill had dampened slightly after Jack told him of Spot’s reluctance to join them. Understandable, why would he want to risk losing the grip he kept on the tight leash he had over Brooklyn? And he didn’t owe Jack anymore. But this was as much for them as for the mortals. Righting a wrong against oneself was practically faerie law. Though the girl reporter was an intriguing thought and a twist even he hadn’t seen coming.

“I think so,” he can hear Jack’s smirk in the dark. “She told me her name was Katherine Plumber.”

“Really?” He’s surprised, the way she’d eyed him he thought she’d know better.

“Least it’s the name she publishes under,” Jack is almost proud.

“Clever,” he says happily.

“Too bad your charm doesn’t work in print,” Jack teases.

“I don’t need glamour to be charming. The smile’s just icing.”

Jack laughs, the sound floating up over the rooftops. “Good thing she’s bringing a camera.”

He grins up at the stars.

Like any war there are casualties. Unfortunately, he is one of them. Being back in the Refuge again is hard. The time stretches and shrinks in ways he never imagined possible and somehow he knows decades, centuries later he will look back on this and still wonder. The scent of iron is so heavy it’s dizzying and the press of bodies so close it makes everything seem small. These mortals with iron in their blood and salt on their skin surrounding him on all sides. He has the crown, somehow he has the crown. His crown. It marks him as other and for a time, some measure of time, he feels even more alone. So different from these humans serving penance without crime with him.

He takes it out one night, straining to see the pale petals in the paler light of the moon when that changes. The crown proves he is not alone. The faerie woman, the flower seller, took what was never his to begin with and gave him his true home. His first taste of community. Of finding others like himself. Of finding Jack with his silver tongue and smile. Of the newsies of Lower Manhattan with their bright spirits and easy laughs in the face of the City. Of righteous Davey and mischievous Les and clever Kath. Even of Spot and his politics and power games. He found his birthright in the world he was forsaken to and that realization rekindles something within, twisting the crown in his hands.

He feels less alone, turning his charm back on as the sun rises. Knowing that he is just one of hundreds here in the Refuge feeling like this. Uses his charm to learn that there are some who can get messages in and out. Others who can get him supplies. And in the night, despite complaints from his fellows for the candlelight, he writes to Jack urging him to not let his own fire go out.

He knows they’ll win, has never been in doubt of it. Jack said they would and Jack can’t lie. But he knows Jack, and knows that not being able to tell a lie does not mean you can’t lie to yourself. So, he writes and hopes that it gets to Jack in time.

The time slips and spins and he sleeps and waits and imagines and remembers and nearly misses a name being called. A name that was never really his but he took before he could talk and he hasn’t heard in so long he’d honestly almost forgotten it. The others part for him as he carefully makes his way to the stairs that will lead him to the ground floor and the door out of this place. He is thankful for his faerie grace as he moves with so many eyes on him, his crutch catching on the uneven floorboards but he walks with his head high. Walks right out the door. He’s not the only one to do so, but he is the first.

Relishing in the ability to breath in the wind again, he rides in the governor’s open topped carriage taking in lungfuls of it. Even when it carries the stale scent of trash and the river. His smile is so wide it almost hurts and he nearly forgets to smooth the points his teeth have grown into with the giddiness humming like magic under his skin. The people on the street stare to see such a grubby looking boy riding alone in such finery and he lets them, waving a bit and laughing to think that all this was done just for him. There’s a strange metaphor all tied up in it somewhere. A riddle he’ll spend the time puzzling out later. Right now he just breathes.

Seeing the crowd turn at the sound of hooves and whistles and the governor’s gesturing sends his heart speeding. He accepts the excitement buzzing throughout it and between his ears as some of the boys rush the carriage, holding out hands in silent offers to help him down. For once, he accepts. Jack’s grinning up on the small stage above the door to The World – another twisted metaphor for another time – but he quirks a brow too. Knowing he only allows this because so much focus has passed on to question about the police wagon that has followed behind him the whole way.

He makes a face at Jack in silent response before letting his own pride takeover. He spins and gestures to the wagon where police officers are herding out a man. Herding out the man who runs the Refuge. Who ran the Refuge. He can almost feel his excitement pricking at his fingers in the same way iron does as the governor agrees to let him do the honors. The feeling overpowers the actual feel of the iron manacles as he clamps them on the man’s wrist, letting his glamor slip and his smile turn cruel for just a blink in the process.

The celebrating ends sooner than expected, though that isn’t entirely true. Despite the newsies lining up and taking their papers, they all still chatter and cheer. Bubbling up and over at their win. Jack is talking with Spot, Davey, and Kath when he comes over after getting his own stack for the morning. Spot gives him a significant nod before spit shaking hands all around and heading off with his lieutenants. Racetrack trailing behind. It’s an odd mirror of their first meeting and he brushes the thought away as another problem for another time.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Kath says as she hugs him. He’s come to realize that she’s special in more ways than one. Her possession of the Sight just part of a larger enigma. Her willingness to pull him into her and easy offers of friendship another. He doesn’t argue though, squeezing her right back.

Davey offers a hand to shake once she frees him and a cautious smile. The caution has nothing to do with him though and everything to do with Davey’s own contradiction filled nature. “You were missed,” he says earnestly. Swatting at his little brother who begins babbling exactly how missed he was.

“So, how was the ride?” Jack slings an arm over his shoulders, wide smile as he pulls him in tight to his side.

“You struck a bargain,” he almost hisses through his own smile clenched teeth.

“We came to an agreement.” He feels more than sees Jack’s shrug.

“It was two deals,” Davey corrects with a stern turn to his mouth and a flash in his eyes. “Jack made two deals with Pulitzer.”

He pulls away, brushing off Jack’s hold. He stares hard at the other boy. Dares him to say something and damn himself. Say nothing and damn himself even further.

“The first was a deal only we could make,” Jack says smoothly. He doesn’t blink and his sharp features become sharper with the seriousness that overtakes him. He understands immediately. It was hard. It was cruel. And it doesn’t matter what exactly it was and who gave what because in the end Jack walked away with what mattered most.

“And the second?” he prompts.

Jack shrugs again, shares a glance with the others, and smirks. “We won.”

Truthfully, he should have expected that. He rolls his eyes. Later, under the stars and the smoke, breathing in as little iron as they can he’ll ask again. He’ll find out what he did to convince Spot. What the terms of the bargain were. Of both bargains. And whether Jack was going to tell Davey their true nature, since there was no point in telling Kath. They have all the time in the world to leave the city and see the stars. These people they’ve turned into a home have only a lifetime and he’s already decided that he’s going to make the most of it.

End notes can be found on ao3. Please leave a comment and lmk what you think there as well! :)

[ihatecoconut]

Fixing It

Cross Posted to AO3

It was cold when Spot slipped out of the lodging house, and there was the faint but permeating smell of smoke in the air- courtesy of those who could afford to burn fires and keep warm. Winter had come early that year, and Spot could feel the chill through his clothes, even with Hotshot’s jacket, forced upon him as he was trying to slip away unnoticed ‘with love’.

Those who couldn’t afford wood to burn were keeping inside and huddling together to keep away the chill. The newsies in Brooklyn had started sleeping two to a bunk the week before and, even when they weren’t sleeping, tended to stick with their pair- it worked out for Spot, everyone had someone watching them if they got ill, skipped a meal or tried to run away. Spot was sharing with Hotshot at night, but he wasn’t sharing warmth with her at that point due to the fact that he was instead making his way out of Brooklyn and to the Manhattan lodging.

He pulled the borrowed jacket tighter around him as he stepped out of the shelter that came with the packed buildings, quietly grateful for Hotshot’s forethought, and kept walking. His cane, which he had slung through a belt loop so he could keep his hands in his pockets, hit his leg with every step, and a reminder came with every step of his position and of the risks that came with it. Mostly, however, it was a reminder that he should be back in his own lodging house, watching over his newsies, and not slipping away after dark to another lodging house. But Race’s face, hurt, betrayed and angry, had kept cropping up in his mind’s eye all day, no matter how hard he had tried to force it down. It wasn’t going to leave him until he fixed it. Until he took back the cruel words that he hadn’t even meant.

He should have left the cane behind.

The bridge was empty as Spot crossed it, a combination of darkness and the chill from the river pushing people into one of the boroughs either end. Anyone watching would have seen a lone figure crossing it, his shoulders up to his ears and his arms wrapped around himself to keep warm, what they wouldn’t have seen was the blood welling up from his lip where it cracked, and they wouldn’t have heard him berating himself for not doing this during the day, when the sun provided some warmth and the people and animals provided the rest.

*

Confusingly, it was Davey who opened the door, rather than Jack, the caretaker, or whichever kid one of them had left on watch. That was another irritation, in what was stretching out to be a long night, that Spot really didn’t need. He knew that he was never going to be able to intimidate Davey into doing what he wanted, and it was going to take some effort now to get in.

“Hey Mouth, don’t you have a house of your own?”

“Yeah,” Davey replied, looking slightly thrown by his presence there, “I was helping Jack with something.”

Spot bit his tongue to avoid saying anything he was thinking about that, in particular avoided making any comments about Jack and Davey’s relationship or what exactly Davey might have been ‘helping’ with, especially considering he wasn’t exactly sure what their relationship was since Jack was still apparently going out with the reporter girl from the strike. He really needed Davey to let him in, and he wasn’t going to do that if Spot insulted him.

“Why are you here?” Davey continued, “Jack isn’t expecting you.”

“Of course he ain’t, I’m not here to speak to him. I wanna talk to Racer.”

Davey paused at that and, annoyingly, Spot could see him piecing things together in his head- even if he weren’t entirely sure what those things were.  “I’m not sure Race wants to talk to you right now.”

Spot grit his teeth, “I need to talk to him.”

“Ok,” Davey crossed his arms and stared straight back into a glare that had sent better men running, “I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

“Let me in.”

“No.”

With that, it was evident they had reached a stalemate, and if it hadn’t been for Albert clattering down the stairs to see what was taking Davey so long, they might have remained there for the rest of the night. As it was, Albert demanded to know what was going on, pieced together the answer to his question from the argument that ensued and decided that Spot should, in fact, be allowed to speak to Racer, and apparently his position as Race’s best friend, and a newsboy longer than Davey had been overrode Davey’s decision.

Despite Davey’s unhappiness at the situation- which he expressed multiple times on the way up- and his apparent irritation at Spot, which had to be linked to however Race was acting as Spot hadn’t actually acted any different to how he acted normally, Albert led him into the lodging house and up the stairs to their bunkroom.

Only one bunk was occupied, everyone else was in the common room on the floor below, keeping together and laughing. The occupied bunk was towards the end of the room, near the window, and it was only obvious it was occupied as the blankets were lumped up around a human figure, while all others were flat and neat- a habit that had to have been started by Davey as they wouldn’t have cared what their beds looked like otherwise.

Albert gestured at the figure, shrugged, and then made a gesture across his throat with his thumb before disappearing. A threat. Spot sighed, pulled off the extra jacket he was wearing and made his way across the room, using footsteps loud enough that Race had to know someone was coming.

“Al, I already told you I just want to be left alone.” The pile of blankets informed him, “Go away.”

“I’m not Albert.”

The speed with which Race sat up to face him probably would have been funny under any other circumstances, but since it only brought his tear stained face into Spot’s view faster, ‘funny’ wasn’t really the word that Spot was thinking.

Race scowled, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologise?” Spot winced reflexively; he hadn’t meant it to come out as a question.

“I don’t want it.” Came the response and Race immediately rolled back over into the position he had been in before Spot came in.

Slightly at a loss for what to do, Spot sat down on the bunk next to Race and stared at his back. Briefly, he wished he had brought Hotshot along- she always knew the right thing to say to people, and she was the one who delt with the littles while they were upset. It wasn’t that Spot didn’t like the littles, he loved them and would kill for them, it was just that he had no idea how to relate to people emotionally. And that was slowly turning into a bigger problem than he had thought it would be.

“I didn’t mean it.” He said quietly, still staring at Race’s back, “I didn’t want to shove you off and say those things, I just panicked.”

Race sat back up again and attempted to scowl again, although it had lost some of the anger it had had previously. “So?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.”

“Yes. And I do want to kiss you and stuff, and I do want you to spend the night, if you still want to, I just, I don’t…”

“Don’t…?” Race prompted, and his tone was gentler than it had been before.

“I don’t know.”

There was a pause in which they both stared at each other, and Spot suddenly felt the weight of what he had said hit him. It was illegal to be doing what he had just asked Race to do, there were stories in the papers every so often of men who had been caught and thrown into jail, and he felt the sudden urge to run away and never speak to Race again. “You want to run away again, don’t you?” Race asked, sitting up properly, and if Spot hadn’t been already head over heels for him- no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself- he thought that he might have fallen in love with Race right there, simply for his innate ability to see through him.

“It’s dangerous. My boys might not respect me…” The white hot panic that he had felt earlier in the day when Race had leaned in and kissed him was back, the idea that if they found out he would be beaten up and thrown back out on the streets, that he could go back to being a nobody squeezed his chest and made him want to hit something- probably Race considering he was the one who was causing these feelings.

“We can be careful.” Race whispered, moving over to lay his hand on Spot’s leg. “We won’t get caught.”

Spot looked down at the hand, which had begun to rub comforting circles on his thigh, and somehow felt more relaxed. “We can be careful.” He repeated.

“Can I kiss you? Again?”

Slightly choked up from the sheer amount of emotion he was feeling, Spot nodded, and Race leaned in, putting slightly more pressure on Spot’s leg- almost painful, by the time they were nose to nose- and carefully pressed his lips to Spot’s. It was a little messy, uncoordinated and their teeth clacked together too much, but it was almost perfect, and Spot could see himself doing this for the rest of his life.

A crash from downstairs made them jump apart, and Spot wanted to yell at them both for being so careless, for doing it in a place where anyone could just walk in. Race’s smile stopped him.

“Can you stay the night?” he asked, quiet and shy and utterly perfect in Spot’s eyes. The part of him that had been gone for Race from the moment they met screamed at him to say yes, to roll the two of them onto the bed and hold Race to his chest for the rest of the night and stay with him in Manhattan until the two of them aged out. The rest of him, the part that was the King of Brooklyn, and was constantly focused on whether or not his actions would be good for his newsies, that part knew he had to leave. And, even as it knew that, Spot was a little surprised to realise that that part of him was in love with Race as well.

“I promised Hotshot I’d be back before midnight.” He looked away so he didn’t have to see Race’s face fall.

“You’ll need to leave soon then. It’s a long walk back to Brooklyn.”

Taking the hint for what it was, Spot rose, Race’s hand slipping off his thigh as he did, and he immediately missed its warmth and comforting presence. “I’ll- uh- I’ll see you at Sheepshead tomorrow?”

Race grinned, brighter than ever before, “I’ll be there.”

Spot nodded, a little awkwardly and carefully backed out of the bunkroom, pausing at the door to give Race an awkward wave, which Race readily returned. On his way out, he passed Davey, who raised an eyebrow but otherwise allowed him to continue unstopped.

*

As Spot carefully backed out of view, Race allowed himself to let out a little happy squeal and hugged his- admittedly flat- pillow to his chest.

“Albie! Get in here!”

Unsurprisingly, Albert had been hovering outside the window and hopped in immediately, “How did it go? Do I need to beat him up?”

“He let me kiss him. And he said he’d see me at Sheepshead tomorrow!”

Albert let out an excited squeal, not dissimilar to the one Race had just let out, “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah.” Race sighed happily and lay back, staring up at the other bunk, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Albert shoved on next to him, “Me neither! This is amazing!”

“You already said that!”

“I know!”

The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing, Albert wrapped his arms around Race and they continued laughing, rolling around on the tiny bed and just bathing in each other’s company and the happiness they didn’t often experience.

Unknown to them, Davey was stood at the door, listening to their conversation and smiling quietly- he had been genuinely worried when Spot appeared at their door demanding to speak to Race, especially considering that Race had returned early from Brooklyn having obviously been crying. Apparently his concerningly parental worry hadn’t been necessary, but he would tell Jack, and maybe they would quietly threaten Spot with consequences if Race ever returned from Brooklyn crying again.

*

On the Brooklyn bridge, Spot climbed up onto one of the struts, and stared out across the water, watching the way the lights reflected on the water and tried to stop touching his lips every few seconds. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel weighed down by all his responsibilities, he was looking forward to the next selling day.

Hotshot raised an eyebrow- in a concerningly similar manner to how Davey had done so earlier- and gestured at the clock, which was showing a quarter past twelve. “I was gonna give it another half hour before I sent out a search party,” she threatened in a whisper, “now get in to bed and you are going to tell me where you went in the morning.”

He rolled his eyes, shucked off his outer layers and carefully climbed onto the single bunk that she normally slept on alone. “Goodnight, Niamh.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Goodnight, Sean.”

And then, just as he had rolled over and shut his eyes she quietly added, “This ‘Hattan boy better be worth it.”

“He is. He really really is.”

[generic-blog-name-69]

Could you do a Race Higgins x reader where the reader is Spots younger sister and he’s super protective (along with the rest of the Brooklyn boys)? I know it’s kind of a cliche one lol but I love the big brother trope for him :)

A/n: Sure! This got a lot later than I originally thought it was going to be. I also combined this with another idea that I had, I hope that’s okay! I hope you enjoy! Also, this is unedited so read at your own risk.

Words: 3,298 ----------------

“Zebra escapes the zoo! Get the story right here!” you called out in a desperate attempt to sell more papes. The headline was garbage today, as usual, and you were trying everything you could to sell even ten. After all, you were saving up for dance lessons. Well, you, your brother, Spot Conlon, and the other Brooklyn newsies. 

Eventually, you managed to sell your last pape, and you started to head back to the Brooklyn Newsboy Lodging House. Normally, girls weren’t allowed to be newsies, but since your big brother was the King of Brooklyn, they made an exception.

“Hey, (y/n),” some of the newsies called out in greeting.

“Hey.”

You walked up and put what money you weren’t going to need for dinner or breakfast in the “dance jar”, which was just a normal jar, but it was where the newsies put whatever money they could spare to help pay for your dance lessons. After a couple of months of doing this, the jar was almost to the top. You loved your newsie family. 

You went over to your bed to read for a bit before dinner. A shadow fell across you, and you looked up to see your older brother staring down at you, grinning. 

“Hey, Spot. What’s up?” you asked, slightly confused. He didn’t grin much, so you wondered what was going on. 

“Hey, (y/n).” He sat down on the bed, still smiling. You went back to reading, thinking that if he wanted to tell you something, he would tell you. 

Several minutes later, however, he still hadn’t told you anything, and you could feel him staring at you. 

You sighed and put down your book. “If there’s something you want to tell me, just say it.”

When Spot continued to just grin at you, you added, “Is there something you want to tell me?

He scooted closer to you and showed you a handful of coins. “Guess what we have enough money for,” he prompted.

You felt your eyes widen as you squeaked out: “Dance lessons?” He nodded. You squealed with delight, getting off your bed and jumping up and down. The other newsies were laughing at you, but you didn’t care. You were going to have dance lessons!

“The first lesson is tomorrow, right after dinner.” Spot had also stood up.

“Can you wait that long?” Hotshot teased gently. Everyone laughed, including you, but you could see Spot getting a little defensive. You put your hand on his arm and softly said, “Hey.” He looked at you, and apparently could see that you weren’t mad. He calmed down a little bit and took a breath. You smiled at him and went back to reading, although your mind was focused on the dance lessons. What would your teacher be like? Would the class like you? 

Stop it, you told yourself. I’m going, and who cares if they don’t like me? My brother’s the King of Brooklyn. 

You eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, full of excitement for the next day. 

You practically bounced into the dance studio. You were so excited! You glanced around at your new classmates. Many of them were girls, but there were a few boys there. One in particular caught your eye. He had curly, dirty-blond hair, and piercing bright blue eyes. He looked your way, and you immediately dropped your gaze to the floor. In his dance bag, there was a packet of cigars. You didn’t smoke yourself, but you knew of a few newsies who did. 

Of course, you didn’t know if this guy was a newsie. He looked about your age, maybe a year or two older. You decided to risk looking up again, only to see that he was still looking at you. He grinned and started walking towards you. 

“Hey,” he said, grinning. 

“Hey.”

“So, you’se is takin’ dance classes?” He talked like the Brooklyn newsies did, but he had a slight accent that you had heard somewhere before. If only you could remember where…

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, I am.” You mentally scolded yourself about how stupid that sounded. The boy didn’t seem bothered, though. He grinned again and stuck out his hand. 

“The name’s Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins. Well, my real name is Anthony, but you’se can call me Race.” He winked at you, sending a swarm of butterflies into your stomach. It was all you could do to shake his hand.

“I’m- Manhattan!” You suddenly remembered where you had heard Racetrack’s accent before. It was the accent of a Manhattan newsie, who were pretty much the Brooklyn newsies sworn enemies. 

“You’re Manhattan?” Race asked teasingly. 

You blushed. “No, I- My name is (y/n). I was trying to figure out where I had heard your accent before.”

“Sure, Manhattan. Whatever you say.” He winked at you again. 

Before you could think of a witty reply, the music started, indicating that it was time to start the class. You and Race drifted over to the ballet bar. 

An hour later, you were a sweaty mess, but you knew that you had finally found your passion. You were grinning from ear to ear, eager to get home to tell Spot all the amazing things that had happened. 

“Hey, Manhattan,” said a voice from behind you, making you jump.

“Oh, Race. It’s you,” you said, calming down when you saw his bright blue eyes. I could very easily get lost in those eyes, you thought. 

“So, where do you live? I’ll walk you home,” he offered. 

“Oh, I- I don’t think that would be a good idea.” You immediately regretted your words when you saw the hurt look on Race’s face.

“Why not?”

“Well, I- uh, I…” You didn’t want to tell him that you lived in Brooklyn; that was sure to make him hate you. However, you didn’t have any choice but to tell him when he turned away from you. 

“I’m a Brooklyn newsie. I don’t think the others would take kindly to a Manhattan newsie on their turf,” you blurted out. Race turned back to you, looking confused, but now intrigued. 

“I never knew no girl newsie before.” He took a step towards you again. “Why’d they let you be one?”

You swallowed. “My brother’s Spot Conlon.”

Race looked shocked, then took a step away from you. 

“I- I’ll see you next week, (y/n).” Then he took off running. 

You trudged back to the Brooklyn Lodging House, your good spirits somewhat crushed. Why did he have to leave like that? You sighed. If only you weren’t from Brooklyn. If only your brother wasn’t the most feared newsie in New York. If only…

Stop it, you scolded yourself. I could “if only” all day, but that isn’t going to change the fact that Racetrack Higgins, is scared of my big brother. 

The door creaked as you opened it. You walked into the room, letting your heavy footfalls ring out. As soon as you entered the bunk room, you were greeted with a dozen voices all calling out greetings. 

“(y/n)!”

“Hey!”

“Look, (y/n)’s back!”

And there was your big brother, standing there, waiting for you. As mad as you were at him earlier, all the feelings of how amazing it felt to be dancing rushed back to you and you ran to hug him. 

“So it was good, then?” he laughed. 

“Oh, Spot, it was absolutely amazing!” You described what dancing was like, and you were so enthusiastic that some of the newsies asked you to teach you a few steps. You went to bed ecstatic, but you had no idea how much better your life would get in the morning. 

The next morning you got up to sell papers as usual. There was nothing off about your morning, except you having a bit of a spring in your step. The newsies all smiled at how happy you were. It was rare that any newsie had much to smile about, so when someone did, everyone was practically over the moon. 

By lunch you were longing to dance again. You couldn’t wait to get back into that studio, with the soft piano music floating in the air…

Before you knew it, you were dancing on the sidewalk. A small crowd had gathered to watch you, and when you were finished, everyone applauded. You blushed and picked up your pile of papers. A lot of the crowd, upon seeing that you were a newsie, bought a pape from you, sometimes paying extra. By the end of the day you were in an even better mood then you were that morning. 

You walked into the lodge in a better mood than you were normally in. It was the kind of happiness that is impossible to not be happy around, and soon all the other newsies were smiling too. 

Spot suddenly walked in smiling, and kissed you on the cheek. You smiled back at him, a little confused. He moved his hand slightly, drawing attention to the fact that he was holding something.

“What’s that?” You asked, intrigued.

“Oh, this?” He teased, holding up an envelope. “I don’t know, what is it?”

“Come on, Spot, give it to me!” You stood up, making a grab for the envelope. He tried to hold it out of your reach, but, him being so short, it was not hard for you to grab it.

You opened it and found a large pile of coins inside. You looked at your older brother disbelievingly. 

“Is this-”

“Enough money for the next month of dance lessons. I thought you’d like it.”

You squealed and hugged him. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Everyone else was smiling, too. For newsies who didn’t have much to be happy about, you seemed to have an abundant amount of happiness over the past few days. 

The month flew by. Ballet lessons ended, and the next month was about to begin. 

You walked into the now familiar studio, no longer worried about what the others would think of you. You didn’t have much of a chance to talk anyway, only before and after class. Race had avoided talking to you after the first week, and you couldn’t help but be discouraged about what it meant for his feelings for you. He had shown some interest in you, right? Whatever might have been there once clearly wasn’t there now, however.  

 You sighed. You could spend all day thinking about this, and it would get you nowhere. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts in time for your instructor to announce the next type of dance you would be learning: ballroom dance.

“I will give each of you a partner, and they will be your partner for the rest of the month. You will do all your ballroom dancing with them. Now, here are your partners.” She proceeded to read off the names of the people who would be partnering with each other.

You couldn’t help but glance at Race. How awesome would it be if he was your partner? You would be dancing together for a whole month! 

“(y/n) and Racetrack.” The instructor continued on with the list of names, but to you it didn’t matter. It was all you could do to keep from squealing. This was what you had imagined! 

You glanced at him again. He had started walking over to you! Your mind suddenly took you back to the first day that you met him.

“So, you’se is takin’ dance classes?”

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“The name’s Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins. Well, my real name is Anthony, but you’se can call me Race.” He winked.

You pulled out of your flashback just in time for him to slide up next to you.

“So, we’s partners.”

“Yeah, yeah we are.”

The instructor demonstrated what you were going to do, and the music started. 

“May I have this dance?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, taking a slight bow.  You could feel yourself blush as you started the dance. 

Race was a really good ballet dancer. But he was an amazing ballroom dancer. He glided across the floor, taking you with him. His movements were like liquid, but at the same time he was solid and sturdy to hold on to. You found yourself wishing that this moment would never end. 

You came back to the lodging house with your head in the clouds, replaying the class over and over in your head. 

The two weeks that followed were a sort of magical blur, with each class being better than the last. You and Race grew closer everyday, to the point where you thought that you might be slightly more than friends. At least, you hoped to be. 

This class was no different from the rest: Race danced with his usual unearthly beauty, taking you along with him. 

After the class ended, Race walked up to you, which was normal. After the first month, he had started talking to you again after class. You had no idea why he had stopped talking to you, but you thought that it probably had something to do with the fact that you had Spot as your brother. The only thing out of the ordinary today was that Race seemed a bit nervous about something.

“Hey, ah, (y/n).” He ran a finger through his hair and breathed out. You raised a single, questioning eyebrow; he never called you by your real name. 

“Hey.” 

“Um… I was wondering… if, ah….” He ran another finger in his hair. This was a shock. Race normally couldn’t shut up. 

He suddenly sat down dejectedly. “Ne’ermind, it’s stupid anyway.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said, perking up. “What is it?”

He turned to look you in the eyes, and you were struck again by how blue his eyes were.  He looked back at the floor, leaving you breathless. 

“Doyouwannagooutwithme?” He looked at you again and you saw fear in his eyes. He was afraid of what would happen between you two. And honestly, you were too.

You swallowed, considering everything. What would Spot say? What would happen to your friendship if you said no? If you said yes? This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Slowly, you nodded. You looked up and saw the shock in Race’s eyes, and you nodded more vigorously. Before you knew it, you were practically jumping. 

“Yes!” you said. Race was laughing, with relief or delight, you weren’t sure. He grabbed your hand and together you walked out of the studio. 

Two hours later you walked back to the lodge, the happiest you had felt yet. You were singing softly to yourself as you entered the lodge. Your elation evaporated when you saw your older brother. He was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, all five feet four inches absolutely terrifying. 

“Where were you?” he demanded. You swallowed. You decided to ignore his question for the time being by setting down your stuff and crossing to your bed. There were no other newsies in the room; it was just you and Spot. 

“I asked you a question.” he stepped closer to the bed. 

You sighed and laid back on your bed. “I was on a date.”

You knew that that was the wrong thing to say. You could feel him practically explode next to you. 

“You. Were. WHAT?!” 

You started to answer again, but he waved you off. He started pacing the room, asking more questions. 

“Where did you go? Who was it with?”

Since you just going on a date made him practically explode, you decided that you couldn’t tell him that it had been with a Manhattan newsie, in Manhattan. 

“It was with a guy I met in my dance class.” There. That wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. 

Spot was breathing really heavily, and you thought that he might actually explode. You felt your emotions rising, too.

“What does it matter to you, though, Spot? It’s not your place to be in control of my life.”

“Yes, yes it is!” he practically screamed. “As your older brother, I have every say of how your life should go! And you know what, I was going to pay for the next month of dance lessons, too. But now I am definitely not!”

You felt your cheeks reddening. “Well you know what? Maybe I- I didn’t want to go next month anyway!” It was a lie. Those dance lessons were everything to you. But you didn’t need Spot to know that. 

However, he could tell it was a lie and called you out on it.

“Ha! You couldn’t live without those lessons.”

“Maybe I couldn’t, but I definitely can live without living here.”

You turned and stormed out of the lodging house. 

---------------------

“That was a bit harsh, Spot.” The rest of the newsies had come back in, after hearing the whole argument from the other room. 

Spot sighed and ran a finger through his hair. 

“I know,” he said slightly shakily. He turned and looked at the newsie who had spoken. “But she’s the only family I have left, and I can’t bear to lose her.”

---------------------

You didn’t know where you were going until you got there. Half an hour later,  you knocked on the door of the Manhattan Newsboy Lodging House. You smoothed your hair and bit your lip, both things you did when you were nervous. 

A newsboy you didn’t know answered the door and looked at you questioningly. 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Is… is Race here?”

The newsie nodded and gestured for you to follow him. The Manhattan Lodge looked a lot like the Brooklyn Lodge. You wound your way through a sea of newsies, all of who gave you questioning looks. Eventually you saw him. Racetrack Higgins. You couldn’t help yourself. You ran and threw yourself into his arms. He was surprised at first, but as soon as he recognized you he hugged you back. It was too much for you. You started to cry.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, gently patting you on the back. 

“I… I ran away.”

He pulled away to look at you, with tears streaming down your face, your eyes red and your nose running. You knew you must look like a mess, but at the moment, you didn’t care. 

“Why?” he asked, wiping away your tears with his thumb. 

“Spot got real mad at me ‘cause he found out we…” you hesitated, not sure that he wanted the others to hear. He took the hint and asked for a bit of privacy.

“So Spot got mad at you?” he asked once they were all in different rooms. You nodded. 

“You… you wanna stay here for tonight?”

You looked up at him. “You mean it?”

He wiped away more of your tears. “Of course! I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

You tackle-hugged him again, so thankful that he was here.  

Twenty minutes later, and after much debate, you were in Race’s bed. He had insisted on sleeping on the floor. You tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. Sometime, around midnight you guessed, it got really cold. You started shivering in your blankets, so you couldn’t imagine how Race was. You decided to check. You rolled over again and looked down to see him staring at the ceiling. 

“Race,” you whispered. He looked at you. You pat the bed next to you. He didn’t hesitate; he climbed right in next to you. The poor boy was freezing! You moved closer to him to share your body heat, and he wrapped his arm around you. 

Spot or no Spot, you thought to yourself, there’s nothing that could take this boy away from you. 

[willowistic22]

Please... (Redfinch)

Albert has been thrown to the refuge before. It was an ugly story but at least it prepared him from what was coming when he got thrown in again. But Finch? This was his first time learning on his own how relentless Snyder is...

Word count: 3302

Part : [1 this] - (if ppl like this i’ll make more parts)

Warnings: Blood, abuse, torture, knife cuts, restraints, mentions of death, beatings, cussing (no surprise there lol), in short this is a whump fic. I probably missed some warnings and if I did please let me know!

A/N: Hello, yes, I am well aware that I’ve vanished from my fanfic writing spree. It’s gonna be more common now because school is more hectic online than irl. Anyways, i came up with this idea when I was in the middle of having writers block from writing another wip and ended up finishing this one whoops. I also like ignored the remainder of requests from my inbox not bcs i don’t want to do them but i haven’t gotten the time. Especially since this is October and my school always have special plans on October so I’m sorry. But, hey I got a fic out! ENJOY! (might make this a three part thing if you guys want idk) 

[ @jaelynn-is-slightly-confused i did it.......................... ]

The first time he got sent to this hellspace was years ago, and fortunately for Albert it only lasted for four days before he was able to bust out. Odd how he thought something would be different. He expected the treatment would stay the same, no surprise there. The bounded limbs, the painful souvenirs smeared all over his body, being left to fend for your own life, none of this was new. And yet, Al thought maybe something physical about this awful settlement would be different. Maybe painting the walls a different color? Cleaning the little drops of blood on the floor?

A funny idea to be thinking about in this kind of situation. But he needed something to calm him down. Something to distract him from the pain all over his body. The bruises from punches, the strangling feeling made by a strong pair of hands ghosting his neck, the cuts from a knife marking his skin, the pain in his wrists while they’re tightly bound to each other with a rope, basically everything that’s been given to him the minute he arrived here. 

An itch in his throat triggered him to go on a coughing fit. It made him feel every inch of pain all over his torso as he reached for that itch. He ends up opening his eyes after spending a long time closing them. 

His senses are now hyper focused on everything around him. Albert can feel the coarse cement wall through the back of his shirt. It’s the only thing making him sit up properly while he spreads his legs out on the dirty floor, just as equally coarse as the wall. He can see streaks of lights coming from the tiny windows on the wall he’s leaning onto. The only light source provided for this basement. 

There isn’t anything in here. Most of the kids held in the refuge would stay up stairs. Rooms provided with rickety bunks where at least six kids slept all at once. Big scary men put on guard on every corner with batons, ready to strike when a kid acted up. You only get sent down to the basement, or what most kids would say the ‘torture chamber’, when the ungoldy amount of scars already given to you haven’t made you obey anything they say. And Albert has been a huge pain in the ass. 

The sound of the heavy metal door opening bounces on the walls, pulling Albert’s consciousness away from the distraction forming in his head as he was about to close his eyes for another rest. Slow footsteps climbing down the wooden stairs echoes throughout the room. A weak light slowly gets stronger as the footsteps get louder in Al’s ears. 

The sound of the footsteps against the wooden stairs turn into strong assertive steps on the concrete floor. Al weakly darts his eyes up at the big man, bringing a candle in one hand and a lit cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. 

“Good to see you again, Al!” Snyder exclaimed after huffing out a cloud of smoke, a devilish grin painting his face. 

“Wish I could say the same to you” Albert voiced as best as he could, hoarse but Snyder could hear the hatred behind it. 

The beaten up redhead proceeds to spit at his captor’s shoes with a glare. In return, Snyder chuckles out whilst shaking his head. 

“You think that’s funny?” Snyder challenged. 

“Actually, I do!”

In the matter of seconds, Snyder gets closer and viciously grabs Albert by the neck with a tight grip. He holds him up with one hand on the neck, high with his back up against the wall. 

Despite his throat being seconds away from being totally crushed, he was able to hold up his glare. The pain is unimaginable, but his smile remains. Albert is not giving in to obeying this man in any way. Not even the fear he’s trying to assert on him. 

“Fearless. I admire that” Snyder notes, curiously tilting his head as he examines the details of his face. 

“Thanks. My parents are pretty proud of that too” Albert needed some effort to get the words out, but thought it was definitely worth the pain to see the displeased look in Snyder. 

“And very stubborn...” 

They lock their eyes in a glare, none of them showing any sign of turning away. 

“I’ll have to fix that attitude…” Snyder exclaimed. He turns towards the stairs leading upstairs and shouts, “Bring ‘em in” 

The door opened, followed by a sound of two men viciously telling someone to obey their orders. Not a moment later, a tumbling noise reveals a weak body being pushed down the stairs and onto the concrete floor with a loud thud. Their back was facing Al, so he didn’t know who that was. 

But Al noticed the newsboy cap, lying on the floor not far from the figure. It was thrown away from their head when they fell down the stairs. The cap looks eerily familiar. God, did Albert hope it wasn’t who he thinks it is…

The two men from earlier came down. One uses his feet to flip over the person they’ve just thrown down here, along with the bound wrists with the same rope as Al dropping in front of their chest. With the minimal light provided by the little windows and now the presence of Snyder’s candle, Albert can tell who they’ve just thrown in. 

His smirk slowly drops at the sight of the weak boy. His hazel eyes no longer glaring at his captor, but staring helplessly at the body lying on the floor. Blond hair no longer electrified as it used to. Al’s favorite face to cradle no longer looks the same as before. Eyes still clenched shut. Snyder smirks, seeing his tactic has shown some progress. And he barely did anything yet. 

“Not so funny now, huh?” Snyder taunted under his breath, only Albert was able to hear it, “Should’ve brought the boy into the mix sooner…” 

Snyder loosens his grip around Al’s neck, but he’s soon held up once again by two of Snyder’s henchmen. One holds down his shoulders, pinning him up against the wall, and another by the chest and stomach. 

Snyder makes his way to the boy on the ground with lazy steps. Albert can see him reaching for something under his jacket. It was soon revealed to be a knife once he playfully glides it in the air while kneeling down to the boy. He throws away his burnt out cigarette and places the candle on the floor, not far from the helpless body. He grabs the boy’s chin to make him look up with his free hand, smiling like the devil when he hears the boy whimpering from his touch. 

“I’m not one to like guys… but this one’s clearly a looker, don’t you think?” Snyder examines the face in his hand. 

Albert’s temper was acting up, but his struggles to break free from the strong grip was instantly met with punches to the stomach. The bruises from earlier makes the pain hurt even more. With a silent raise of two fingers, Snyder made the two henchmen stop the punching. It gives Albert some time to settle in with the pain. 

Another signal from Snyder, and the henchmen drops Al on the floor and leaves the basement to the three. Albert’s head was up against the concrete floor, taking in the cold and dusty texture. 

He’s on the same eye level as the boy. A desperate gaze towards the innocent face now full of blood, water, dust, and dirt all smudged together on his skin. Al could see more details, maybe bruises or cuts covered up by the smudges. 

“Come on now, Finch! You’re invited to the party!” Snyder said to the boy, bringing his face right to his own. It forces him to slightly sit up, whimpering along as his body is getting forced under all that pain, “The least you could do is appreciate the invitation” 

It was the order to open his eyes. God knows what Snyder would do if he didn’t. The action reveals a pair of Albert’s favorite blue eyes, but fear clouds it along with the redness caused from what he assumes to be a lot of crying. 

Finch never loses his composure. He’s that cool and mysterious guy everyone is intrigued by. Either have a cool smirk or a neutral quiet face at all times. He doesn’t express his feelings freely, so it keeps people guessing. But those tear streaks, shaky limbs, pressed down sobs in his throat, that wasn’t usual. Albert may have seen him vulnerable, but this wasn’t the romantic and soft side of him that he’s used to. This was genuine fear. 

“I know you’re not one to follow orders from me…” Snyder started, guiding Finch to sit up properly. His unbalanced head moves along with the dazing motion in his mind. In a split second, the sound of a slap echoes through the room. Finch falling helplessly the moment his huge hand connects to his cheek. With a little yelp from the pain, he’s back on the ground, desperately holding back his sobs and scrunching his eyes shut. 

“... But I’m sure we could… make some changes to that” Snyder continued, turning his head around to face Albert. 

By now, Al found the little strength to prop himself up to sit up against the wall again. He snarls, pushing Snyder to smile to his own amusement.

“I see progress being made!” He exclaimed with an unsettling grin after noting his silence. He turns back to face Finch, “Let’s see how much of that we can get for today’s session…” 

Snyder drags Finch by the ropes that ties his arms together up till it can reach the rusty old hook attached to the ceiling. He gasps at the pain in his wrists carrying his entire weight up on the hook, all the pain being stretched out. The tip of his toes grazed the floor and his head hung low.

The same knife from earlier makes its way to press on Finch’s chest. Albert had only realized his shirt was unbuttoned just now and takes in all the horrifying scars. It ranges from faint purples and blues and very clear red and pink lines, all of which are smeared across his body. The cold blade hasn’t cut through his skin, but it made Finch’s senses hyper focused. Lungs working at full force, loud breathing and rapid chest movements. He thought he was just playing tricks, making him think he’s seconds away from cutting some skin. 

When he least expected it, the blade drew another line just below his collar bone. It causes the boy to let out a half suppressed yelp. Snyder dragged the knife so slow, Finch could feel every bit of the pain. 

“Wait! Stop!” Albert could only yell from a distance. 

“Thought we’ve managed to get you to shut up...” Snyder turns his head a little to see Albert behind his shoulder. He digs the blade an inch deeper into Finch’s skin, causing a little cry to finally escape his lips but soon was suppressed once again. 

“He has nothin’ to do with this!” 

Albert shifts a bit loudly. It instantly alerts Snyder, causing him to fully turn his head towards him with a glare.

“Try getting any closer, and I’ll slit his throat open right now!” Snyder growled, firmly holding the blade against the weak throat. It made Finch pull his head up to avoid getting cut, inevitably forcing his eyes to open to stay cautious around it. 

Albert locks his eyes in Finch’s desperate gaze back at him. A silent cry for help, which only made Al furious because he can’t do anything. He wants to wipe his tears away, clean his face, and just hold him tight against his chest. Get the two back to the lodge where their friends are waiting. Everything in his power to get Finch away from any more torture. 

Snyder smiled at Albert’s compliance, forcibly settling his body back on the wall. 

“Atta, boy,” He said, turning his head back to face Finch. He grabs a fistful of blonde curls and whispers, “See? Told’ja he’d listen to you” 

Snyder pulls the knife out of his flesh. Finch gasps at the pain, red blood dripping down his body. His breath becomes fast and uncontrollable once again. And he didn’t stop there. Punches being thrown, more knife cuts, and a hand gripping firmly around his neck while he growls words that shapes nightmares. The chest starts to add in more color to it. Streaks of blood dripped down his slightly toned body. Each of those marks burns deeply into him. With every swing from the fist, Finch uses all his energy to suppress his voice despite the unimaginable pain it emits.

Finch has been in a fight before. He knows what it feels like getting punched over and over again. But this? This is something new. He’s in a position where he can’t do anything. And god is he scared for his life. Albert won’t blame him. After a few dozen punches, his lover fell limp. Hanging helplessly on the hook and taking all the new cuts and bruises like he deserves it. His heart skipped a beat, thinking that he actually might’ve given up. 

“Can’t you tell he’s had enough of it?” Albert shouted, helplessly watching his lover get tortured to near death. 

Snyder continues to use Finch as a punching bag, ignoring his near silent cries and Albert’s pleas to stop. 

“What does it have to do with ‘im?!” 

A hook to the chin this time.

“You fucking bastard! You’ll kill him!” 

Finch couldn’t hold his crying anymore, despite being told to before he got thrown in the basement. Snyder draws out the knife again upon hearing all the sobs escape his cut lips. 

“Snyder, please!” Albert’s voice shakes.

He stops his arm and turns to face Albert, dropping his hand with the knife to his side. Albert can be seen on the verge of tears, and he won’t deny it to anyone. Snyder’s lips fell open with wonderment. 

“I get the point already. You don’t have to keep hurting him...” Albert explained even further, desperation lacing his words. Eyes slowly welling up with water, “Please…”

Snyder scoffs, twisting his lips into the devil's satisfied smile, “Say that again” 

He just wants to see Albert complying to him. Hear him beg to stop the injustice torture. Maybe as far as to hear him cry. 

“Please… Let him go...” breathlessly, Albert begged. He could feel a drop of water from one of his eyes threatening to fall down his cheek. 

Snyder approaches Albert, kneeling down in front of him. He uses the knife from earlier, still full of Finch’s blood dripping off the blade, to tilt Albert’s chin upwards. He glares at Snyder once their eyes meet, but it only makes the man smirk with delight.

“I see you’ve come to your senses” 

Hopefully that meant he’d stop and let Finch back upstairs. But this is Snyder, he’s not going to let one of his detained kids off for free. 

“But I don’t think you’re... ‘docile’ enough,” Snyder added.

He puts away the knife, letting Albert breathe for a moment. But that breath was stolen from him as Snyder proceeds to slap his cheek, so hard the noise echoes throughout the room. He falls to the ground, adding more to the pain he’s feeling. If his hands weren’t tied up, he would’ve already punched the crap out of that monster. 

“You sound adorable when you beg, y’know?” Snyder said standing up to walk back to Finch. 

Albert huffs out breaths full of anger, watching him approach his bloody human punching bag. He blows a strain of red locks away from his eyes to carefully watch what he’s going to do. 

Snyder grabs Finch’s cheeks, forcing him to look up, “You’re definitely a keeper. Isn’t that right, Al?” 

He turns to face Albert, watching as the redhead struggles to sit upright once again. He didn’t break his glare at the man while doing so, showing his own daggers through hazel eyes. 

Snyder scoffs it off, focusing back to Finch. He unhooks the rope off of the ceiling, the limp body giving in to gravity and hitting the floor instantly. His breathing is slowing down, but hitched with a sob ever so often. 

“So, why don’tcha have a little alone time—“ He grabs Finch by the hair. He yelped in pain before being tossed towards where Albert is sitting, his feet somehow complying to the push despite the ache he feels, “—and think about what you did” 

He was lucky, Albert was able to catch him into his chest and lap. If he didn’t, Finch would’ve hit the floor and added another bruise on his face. Finch quickly scrambles himself into his embrace as best as he can with tied hands in front of him. Shaking with suppressed sobs into Al’s tattered clothes. 

“You don’t wanna make him suffer for something he didn’t do, right?” Snyder taunted. 

It fuels Albert’s anger to the brim. He tries his best to wrap his arms around the boy while maintaining his glare at Snyder as he makes his way up the stairs. The heavy door quickly opens and shuts not long after a dozen or so drawn out steps up the stairs. The basement is once again left with minimal lighting since the candle from previously was brought up along with him. 

The moment he hears the door close, Finch lets out his sobs. Loud, fueled with ache and fear. Albert suspects he was told to stay quiet while they were doing… whatever it is they did to him to make him look like this. He had a few guesses about what it was, but Al couldn’t bear to put the image in his head. 

“Oh, Finch, what did they do to you?” Albert whispered, carefully holding Finch’s cheek up to see the damage. 

Finch stays silent as they view each other’s faces. Albert wipes Finch’s tears with his thumb delicately to be careful as to not harm him. He cries at the touch of his soft hand, the gentleness he’s been longing for the moment he got into this shithole of a place. 

He crashes his face into the crook of Albert’s neck, sobbing a little softer than before. Al places his chin on his curls gently. He rubs Finch’s back and shushes in his hair. Albert knows it won’t calm him down, but there’s nothing wrong with trying. 

“Albert… please… I wanna go home…” Finch said shakily, so soft Al nearly couldn’t hear him. About the only thing he has said since the moment the couple has reunited. 

Albert hushed the boy, rubbing his cheeks against Finch’s curls, “I know. I know. Just hold on for me” 

He continues to sob, a puddle slowly forming on Albert’s shirt. The dam for Albert himself finally broke, letting a drop of water fall down his cheek and a nose slowly getting stuffed. He holds him in his tight arms, as if he’d disappear the moment he lets go. 

“We’re gettin’ outta here. I promise” Albert promised, a big promise to uphold too. 

It would seem difficult with the position they’re in. He believes their friends are out there coming up with an escape plan or will visit them frequently to check up on them till a plan forms. Till then, he promises to do everything he can to get Finch off of Snyder’s evil hands. Anything to see his Finchy smile again. Even if it ends up being the last thing he does. 

[love-pyramus]

N

NAME: ___________________________________ ROLE: ____________________________________ 2 NEWSIES ACT ONE PROLOGUE: Rooftop, Dawn #1- Overture (Summer, 1899. A figure sleeps peacefully on a rooftop amid the moonlit Manhattan cityscape. It is JACK, a charismatic boy of seventeen. Across the rooftop, another figure stirs. CRUTCHIE, a slight and sickly boy of fifteen, walks with the aid of a wooden crutch. He crosses to the fire escape ladder and fumbles, trying to climb down. JACK stirs.) #2- Santa Fe (Prologue)- Jack, Crutchie JACK: Where you going? Morning bell ain’t rung yet. Get back to sleep. CRUTCHIE: I wanna beat the other fellas to the street. I don’t want anyone should see; I ain’t been walkin’ so good. JACK: Quit gripin’. You know how many guys fake a limp for sympathy? That bum leg of yours is a gold mine. CRUTCHIE: Someone gets the idea I can’t make it on my own, they’ll lock me up in The Refuge for good. Be a pal, Jack. Help me down. (loses his footing and almost falls, yelps.) Whoa!!!! (JACK rushes to CRUTCHIE’S rescue, pulling him back from danger.) JACK: You wanna bust your other leg, too? CRUTCHIE: No. I wanna go down. JACK: You’ll be down there soon enough. Take a moment to drink in my penthouse high above the stinkin’ streets of New York. CRUTCHIE: You’re crazy. JACK: Because I like a breath of fresh air? ‘Cause I like seein’ the sky and the stars? CRUTCHIE: You’re seein’ stars all right! JACK: Them streets down there sucked the life right outta my old man. Years of rotten jobs, stomped on by bosses. And when they finally broke him, they tossed him to the curb like yesterday’s paper. Well, they ain’t doin’ that to me. CRUTCHIE: But everyone wants to come here. JACK: New York’s fine for those what can afford a big strong door to lock it out. But I tell you, Crutchie, there’s a whole other way out there. So you keep your small life in the big city. Give me a big life in a small town. THEY SAY FOLKS IS DYIN’ TO GET HERE, ME I’M DYIN’ TO GET AWAY TO A LITTLE TOWN OUT WEST THAT’S SPANKIN’ NEW AND WHILE I AIN’T NEVER BEEN THERE I CAN SEE IT CLEAR AS DAY IF YOU WANT, I BET’CHA YOU COULD SEE IT TOO 3 CLOSE YOUR EYES, COME WITH ME WHERE IT’S CLEAN AND GREEN AND PRETTY AND THEY WENT AND MADE A CITY OUTTA CLAY WHY, THE MINUTE THAT YA GET THERE FOLKS’LL WALK RIGHT UP AND SAY ”WELCOME HOME, SON WELCOME HOME TO SANTA FE!” (CRUTCHIE is taken under JACK’S spell.) PLANTIN' CROPS, SPLITTIN' RAILS SWAPPIN' TALES AROUND THE FIRE 'CEPT FOR SUNDAY WHEN YOU LIE AROUND ALL DAY SOON YOUR FRIENDS ARE MORE LIKE FAMILY AND THEY'S BEGGIN' YOU TO STAY! AIN'T THAT NEAT? LIVIN' SWEET, IN SANTA FE CRUTCHIE: You got folks there? JACK: Got no folks nowhere. You? CRUTCHIE: I don’t need folks. I got friends. JACK: How’s about you come with me? No one worries about no gimp leg in Santa Fe. You just hop a palomino and ride in style. CRUTCHIE: Feature me: ridin’ in style. JACK: I bet a few months of clean air and you could lose that crutch for good. JACK & CRUTCHIE: SANTA FE, YOU CAN BET WE WON’T LET THEM TOUGH GUYS BEAT US WE WON’T BEG NO ONE TO TREAT US FAIR AND SQUARE THERE'S A LIFE THAT'S WORTH THE LIVIN' AND I'M GONNA DO MY SHARE JACK: WORK THE LAND, CHASE THE SUN JACK & CRUTCHIE: SWIM THE WHOLE RIO GRANDE JUST FOR FUN! CRUTCHIE: (stands on his own.) WATCH ME STAND! WATCH ME RUN... (CRUTCHIE realizes his recover is just a fantasy, and turns away from JACK.) JACK: Hey... (CRUTCHIE looks at him. JACK wraps his arms around his friend protectively.) DON'T YOU KNOW THAT WE'S A FAMILY? WOULD I LET YOU DOWN? NO WAY JUST HOLD ON, KID 'TIL THAT TRAIN MAKES SANTA FE (CRUTCHIE leans against JACK as the sun rises behind them. The church bell tolls 5 a.m., which breaks the spell.) JACK: Time for dreamin’s done. (JACK takes CRUTCHIE’S crutch and bangs it on the fire escape metal, sounding an alarm.) Hey! Specs, Racer, Henry, Albert, Elmer. Get a move on, boys. Them papes don’t sell themselves! #2A- Prologue (Playoff) SCENE ONE: Newsboys’ Lodging House & Newsie Square (RACE, a little tough guy, calls to the others as he dresses.)

4 RACE: Hey, Albert, Elmer, Specs! You heard Jack. Get a move on. (ALBERT appears next to him, still wiping the sleep from his eyes.) ALBERT: I was havin’ the most beautiful dream. My lips is still tingling. RACE: A pretty girl? ALBERT: A leg of lamb! #3- Carrying the Banner- Jack, Newsies, Nuns (More BOYS begin to appear as they dress and wash. ALBERT smokes a cigar.) RACE: Hey! That's my cigar! ALBERT: YOU'LL STEAL ANOTHER. SPECS: (Referring to the other BOYS,) HEY, LOOK, IT'S BATH TIME AT THE ZOO. HENRY: I THOUGHT THAT I'D SURPRISE MY MOTHER. ALBERT: If you can find her. NEWSIES: Who asked you? ALBERT: Papes ain’t movin’ like they used to. I need a new sellin’ spot. Got any ideas? RACE: FROM BOTTLE ALLEY TO THE HARBOR THERE'S EASY PICKIN'S GUARANTEED. FINCH: TRY ANY BANKER, BUM OR BARBER. THEY ALMOST ALL KNOWS HOW TO READ. JACK: IT'S A CROOKED GAME WE'RE PLAYIN', ONE WE'LL NEVER LOSE LONG AS SUCKERS DON'T MIND PAYIN' JUST TO GET BAD NEWS! (The NEWSIES move outdoors to the Newsie Square.) NEWSIES: AIN'T IT A FINE LIFE CARRYING THE BANNER THROUGH IT ALL! A MIGHTY FINE LIFE CARRYING THE BANNER TOUGH AND TALL. WHEN THAT BELL RINGS, WE GOES WHERE WE WISHES. WE'S AS FREE AS FISHES, SURE BEATS WASHIN' DISHES. WHAT A FINE LIFE, CARRYING THE BANNER HOME FREE ALL! (KATHERINE, a lovely young lady, walks by with a friend. ROMEO spots her and starts towards her, but JACK sees her too.) ROMEO: Well, hello, hello, hello, beautiful. JACK: Step back, Romeo. Nothin’ what concerns you here. (moves ROMEO aside and shoots to KATHERINE.) Morning Miss. Can I interest you in the latest news? KATHERINE: The paper isn’t out yet. JACK: I’d be delighted to bring it to you personally. KATHERINE: I’ve got a headline for you: “Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing for His Troubles!” (KATHERINE brushes past JACK and joins her friend.) ROMEO: Back to the bench slugger. You struck out. JACK: (Feigning pain) I’m crushed. FINCH: Hey, Crutchie. What's your leg say? Gonna rain? CRUTCHIE: (shakes his leg) No rain. Partly cloudy. Clear by evening. FINCH: They oughta bottle this guy. RACE: And the limp sells fifty papes a week all by itself. CRUTCHIE: I don't need the limp to sell papes. I got personality. IT TAKES A SMILE THAT SPREADS LIKE BUTTER 5 THE KIND WHAT TURNS A LADY'S HEAD. RACE: IT TAKES AN ORPHAN WITH A STUTTER, FINCH: WHO'S ALSO BLINDALBERT: AND MUTEELMER: AND DEAD! JACK & CRUTCHIE: SUMMER STINKS AND WINTER'S FREEZIN' WHEN YOU WORKS OUTDOORS. JACK, CRUTCHIE, BUTTONS, SPLASHER, & TOMMY BOY: START OUT SWEATIN', END UP SNEZIN', NEWSIES: IN BETWEEN IT POURS! STILL IT'S A FINE LIFE, CARRYING THE BANNER WITH ME CHUMS, (STILL IT’S A FINE LIFE, CARRYING THE BANNER) A BUNCH OF BIG SHOTS, TOSSIN' OUT A FREEBIE TO THE BUMS. (A BUNCH OF BIG SHOTS, TOSSIN’ OUT A FREEBIE) FINCH: (calling to the NEWSIES) HEY! WHAT'S THE HOLD UP? WAITIN' MAKES ME ANTSY. I LIKES LIVIN' CHANCEY NEWSIES: HARLEM TO DELANCEY. WHAT A FINE LIFE CARRYING THE BANNER THROUGH THE... (A group of NUNS appears and distributes a breakfast of coffee and doughnuts to the NEWSIES) NUNS: BLESSED CHILDREN, THOUGH YOU WANDER LOST AND DEPRAVED, JESUS LOVES YOU. YOU SHALL BE SAVED. ELMER: Thanks for the grub, Sistuh. NUN 1: Elmer, when are we going to see you inside the church? ELMER: I don’t know, Sistuh. But it’s bound to rain sooner or later. (SIMULTANEOUS) NUNS: BLESSED CHILDREN, AH. JESUS LOVES YOU, AH RACE: CURDLED COFFEE, CONCRETE DONUTS SPRINKLED WITH MOLD, HOMEMADE BISCUITS, JUST TWO YEARS OLD. ELMER: JUST GIVE ME HALF A CUP. HENRY: SOMETHING TO WAKE ME UP. ROMEO: I GOTTA FIND AN ANGLE. TOMMY BOY: IT'S GETTING BAD OUT THERE. MUSH: PAPERS IS ALL I GOT. SPECS: IT'S EIGHTY-EIGHT DEGREES. JO JO: JACK SAYS TO CHANGE MY SPOT. ALBERT: WISH I COULD CATCH A BREEZE. FINCH: MAYBE IT'S WORTH A SHOT. BUTTONS: ALL I CAN CATCH IS FLEAS. JACK: IF I HATE THE HEADLINE. I'LL MAKE UP A HEADLINE. JACK & A FEW NEWSIES: AND I'LL SAY ANYTHING I HAVE'TA JACK & MORE NEWSIES: 'CAUSE AT TWO FOR A PENNY, IF I TAKE TOO MANY WEASEL JUST MAKES ME EAT 'EM AFTA.

(The NEWSIES continue their journey through downtown Manhattan.) NEWSIE GROUP 1: (SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH NEWSIE GROUP 2 BELOW): GOT A FEELIN' 'BOUT THE HEADLINE! I SMELLS ME A HEADLINE! PAPES ARE GONNA SELL LIKE WE WAS GIVIN' 'EM AWAY! 6 BET'CHA DINNER IT'S A DOOZY, 'BOUT A PISTOL-PACKIN' FLOOZY WHO KNOWS HOW TO MAKE A NEWSIE'S DAY NEWSIE GROUP 2: I DO, TOO! SO IT MUST BE TRUE! WHAT A SWITCH! SOON WE'LL ALL BE RICH! DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER WAY TO MAKE A NEWSIES DAY! NEWSIES: YOU WANNA MOVE THE NEXT EDITION? GIVE US AN EARTHQUAKE OR A WAR. ELMER: HOW 'BOUT A CROOKED POLITICIAN? NEWSIES: YA NITWIT, THAT AIN'T NEWS NO MORE! UPTOWN TO GRAND CENTRAL STATION, DOWN TO CITY HALL, WE IMPROVES OUR CIRCULATION WALKIN' 'TILL WE FALL! NEWSIE GROUP 1 (SIMULTANEOUS WITH NEWSIE GROUP 2 BELOW): BUT WE'LL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER MAN TO MAN. WE'RE ALWAYS OUT THERE SOAKIN' EV'RY SUCKER THAT WE CAN. HERE'S THE HEADLINE: NEWSIES ON A MISSION! KILL THE COMPETITION! SELL THE NEXT EDITION! WE'LL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! SEE US OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! ALWAYS OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! NEWSIE GROUP 2: GOT A FEELIN' 'BOUT THE HEADLINE! I SMELLS ME A HEADLINE! PAPES ARE GONNA SELL LIKE WE WAS GIVIN' 'EM AWAY! BET'CHA DINNER IT'S A DOOZY 'BOUT A PISTOL-PACKIN' FLOOZY! DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER WAY TO MAKE A NEWSIE'S DAY! I WAS STAKIN' OUT THE CIRCUS, AND THEN SOMEONE SAID THAT CONEY'S REALLY HOT, BUT WHEN I GET THERE, THERE WAS SPOT WITH ALL HIS CRONIES. HECK, I'M GONNA TAKE WHAT LITTLE DOUGH I GOT AND PLAY THE PONIES! WE AT LEAST DESERVE A HEADLINE FOR THE HOURS THAT THEY WORK US. JEEZ, I BET IF I JUST STAYED A LITTLE LONGER AT THE CIRCUS... (The NEWSIES have arrived at the locked gate in front of the World- a prominent newspaper owned by Joseph Pulitzer.) FINCH: Hey, look! They’re puttin’ up the headline. SPECS: I hope it’s really bloody. With a nice clear picture. ROMEO: Please be murder, please be a murder! (A large chalkboard looms above. The NEWSIES watch in anticipation as a MAN writes the headline in large letters, “TROLLEY STRIKE ENTERS THIRD WEEK.”) ELMER: The trolley strike? IKE: Not again! RACE: Three weeks of the same story. FINCH: They’re killin’ us with that snoozer. SCRUB: I was hopin’ to eat today. (Two tough-looking boys, OSCAR and MORRIS DELANCEY, unlock the gates.) MORRIS: Make way. Step aside. 7 RACE: Dear me, what is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewer may have backed up during the night. PEPPER: Or could it be... NEWSIES: ...the Delancey brothers. FINCH: Hey, Oscar, word on the street says you and your brother took money to beat up striking trolley workers. OSCAR: So? It’s honest work. ALBERT: But crackin’ the heads of defenseless workers? OSCAR: I take care of the guy who takes care of me. RACE: Ain’t your father one of the strikers? OSCAR: Guess he didn’t take care of me! (As if to make his point, MORRIES grabs CRUTCHIE and throws him to the ground.) MORRIS: You want some of that too? Ya lousy crip! (JACK pulls CRUTCHIE back to his feet and then confronts the DELANCEYS. The NEWSIES back up to give JACK room.) JACK: Now that’s not nice, Morris. RACE: Five to one Jack skunks ‘em! SWISH: My money’s on Jack! JACK: One unfortunate day you might find you got a bum gam of your own. How’d you like us pickin’ on you? Maybe we should find out. (And with that, Jack takes CRUTCHIE’S walking stick and smacks the DELANCEYS in the shins, knocking them both to the ground.) OSCAR: Wait till I get my hands on you. JACK: Ya gotta catch me first. (A chase ensues as the NEWSIES sing and dance their way in through the front gate....) NEWSIES: WE'LL ALL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER MAN TO MAN. WE'RE ALWAYS OUT THERE SOAKIN' EV'RY SUCKER THAT WE CAN. HERE'S THE HEADLINE: “NEWSIES ON A MISSION!” KILL THE COMPETITION! SELL THE NEXT EDITION! WE'LL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! SEE US OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! ALWAYS OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! AH, AH, AH, GO! (The NEWSIES arrive at the distribution windows of the World. WIESEL, an ill-tempered, rumpled man,

appears with the DELANCEYS to collect the money and distribute the papers to the NEWSIES.) WIESEL: Papers for the Newsies! Line up! (JACK is first to the window.) JACK: Good morning, Weasel. Did you miss me? WIESEL: That’s Wise-el. JACK: Ain’t that what I said? (Slapping down his money.) I’ll take the usual. WIESEL: A hundred papes for the wise guy. (OSCAR hands over the papers and RACE moves up to the window.) RACE: How’s it going, Weasel? WIESEL: At least call me “mister.” RACE: I’ll call you sweetheart if you’d spot me fifty papes. (The other NEWSIES laugh.) WIESEL: Drop the cash and move it along. 8 RACE: (slapping down his coin) Whatever happened to romance? WIESEL: Fifty for the Race. Next! CRUTCHIE: Good morning, Mr. Wiesel. WIESEL: Fifty papes for Crutchie. (DAVEY, a 17-year-old-boy who appears out of his element, and his kid brother LES, are next in line.) Have a look at this: a new kid. LES: I’m new too! KNUCKLES: Ya don’t say. RACE: Don’t worry, kid- rubs right off. DAVEY: I’ll take twenty newspapers, please. WIESEL: Twenty for the new kid. Let’s see the dime. DAVEY: I’ll pay you when I sell them. WIESEL: Funny, kid. C’mon, cash up front. DAVEY: But whatever I don’t sell, you buy back, right? WIESEL: Certainly. And every time you lose a tooth I put a penny under your pillow. This kid’s a riot. C’mon. Cough up the cash or blow. (Davey hands over a dime, gets his papers, and looks them over.) Come on, move along. Albert, lemme see your money. ALBERT: You have a very interestin’ face. Ever think of getting’ into the movin’ pictures? WIESEL: You think I could? ALBERT: Sure. Buy a ticket, they let anyone in. WIESEL: Beat it, will ya? DUCKY: Twenty papers please. DAVEY: Sorry. Excuse me. I paid for twenty but you gave me nineteen. (EVERYONE freezes and watches. JACK swoops in and quickly counts the papers.) WIESEL: You seen how nice I was to dis new kid? And what did I get for my civility? Ungrounded accusations. DAVEY: I just want what I paid for. OSCAR: He said beat it! (The DELANCEYS start to crack their knuckles.) JACK: New kid’s right, Weasel. Ya gave him nineteen. I’m sure it was an honest mistake on account’a Oscar can’t count to twenty with his shoes on. (OSCAR threatens to attack. WIESEL pushes him back and tosses another paper to DAVEY.) WIESEL: Here. Now take a hike. JACK: (flipping a coin onto the counter) Give him another fifty papes. DAVEY: I don’t want more papes. JACK: What kind’a Newsie don’t want more papes? (Oscar hands DAVEY a stack of papers. DAVEY follows JACK with them.) DAVEY: I’m no charity case. I don’t even know you. LES: His name’s Jack. CRUTCHIE: This here is the famous Jack Kelly. He once escaped jail on the back of Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage. Made all the papes. JACK: (to LES) How old are you, kid? LES: I’m ten. Almost. JACK: If anybody asks, you’re seven. Younger sells more papes, and if we’re gonna be partners.... DAVEY: Who said we want a partner? CRUTCHIE: Sellin’ with Jack is the chance of a lifetime. You learn from him, you learn from the best. 9 DAVEY: If he’s the best, what’s he need with me? JACK: ‘Cause you got a little brother and I don’t. That face could sell a thousand papes a week. (to LES) Look sad, kid. (LES makes a sad face.) We’re gonna make millions. LES: This is my brother David. I’m Les. JACK: Nice to meet ya, Davey. My two bits come off the top, and we split everything 70-30. LES: 50-50! You wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on a little kid. JACK: 60-40 and that’s my final offer. LES: Deal. (JACK spits in his hand and holds it out to shake. LES copies him and they shake.) DAVEY: That’s disgusting. JACK: It’s just business. (to ALL) Newsies, hit the streets. The sun is up, the headline stinks, and this kid ain’t getting’ any younger! #3- Carrying The Banner (Tag)- Newsies NEWSIES: WE'LL ALL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER MAN TO MAN. WE'RE ALWAYS OUT THERE SOAKIN' EV'RY SUCKER THAT WE CAN. HERE'S THE HEADLINE: “NEWSIES ON A MISSION!” KILL THE COMPETITION! SELL THE NEXT EDITION! WE'LL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER!

SEE US OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! ALWAYS OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! AH, AH, AH, GO! (The NEWSIES exit as the scene shifts to...) SCENE TWO: Pulitzer’s Office, Afternoon (Editor SEITZ, secretary HANNAH, and accountant BUNSEN huddle in a business meeting. The mogul, JOSEPH PULITZER, is having his hair cut by NUNZIO, the barber.) PULITZER: Staff, the World is in trouble. Our circulation is down for the third quarter in a row. SEITZ: But, Mr. Pulitzer, every paper’s circulation is down since the war ended. PULITZER: Whoever said, “war is a tragedy”, wasn’t trying to sell newspapers. BUNSEN: We could use an exciting headline. PULITZER: What have we got today? SEITZ: The trolley strike. PULITZER: That’s not exciting? It’s epic! HANNAH: It’s boring. Folks wanna know, “Is the trolley comin’ or ain’t it?” No one cares why. SEITZ: And the strike’s about to be settled. Governor Roosevelt just put his support behind the workers. PULITZER: That man is a socialist. SEITZ: Teddy Roosevelt is no socialist. He’s an American hero. PULITZER: The man wants to outlaw football for being too violent. Football! Violent?! You’re right. He’s not socialist. He’ a commie! NUNZIO: Mr. Pulitzer, please, you must try to sit still. PULITZER: Gentlemen, please, you are making Nunzio nervous. And when Nunzio gets nervous, I don’t look pretty. (PULITZER sits back.) HANNAH: You never liked Roosevelt. You wrote and editorial against him day after day when he ran for governor. And guess what? He got elected. PULITZER: How can I influence voters if they’re not reading my opinion? 10 SEITZ: Big photos attract readers. PULITZER: Do you know what big photos cost? BUNSEN: But without flashy photos or headlines, how are we supposed to sell more papers. PULITZER: There’s an answer right before your eyes. You’re not thinking this through. People... #3- The Bottom Line- Pulitzer, Seitz, Bunsen, Hannah PULITZER: NUNZIO KNOWS WHEN HE’S CUTTING MY HAIR TRIM A BIT HERE AND THEN TRIM A BIT THERE JUST A MODEST ADJUSTMENT CAN FATTEN THE BOTTOM LINE NUNZIO: Mr. Pulitzer, please. PULITZER: SHAVING IS TRICKY: THE RAZOR SHOULD FLOAT SHAVE ME TOO CLOSE, AND YOU MAY CUT MY THROAT IT’S THE SIMPLEST SOLUTIONS THAT BOLSTER THE BOTTOM LINE BUNSEN: But how does that help us sell more papers? HANNAH: We don’t sell papers, silly, Newsies sell papers. BUNSEN: I’ve got it! Right now we charge the Newsies fifty cents for a hundred papers. PULITZER: Yes... BUNSEN: But if we raised their price to sixty cents per hundred... PULITZER: Now you’re getting somewhere... SEITZ: A mere tenth of a penny per paper. BUNSEN: Every single Newsie would have to sell twenty-five more papers just to earn the same amount as always. PULITZER: My thoughts exactly. It’s genius. HANNAH: It’s going to be awfully rough on those children. PULITZER: Nonsense. I’m giving them a real life lesson in economics. I couldn’t offer them a better education if they were my own. GIVE ME A WEEK AND I’LL TRAIN THEM TO BE, LIKE AN ARMY THAT’S MARCHING TO WAR PROUD OF THEMSELVES AND SO GRATEFUL TO ME, THEY’LL BE BEGGING TO PAY EVEN MORE! WHEN THERE’S DIRT ON OUR SHOES, BOYS, YOU HAVE TO RELAX! WHY THROW THEM OUT? ALL WE NEED IS SOME WAX LISTEN WELL TO THESE BARBERSHIP LESSONS FOR THEY’LL SEE YOU THROUGH! SIETZ, HANNAH & BUNSEN: WHEN YOU’RE STUCK IN THE MUCK, YOU’LL BE FINEYOU’LL ERASE ANY TRACE OF DECLINE SEITZ: WHAT A TRIM! HANNAH: AND A SNIP! BUNSEN: AND A SHINE! PULITZER: AND THE POWER OF PRESS, YES! ONCE AGAIN IS MINE! PULITZER: The price for the Newsies goes up in the morning! PULITZER: JUST A FEW COMMON CENTS, GENTS, THAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE! SIETZ, HANNAH & BUNSEN: EV’RY NEW OUTCOME IS INCOME FOR YOU, THANKS TO THAT BOTTOM LINE! (The lights shift from the office to the NEWSIES during the scene transition.) #4A- Carrying The Banner (Reprise)- Newsies 11 NEWSIES: SUN UP TO SUNDOWN, KNOWIN’ WHERE MY CUSTOMERS’LL BE SUN UP TO SUNDOWN, WATCHIN’ ALL THE LADIES WATCHIN’ ME WALKED MY SHOES OFF, GOT THE DOUGH TO SHOW IT PROBABLY I’LL BLOW IT, THEN BEFORE YOU KNOW IT WE’LL BE OUT THERE, CARRYING THE BANNER….

(The scene shifts to...) SCENE THREE: A Street Corner (JACK leans against a building as DAVEY attempts to peddle papers to a GROUP OF GIRLS.) GIRL 1: And he said I couldn’t see him again! GIRL 2: Who? Your father? GIRL 1: Yeah, just because he didn’t… GIRL 3: Wait, I thought he worked for him? DAVEY: Paper. Paper. Evenin’ pape here. Care for a paper ladies? (The GIRL GROUP giggles) GIRL 2: No thanks. GIRL 3: He was cute! JACK: Sing ‘em to sleep why dontcha? (Snatches a paper from DAVEY and hawks it.) Extra! Extra! Terrified flight from burnin’ inferno! You heard the story right here! PASSERBY: Oh no! What burned down? (PASSERBY snatches the paper from JACK, hands him a coin JACK: Thanks madam! (PASSERBY opens the paper and exits in a rush.) DAVEY: You made that up. JACK: Did not. I said he heard it right here, and he did. DAVEY: My father taught us not to lie. JACK: And mine taught me not to starve. (LES comes up empty-handed.) LES: Hey! I just sold my last paper. DAVEY: I got one more. JACK: Sell it or pay for it. LES: Give it here. (takes the paper, sidles up to a WOMAN and SALLY passing by, and puts the saddest look on his face.) Buy a paper from a poor orphan boy? (LES coughs gently.) WOMAN: Oh, you dear thing. Of course I’ll take a newspaper. Here’s a dime. (The WOMAN and SALLY exit with the paper. SALLY turns and smiles at LES before leaving.) JACK: Born to the breed. LES: This is so much better than school! DAVEY: Don’t even think it. When Pop goes back to work, we go back to school. (While the boys talk, SNYDER, a sinister looking man, sees JACK and steps back again a building. He seems excited to have spotted the boy. Cautiously, he flags down a POLICEMAN and whispers to him.) JACK: So’s how about we divvy up the money, grab some chow, then find you’s somewhere save to spend the night? DAVEY: We gotta get home. Our folks will be waitin’ dinner. JACK: Ya got folks, huh? LES: Doesn’t everybody? DAVEY: (Elbows his brother) Our dad tangled with a delivery truck on the job. Messed his leg up bad, so 12 they laid him off. That’s how come we had to find work. JACK: Yeah, sure, that makes sense. Too bad about your dad. DAVEY: Why don’t you come home with us for dinner? Our folks would be happy to have you. LES: Mom’s a great cook. JACK: Thanks for the invite, but I just remembered I got plans with a fella. He’s probably waiting on me right now. (SNYDER and the POLICEMAN have been slowly moving toward the BOYS. LES spots them and points.) #5- The Chase LES: Is that the guy you’re meetin’? (JACK looks up and sees SNYDER.) SNYDER: Kelly! JACK: (grabbing LES) Run for it! SNYDER: Officer, grab him! You, Jack Kelly, stop! Kelly! (JACK, DAVEY, and LES leap onto a fire escape ladder and take off. The POLICEMAN and SNYDER try to follow. The BOYS climb over the roof and back down the other side, into the flies of a burlesque house.) SCENE FOUR: Medda’s Theater JACK: Slow down. We lost ‘em. DAVEY: Someone want to tell me why I’m running? I got no one chasing me. Who was that guy? JACK: That was Snyder the Spider. A real sweetie. He runs a jail for underage kids called The Refuge. The more kids he locks up, the more money the city pays him. Problem is, all the money goes straight to his own pocket. Do yourself a favor and stay clear of him and The Refuge. (MEDDA LARKIN, a burlesque star, appears in a revealing costume. The EMCEE and two showgirls, the BOWERY BEAUTIES, get ready for the performance.) MEDDA: Hey, you up there, shoo! No kids allowed in the theater. JACK: Not even me, Miss Medda? MEDDA: (recognizing the intruder) Jack Kelly, man of mystery. Get yourself down here and give me a hug. Where have you been keepin’ yourself, kid? (JACK, DAVEY, and LES come down to the stage.) JACK: Never far from you, Miss Medda. Boys, may I present Miss Medda Larkin: the greatest star on the Bowery today. She also owns the joint. MEDDA: The only thing I own is a mortgage. Pleasure, gents. DAVEY: A pleasure. (DAVEY bows gallantly, but LES just stands wide-eyed, staring at the BOWERY

BEAUTIES. DAVEY smacks him.) What’s wrong with you? LES: Are you blind? She got no clothes on! DAVEY: That’s her costume. LES: But I can see her legs! MEDDA: (to DAVEY) Step out of his way so’s he can get a better look. Theater’s not only entertaining, it’s educational. (posing) Got the picture, kid? JACK: Miss Medda, I got a little situation out on the street. Mind if I hide out here a while? MEDDA: Where better to escape trouble than a theater? Is Snyder after you again? LES: Hey Jack, did you really escape jail on the back of Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage? DAVEY: What would the Governor be doing at a juvenile jail? JACK: So happens he was runnin’ for office and wanted to show he cared about orphans and such. So while he got his mug in the paper, I got my butt in the back seat and we rode together. 13 LES: You really know the Governor? MEDDA: He don’t, but I do! Say, Jack, when you’ve got time, I want you to paint me some more of these backdrops. (Indicates a park scene drop behind her) This last one you did is a doozy. Folks love it. And things have been going so well that I can actually pay. JACK: I couldn’t take your money, Miss Medda. LES: You pictured that? MEDDA: Your friend is quite an artist. JACK: I don’t get carried away. It’s a bunch of trees. DAVEY: You’re really good. MEDDA: That boy’s got natural aptitude. LES: Geez. I never knew no one with a aptitude. (The EMCEE calls to her.) EMCEE: Miss Medda, you’re on! MEDDA: (strikes a pose) Yeah? How’m I doin’? (to the BOYS) Boys, lock the door and stay all night. You’re with Medda now! EMCEE: (announcing MEDDA as she moves toward the stage) Ladies and gentleman, please welcome the star of our show.... Miss Medda Larkin! (MEDDA is captured in a spotlight. The BOYS watch from the wings, completely entranced, while she performs to the crowd of NY CITIZENS.) #6- That’s Rich- Medda MEDDA: I'M DOING ALL RIGHT FOR MYSELF FOLKS: I'M HEALTHY, I'M WEALTHY, I'M WISE. MY INVESTMENTS AND SUCH HAVE ALL GONE UP SO MUCHSEEMS WHATEVER I TOUCH STARTS TO RISE. I’VE BEEN ALL KINDS OF LUCKY AND YET THE THING I WANT MOST...I CAN'T GET. I LIVE IN A MANSION ON LONG ISLAND SOUND. I PULLED UP A WEED, THEY FOUND OIL IN THE GROUND. BUT YOU TELLING ME YOU DON'T WANT ME AROUNDNOW, HONEY, THAT'S RICH. (to audience members) SOME GUYS GIVE ME ERMINE, CHINCHILLA AND MINK AND GIVE ME DIAMONDS AS BIG AS A SINK, BUT YOU WOULDN'T GIVE ME AS MUCH AS A WINKNOW, BABY, THAT'S RICH. I GET BRANDY FROM ANDY AND CANDY FROM SCOTT. OH, AND FRANK AND EDUARDO CHIPPED IN FOR A YACHT. I GET STARES FROM THE FELLAS AND PRAYERS FROM THE POPE, BUT I RAN OUT MY LUCK GETTING STUCK WITH THIS MOPE! MEDDA: (to audience member) Oh, honey, I was just talking about you! (To “Him”) NOW, LISTEN, SPORT, THIS LIFE'S TOO SHORT TO WASTE IT ON YOU. IT MAY BE ROUGH, BUT SOON ENOUGH I'LL LEARN TO MAKE DO….WITH THE MANSION, THE OIL WELL, THE DIAMONDS, THE YACHT, 14 WITH ANDY, EDUARDO, THE PONTIFF AND SCOTT AND FRANK. AND MY BANK! SO SPILL NO TEARS FOR ME, 'CAUSE THERE'S ONE THING YOU AIN'T THAT I'LL ALWAYS BE, AND HONEY, YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT, THAT'S RICH! THAT'S RICH! THAT'S RICH! MEDDA: That’s rich! (MEDDA bows. JACK’s eyes are drawn to a box seat out front where KATHERINE sits watching the show. The set shifts as he crosses the stage and climbs the stairs.) #6A- I Never Planned On You/Don’t Come a-Knocking- Jack, Bowery Beauties MEDDA: And now, gents, let’s have a big hand for the Bowery Beauties! (The BOWERY BEAUTIES begin to dance.) BOWERY BEAUTIES: DON’T COME A-KNOCKING ON MY DOOR JACK: (climbs into the box) Well, hello again. KATHERINE: This is a private box. JACK: (Moving closer) Want I should lock the door? (Moving closer still) Twice in one day. Think it’s fate? KATHERINE: (Dismissive) Go away. I'm working. JACK: A working girl, huh? Doin’ what? KATHERINE: Reviewing the show for the New York Sun. JACK: Hey! I work for the World. KATHERINE: Somewhere out there someone cares. Go tell them. JACK: The view’s better here. KATHERINE: Please go. I am not in the habit of speaking to strangers. JACK:

Then you’re gonna make a lousy reporter. The name’s Jack Kelly. KATHERINE: Is that what it says on your rap sheet? JACK : A smart girl. I admire smart girls. (Admiring KATHERINE) Beautiful. Smart. Independent. KATHERINE: (Getting loud) Do you mind!? MEDDA: (Hollering up to JACK and KATHERINE) You got in for free. At least pay attention. JACK: Sorry Medda. (KATHERINE returns to watching the show, but JACK only has eyes for her. He takes a piece of newsprint ad a pencil in his pocket and begins to sketch of portrait of her. The image of the drawing appears in projections behind them.) JACK: I GOT NO USE FOR MOONLIGHT OR SAPPY POETRY. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT'S FOR SUCKERS, AT LEAST IT USED TO BE. LOOK, GIRLS ARE NICE, ONCE OR TWICE, TILL I FIND SOMEONE NEW, BUT I NEVER PLANNED ON SOMEONE LIKE YOU. (Sings simultaneously with the Bowery Beauties) I GOT NO USE FOR MOONLIGHT OR SAPPY POETRY. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT'S FOR SUCKERS, AT LEAST IT USED TO BE. JACK: NO, I NEVER PLANNED ON NO ONE LIKE YOU. BOWERY BEAUTIES: DON'T COME A KNOCKING ON MY DOOR. 15 YOU AREN'T WELCOME HERE NO MORE. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU STUNK LIKE YESTERDAY'S TRASH THE NIGHT YOU STOLE MY HEART PLUS FORTY DOLLARS IN CASH. TURNS OUT MY BEAU IS JUST SOME BUM. TURNS OUT THAT LOVE AIN'T BLIND, IT'S DUMB. YOU NEVER TOLD THE TRUTH OR WORKED A DAY IN YOUR LIFE. IN FACT, YOU'RE SO REVOLTIN', I FEEL BAD FOR YOUR WIFE. KATHERINE: What are you doing? JACK: Quiet down. There's a show going on. KATHERINE: You are the most impossible boyJACK: Shhh! KATHERINE: Ever. BOWERY BEAUTIES: I WON'T BE SHAVING YOUR BACK ANYMORE, NO, SENOR. JACK: NO, I NEVER PLANNED ON NO ONE LIKE YOU. BOWERY BEAUTIES: DON'T COME A-KNOCKING ON MY DOOR! BOWERY BEAUTIES: DON'T COME A-KNOCKING ON MY DOOR! BOWERY BEAUTIES: DON'T COME A-KNOCKING ON MY DOOR! (JACK places the newsprint on the empty chair as he exits. KATHERINE looks at it and sees the portrait of herself, beautifully rendered. We can almost see her blush.) #6B- To the Distribution Window SCENE FIVE: Newsie Square, Next Morning (A few NEWSIES convene outside the distribution window of the World as the circulation bell tolls.) SPLASHER: Them fire sirens kept me awake all night. MUSH: Sirens is like lullabies to me. The louder they wail the better the headline. And the better the headline, the better I eat. And the better I eat... SPLASHER: (cutting MUSH off) ...the further away from you I sleep! (LES and DAVEY arrive.) DAVEY: ‘Morning, everybody. Sorry we’re late. GUM GUM: You didn’t miss nothin’ yet. NEWBY: What made your mornin’ excitin’ this early? DAVEY: We had to help our mom with something. RACE: They gotta mudder? I was gonna get me one. ROMEO: What’d you do with the one you had? BUTTONS: He traded her for a box of cigars. RACE: They was Coronas! LES: We have a father too. BUTTONS: A mudder and a fodder. RACE: Ain’t we the hoi polloi? LES: So, how’s it going today? TOMMY BOY: Ask me after they put up the headline. (LES looks up to read it.) CHICKLET: Here it comes now. 16 ALBERT: (reading) “New Newsie Price: Sixty Cents Per Hundred.” MUSH: What’d you say? (The NEWSIES begin to take notice.) DAVEY: Is that news? MIKE: It is to me. ALBERT: They jacked up the price of papes. RACKET: Ten cents more a hundred! ELMER: I can eat two days on a dime. CRUTCHIE: I’ll be sleepin’ on the street. JO JO: You already sleep on the street. CRUTCHIE: In a worse neighborhood. (JACK arrives.) SALAMI: Wait’ll Jack hear’s about this. IKE: He’s gonna lose it. CRISS-CROSS: Here he comes now! KNUCKLES: Jack, check this out. JACK: What’re you all standin’ around for? CRUTCHIE: Get a load of this, Jack. ROMEO: Like Pulitzer don’t make enough already? CHICKLET: The rich gotta get richer…. CURLY: While we all gotta starve ta death. (WIESEL opens his window for business. He stares at the NEWSIES with a malevolent smile.) WIESEL: Papes for the Newsies. JACK: Relax. It’s gotta be a gag. WIESEL: Line up, boys. (JACK goes up to the window and slaps his money down.)

JACK: Good joke, Weasel. Really got the fellas goin’. I’ll take a hundred and be on my way. WIESEL: A hundred’ll cost ya sixty. JACK: I ain’t payin’ no sixty— WIESEL: Then make way for someone who will. (SPECS and a few more NEWSIES arrive.) JACK: You bet! Me and the fellas will take a hike over to The Journal. NEWSIES: YEAH!!! SPECS: I’ll save you the walk. They upped their price too. JACK: Then we’ll take our business to the Sun! WIESEL: It’s the same price all around town. New day. New price. BUDDY: Why the jack-up? WIESEL: For them kind’a answers you gotta ask a little further up the food chain. So, you buyin’ or movin’ on? JACK: C’mere fellas. (The NEWSIES huddle together as a gang.) FINCH: They can’t just do that, can they? RACE: Why not? It’s their paper. CRUTCHIE: It’s their world. HENRY: Ain’t we got no rights? CRUTCHIE: We got the right to starve. C’mon, let’s get our papes and hit the streets while we still can. HENRY: At them prices? CRUTCHIE: We got a choice? PICKLES: If it’s the same everywhere, then I don’t see another option. 17 JACK: Hold on. Nobody’s payin’ no new nothin’. TOMMY BOY: You got a idea? SCRUB: What is it Jack? JACK: Keep your shirt on. Lemme think this through. BUTTONS: What’s your angle? (LES pushes the other boys away.) SPLASHER: Let’s hear the idea, Jack! LES: Stop crowdin’ him. Let the man work it out. (The NEWSIES back up and watch JACK think.) Hey, Jack, you still thinkin’? RACE: Sure he is. Can’t you smell smoke? DUCKY: I don’t get it. JACK: All right, here’s the deal: if we don’t sell papes, then no one sells papes. Nobody gets to that window till they put the price back where it belongs. DAVEY: You mean like a strike? JACK: You heard Davey. We’re on strike. DAVEY: Hold on. I didn’t say— JACK: We shut down this place like them workers shut down the trolleys. FINCH: And the cops will bust our heads! TOMMY BOY: Half them strikers is laid up with broke bones. JACK: Cops ain’t gonna care about a bunch of kids. Right, Davey? DAVEY: Leave me out of this. I’m just trying to feed my family. JACK: And the rest of us is on playtime? Just because we only make pennies don’t give nobody the right to rub our noses in it. DAVEY: It doesn’t matter. You can’t strike. You’re not a union. JACK: And what if I says we is? DAVEY: There’s a lot of stuff you gotta have in order to be a union. RACKET: Like what? DAVEY: Like membership. JACK: What do you call these guys? DAVEY: And officers. CRUTCHIE: I nominate Jack President! (The NEWSIES cheer their approval.) JACK: Gee, I’m touched. DAVEY: How about a statement of purpose? JACK: Must’a left it in my other pants. RACE: What’s a statement of purpose? DAVEY: A reason for forming the union. JACK: What reason did the trolley workers have? DAVEY: I don’t know. Wages? Work hours? Safety on the job? JACK: Who don’t need that? Bet if your father had a union you wouldn’t be out here sellin’ papes right now. Yeah? DAVEY: Yeah. JACK: So, our union is hereby formed to watch each other’s backs. “Union’d we stand.” Hey, that’s not bad. Somebody write that down. LES: I got a pencil. JACK: Meet our Secretary of State. Now what? 18 DAVEY: If you want to strike, the membership’s gotta vote. JACK: So let’s vote. What do you say, fellas? The choice is yours. Do we roll over and let Pulitzer pick our pockets, or do we strike? NEWSIES: Strike!!!!!! #7- The World Will Know- Jack, Davey, Les, Crutchie, Newsies JACK: You heard the voice of the membership. The Newsies of Lower Manhattan are now officially on strike. What next? CRUTCHIE: Wouldn’t a strike be more effective if someone in charge knew about it? RACE: It would be a pleasure to tell Weasel myself. JACK: Yeah? And who tells Pulitzer? Davey? DAVEY: I don’t know… I guess… (giving in) You do, Mr. President. JACK: That’s right, we do! (To DAVEY, a bit hushed.) What do we tell ‘em? DAVEY: The newspaper owners need to respect your rights as employees. JACK: (Loudly to the group.) Pulitzer and Hearst gotta respect the rights of the workin’ kids of this city. DAVEY:

They can’t just change the rules when they feel like it. JACK: That’s right. We do the work, so we get a say. DAVEY: (finally committing) We’ve got a union. NEWSIES: Yeah! JACK: PULITZER AND HEARST, THEY THINK WE'RE NOTHING'. ARE WE NOTHIN'? NEWSIES: NO! DAVEY: They need to understand that we’re not enslaved to them. We’re free agents. JACK: PULITZER AND HEARST, THEY THINK THEY GOT US. DO THEY GOT US? NEWSIES: NO! DAVEY: We’re a union now – the Newsboys’ Union – and we mean business. JACK: EVEN THOUGH WE AIN'T GOT HATS OR BADGES, WE'RE A UNION JUST BY SAYING SO. AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW. FINCH: What’s to stop some other kids comin’ along to sell our papes? ALBERT: Just let ‘em try! DAVEY: No! We can’t beat up on the other kids. We’re all in this together. JACK: (ignoring DAVEY) WHAT'S IT GONNA TAKE TO STOP THE WAGONS? ARE WE READY? NEWSIES: YEAH! JACK: WHAT'S IT GONNA TAKE TO STOP THE SCABBERS? CAN WE DO IT? NEWSIES: YEAH! JACK: WE'LL DO WHAT WE GOTTA DO UNTIL WE BREAK THE WILL OF MIGHTY BILL AND JOE. NEWSIES: AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW. AND THE JOURNAL TOO. JACK & DAVEY: MISTER HEARST AND PULITZER, HAVE WE GOT NEWS FOR YOU. NEWSIES: SEE, THE WORLD DON'T KNOW, BUT THEY'RE GONNA PAY. JACK & DAVEY: 'STEAD OF HAWKIN' HEADLINES WE'LL BE MAKIN' 'EM TODAY. NEWSIES: AND OUR RANKS WILL GROW, CRUTCHIE: AND WE'LL KICK THEIR REAR! NEWSIES: YEAH! AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW THAT WE BEEN HERE. JACK: WHEN THE CIRCULATION BELL STARTS RINGING, WILL WE HEAR IT? NEWSIES: NO! 19 JACK: WHAT IF THE DELANCEY'S COME OUT SWINGING? WILL WE HEAR IT? NEWSIES: NO! WHEN YA GOT A HUNDRED VOICES SINGING, WHO CAN HEAR A LOUSY WHISTLE BLOW?AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW THAT THIS AIN'T NO GAME, THAT WE GOT A TON OF ROTTEN FRUIT AND PERFECT AIM. SO THEY GAVE THEIR WORD. WELL, IT AIN'T WORTH BEANS. NOW THEY'RE GONNA SEE WHAT "STOP THE PRESSES" REALLY MEANS. AND THE OLD WILL WEEP, AND GO BACK TO SLEEP. AND WE GOT NO CHOICE BUT TO SEE IT THROUGH, RACE: AND WE FOUND OUR VOICE, SPECS: AND I LOST MY SHOE! NEWSIES: AND THE WORLD WILL- (The scene transitions to the gate. JACK climbs up to the chalkboard and writes down “STRIKE” over the other headlines.) NEWSIES: Yeah!! JACK: PULITZER MAY OWN THE WORLD BUT HE DON'T OWN US! NEWSIES: PULITZER MAY OWN THE WORLD BUT HE DON'T OWN US! JACK: PULITZER MAY CRACK THE WHIP BUT HE WON'T WHIP US! NEWSIES: PULTIZER MAY CRACK THE WHIP BUT HE WON'T WHIP US! AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW WE BEEN KEEPIN' SCORE. EITHER THEY GIVES US OUR RIGHTS OR WE GIVES THEM A WAR. WE BEEN DOWN TOO LONG, AND WE PAID OUR DUES. (The NEWSIES make their way to the front door of the World.) CRUTCHIE: AND THE THINGS WE DO TODAY WILL BE TOMORROW'S NEWS. NEWSIES: AND THE DIE IS CAST, AND THE TORCH IS PASSED. NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND A ROAR WILL RISE… NEWSIES GROUP 2: …FROM THE STREETS BELOW, NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND OUR RANKS WILL GROW… NEWSIES GROUP 2: …AND GROW NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND GROW NEWSIES: AND SO THE WORLD WILL FEEL THE FIRE AND FINALLY KNOW! (The NEWSIES open the doors. JACK, DAVEY, and LES enter and the doors close behind them. The NEWSIES wait in anticipation. Then the doors fly open and a GUARD throws JACK, DAVEY, and LES out.) GUARD: And stay out! LES: (yelling back) You can tell Pulitzer that a few days into this strike, he’s gonna be beggin’ for an appointment to see me! You got that? (Doors Slam.) He got it. NEWSIES: PULITZER MAY OWN THE WORLD BUT HE DON'T OWN US! JACK: PULITZER MAY OWN THE WORLD BUT HE DON'T OWN US! NEWSIES: PULITZER MAY CRACK THE WHIP BUT HE WON'T WHIP US! JACK: PULITZER MAY CRACK THE WHIP BUT HE WON'T WHIP US! NEWSIES: SO THE WORLD SAYS "NO!" WELL THE KIDS DO TOO! TRY TO WALK ALL OVER US, WE'LL STOMP ALL OVER YOU! CRUTCHIE: CAN THEY KICK US OUT? TAKE AWAY OUR VOTE? 20 NEWSIES: WILL WE LET 'EM STUFF THIS CROCK OF GARBAGE DOWN OUR THROAT? NO! EVERYDAY WE WAIT IS A DAY WE LOSE! NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND THIS AIN'T FOR FUN! NEWSIES GROUP 2: AND IT AIN'T FOR SHOW! NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND WE'LL FIGHT 'EM TOE NEWSIES GROUP 2: TO TOE NEWSIES GROUP 1: TO TOE! NEWSIES: AND JOE, YOUR WORLD WILL FEEL THE FIRE AND FINALLY, FINALLY KNOW!

SCENE SIX: Jacobi’s Deli & Street, Afternoon (The NEWSIES settle in at their favorite hangout. The proprietor, MS. JACOBI, arrives with a tray of glasses, which he proceeds to hand out.) MS. JACOBI: And here we go... a glass of water for you. And one for you. And one for you. And you. And, ah, who’s the big spender what ordered the seltzer? ALBERT: Over here. MS. JACOBI: And that’ll be two cents. ALBERT: Two cents for a glass of seltzer? Just gimme water. MS. JACOBI: (switching out glasses) How did I ever see that coming? SWISH: Could I get a water too? PEPPER: Oh! Me too! NEWBY: Me too! GUM GUM: Over here as well! MIKE: Just bring another round of waters please. MS. JACOBI: Yeesh. Let me do the dishes to get a few more glasses clean first. (She exits.) DAVEY: (toasting) I’d say we launched our strike in a most auspicious manner. (The NEWSIES try to figure out what DAVEY said.) MUSH: I don’t know about that, but we sure scared the bejeebers outta Weasel! CRUTCHIE: Did you see the Delanceys? PICKLES: They didn’t know which way was up. JACK: (to DAVEY) So, what’s next? DAVEY: Now you have to spread the word. Let the rest of the city’s Newsies know about the strike. JACK: You heard the man. Let’s split up and spread the word. MUSH: I’ll take Harlem. RACE: I got midtown. JO JO: I got the Bronx. BUTTONS: And I got the Bowery. JACK: Specs, you take Queens. Tommy Boy, you take the Eastside. And who wants Brooklyn? (The NEWSIES cringe and look away.) C’mon. Brooklyn. Spot Conlon’s turf. Finch, you tellin’ me you’re scared of Brooklyn? FINCH: I ain’t scared of no turf. But that Spot Conlon got me a little jittery. JACK: Fine. Me and Davey will take Brooklyn. DAVEY: (still struggling) Me? I have to...(KATHERINE enters) KATHERINE: Why’s everyone so scared of Brooklyn? JACK: (smiling) What’re you doin’ here? 21 KATHERINE: Asking a question. Have you got an answer? JACK: Brooklyn is the sixth largest city in the entire world. You got Brooklyn, you hit the mother load. (sidling up to KATHERINE) For someone who works for the New York Sun, you spend an awful lot of time hanging around at the World. So, what’s that about? You followin’ me? KATHERINE: The only thing I’m following is a story. A rag-tag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the kingmakers of New York. Think you have a chance? JACK: Shouldn’t you be at the ballet? KATHERINE: Question too difficult? I’ll rephrase: will the richest and most powerful men in New York give the time of day to a gang of kids who haven’t got a nickel to their name? CRUCHIE: You don’t gotta be insultin’. I got a nickel. KATHERINE: So I guess you’d say you’re a couple of Davids looking to take on Goliath? DAVEY: We never said that. KATHERINE: You didn’t have to. I did. JACK: I seen a lot of papers in my time and I ain’t never noted no girl reporters writing hard news. KATHERINE: Wake up to the new century. The game’s changing. How about an exclusive interview? JACK: Ain’t your beat entertainment? KATHERINE: This is entertaining... so far. JACK: What’s the last news story you wrote? KATHERINE: What’s the last strike you organized? ROMEO: (pushing his way in) You’re out of your league, Kelly. Methinks the lady needs to handled by a real man. KATHERINE: (waving him off) You thinks wrong, Romeo. ROMEO: How’d she know my name? DAVEY: (to JACK) I say we save any exclusive for a real reporter. KATHERINE: (Almost angry) You see somebody else giving you the time of day? (desperate) Alright, so I’m just busting out of the social pages. But you give me the exclusive, let me run with the story, and I promise you I’ll get you the space. CRUTCHIE: You think we could be in the papes? KATHERINE: Shut down a paper like the World and you’re going to make the front page. JACK: You want a story? Be in front of the circulation gate tomorrow morning and you’ll get one. And bring a camera. You’re gonna wanna snap a picture of dis. (MS. JACOBI comes to shoo the NEWSIES out.) MS. JACOBI: Let’s go, boys, play outside. I gotta set up for dinner. I got payin’ customers need tables. #8-

The World Will Know (Reprise)- Jack, Davey, Les, Newsies FINCH: C’mon. We got Newsies to visit. RACE: You won’t be shooin’ us off when we gets our mugs in the papes! (The NEWSIES exit the deli and head to the street.) NEWSIES: AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW, WE BEEN KEEPIN' SCORE. EITHER THEY GIVES US OUR RIGHTS OR WE GIVES THEM A WAR. WE BEEN DOWN TOO LONG, AND WE PAID OUR DUES. AND THE THINGS WE DO TODAY WILL BE TOMORROW'S NEWS. AND THE DIE IS CAST, AND THE TORCH IS PASSED. NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND A ROAR WILL RISE… 22 NEWSIES GROUP 2: …FROM THE STREETS BELOW, NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND OUR RANKS WILL GROW… NEWSIES GROUP 2: …AND GROW NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND GROW NEWSIES: AND SO THE WORLD WILL FEEL THE FIRE AND FINALLY KNOW! DAVEY: Come on, Les. The folks are waiting. (The Newsies disperse as DAVEY and LES head home. JACK lingers behind with KATHERINE.) KATHERINE: So, what’s your story? Are you selling newspapers to work your way through art school? JACK: Art school? Are you kiddin’ me? (KATHERINE holds up the drawing that JACK did of her.) KATHERINE: But you’re an artist. You’ve got real talent. You should be inside the paper illustrating, not outside hawking it. JACK: Maybe that ain’t what I want. KATHERINE: So tell me what you want. JACK: (shamelessly flirting) Can’t you see it in my eyes? KATHERINE: Have you always been their leader? JACK: I’m a blowhard. Davey’s the brains. KATHERINE: Modesty is not a quality I would have pinned on you. JACK: You got a name? KATHERINE: Katherine... Plumber. JACK: What’s the matter? Ain’t ya sure? KATHERINE: It’s my byline, the name I publish under. Tell me about tomorrow. What are you hoping for? JACK: I’d rather tell you what I’m hoping for tonight. KATHERINE: Mr. Kelly.... JACK: Today we stopped our Newsies from carrying out papes, but the wagons still delivered to the rest of the city. Tomorrow, we stop the wagons. KATHERINE: Are you scared? JACK: Do I look scared? But ask me again in the morning. KATHERINE: (writes down the quite and starts to exit) Good answer. Good night, Mr. Kelly. JACK: Come on, where you runnin’? It ain’t even supper time! #9- Watch What Happens- Katherine KATHERINE: I’ll see you in the morning. And, off the record, good luck. JACK: Hey, Plumber. Write it good. We both got a lot ridin’ on you. (JACK walks off as KATHERINE heads to her office.) SCENE SEVEN: Katherine’s Office (KATHERINE sits down at her desk and begins to write her article) KATHERINE: You heard the man, “Write it good.” Write it good, or it’s back to wheezing your way through the flower show. No pressure. Let’s go. (typing) “Newsies Stop the World.” A little hyperbole never hurt anyone. (typing again) “With all eyes fixed on the trolley strike, there’s another battle brewing in the city...” (pulls paper out of the typewriter and rips it up) ...and if I could just write about it... (puts a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter) Come on, Katherine, the boys are counting on you. Oh, you poor boys.... 23 "WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW" SO THEY SAY, ALL I KNOW IS I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE OR THE RIGHT WAY TO WRITE IT THIS IS BIG, LADY, DON'T SCREW IT UP THIS IS NOT SOME LITTLE VAUDEVILLE I'M REVIEWING POOR LITTLE KIDS VERSUS RICH GREEDY SOUR PUSSES HA! IT'S A CINCH! IT COULD PRACTICALLY WRITE ITSELF AND LET'S PRAY IT DOES, CAUSE AS I MAY HAVE MENTIONED I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I'M DOING AM I INSANE? THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR WELL THAT, PLUS THE SCREAMING OF TEN ANGRY EDITORS “A GIRL?” “THAT’S A GIRL! HOW THE HECK?” “IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?” “LOOK, JUST GO AND GET HER!” NOT ONLY THAT, THERE'S A STORY BEHIND THE STORY THOUSANDS OF CHILDREN, EXPLOITED, INVISIBLE SPEAK UP, TAKE A STAND, AND THERE'S SOMEONE TO WRITE ABOUT IT THAT'S HOW THINGS GET BETTER GIVE LIFE'S LITTLE GUYS SOME INK, AND WHEN IT DRIES JUST WATCH WHAT HAPPENS THOSE KIDS WILL LIVE AND BREATHE RIGHT ON THE PAGE AND ONCE THEY'RE CENTER STAGE, YOU WATCH WHAT HAPPENS AND WHO'S THERE WITH HER CAMERA AND HER PEN AS BOYS TURN INTO MEN THEY'LL STORM THE GATES AND THEN JUST WATCH WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY DO! KATHERINE: (reads aloud what she’s written)

“A modern day David is poised to take on the rich and powerful Goliath. With the swagger of one twice his age, armed with nothing more than a few nuggets of truth, Jack Kelly stands ready to face the behemoth Pulitzer.” Now that’s how you turn a boy into a legend! PICTURE A HANDSOME, HEROICALLY CHARISMATIC PLAIN SPOKEN, KNOW NOTHING, SKIRT-CHASING, COCKY LITTLE SON OF A LIE DOWN WITH DOGS AND YOU WAKE UP WITH A RAISE AND A PROMOTION SO, HE'S A FLIRT, A COMPLETE EGO MANIAC THE FACT IS HE'S ALSO THE FACE OF THE STRIKE WHAT A FACE, FACE THE FACTS, THAT'S A FACE THAT COULD SAVE US ALL FROM SINKING IN THE OCEAN LIKE SOMEONE SAID, "POWER TENDS TO CORRUPT" AND ABSOLUTE POWER, WAIT! WAIT, CORRUPTS!? ABSOLUTELY, THAT IS GENIUS! BUT GIVE ME SOME TIME, I'LL BE TWICE AS GOOD AS THAT SIX MONTHS FROM NEVER JUST LOOK AROUND AT THE WORLD WE'RE INHERITING AND THINK OF THE ONE WE'LL CREATE THEIR MISTAKE IS THEY GOT OLD, THAT IS NOT A MISTAKE WE'LL BE MAKING NO SIR, WE'LL STAY YOUNG FOREVER! GIVE THOSE KIDS AND ME THE BRAND NEW CENTURY AND WATCH WHAT HAPPENS IT'S DAVID AND GOLIATH, DO OR DIE THE FIGHT IS ON AND I CAN'T WATCH WHAT HAPPENS 24 BUT ALL I KNOW IS NOTHING HAPPENS IF YOU JUST GIVE IN IT CAN'T BE ANY WORSE THAN HOW IT'S BEEN AND IT JUST SO HAPPENS THAT WE JUST MIGHT WIN SO WHATEVER HAPPENS! LET'S BEGIN! (Blackout.) #9A- Watch What Happens (Playoff) SCENE EIGHT: Newsie Square, Next Morning (JACK and the other NEWSIES nervously begin to assemble. As DAVEY and LES arrive, DAVEY pulls JACK aside.) DAVEY: Is anyone else coming? JACK: Don’t got a clue. RACE: Youse seen Spot Conlon, right? What’d he say? JACK: Sure we seen him. DAVEY: Him and about twenty of his gang. LES: And them Brooklyn boys is big. JACK: And I gotta say, Spot was very impressed. Wasn’t he? DAVEY: I’d say. RACE: So they’re with us? DAVEY: That all depends on how you look at it. If you look and see Brooklyn, then they’re with us. JACK: They wanted proof we’re not gonna fold at the first sign of trouble. FINCH: Are we? JACK: We are not! There’s us and Harlem— MUSH: Not so fast, boss. Harlem wants to know what Brooklyn’s gonna do. JACK: How about Queens? SPECS: Queens will be right here backing us up— JACK: Ya see! SPECS: ... as soon as they get the nod from Brooklyn. RACE: I got the same fish-eye in midtown. (The DELANCEYS walk by on their way to work.) MORRIS: Say, Oscar, looks like we got bum information about a strike happenin’ here today. Not that I’m complainin’. My skull bustin’ arm could use a day of rest. (The DELANCYES move on.) LES: Are we doing the right thing? DAVEY: Sure we are. RACE: Maybe we put this off a couple a days? DAVEY: No. We can’t... (desperately to JACK) Say something. Tell them if we back off now they will never listen to us again. #10- Seize The Day- Davey, Jack, Les, Newsies JACK: (to the NEWSIES) We can’t back down now. No matter who does or doesn’t show. Like it or not, now is when we take a stand. FINCH: How’s about we just don’t show for work? That’ll send a message. 25 JACK: They’ll just replace us. They need us to stand our ground. (turns to DAVEY) C’mon, Davey. Tell ‘em. DAVEY: (on the spot, timidly begins a pep talk) NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY. STARE DOWN THE ODDS AND SEIZE THE DAY. MINUTE BY MINUTE, THAT'S HOW YOU WIN IT. WE WILL FIND A WAY. BUT LET US SEIZE THE DAY. (CRUTCHIE arrives with a rag painted “STRIKE!” hanging from his crutch.) CRUTCHIE: Hey Jack. Look what I made! Good, huh? Strike! RACE: (To Crutchie) That’s great. (To Davey) That’s pitiful. LES: Don’t be so quick to judge. Maybe Pulitzer will it out his window and feel sorry for us. JACK: (call up to chalkboard platform) Hey Specs, any sign of reinforcements? (thumbs down) Davey…? DAVEY: COURAGE CANNOT ERASE OUR FEAR. COURAGE IS WHEN WE FACE OUR FEAR. TELL THOSE WITH POWER, SAFE IN THEIR TOWER, WE WILL NOT OBEY (DAVEY steps up next to JACK as the scene shifts to the distribution window.) DAVEY & JACK: BEHOLD THE BRAVE BATTALION THAT STANDS SIDE BY SIDE, TOO FEW IN NUMBER AND TOO PROUD TO HIDE. THEN SAY TO THE OTHERS WHO DID NOT FOLLOW THROUGH,

"YOU'RE STILL OUR BROTHERS, AND WE WILL FIGHT FOR YOU." (The circulation bell rings. The NEWSIES ignore it.) DAVEY, RACE, JACK & CRUTCHIE: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY. STARE DOWN THE ODDS AND SEIZE THE DAY. (Other NEWSIES gradually join in until all are singing.) NEWSIES: ONCE WE'VE BEGUN, IF WE STAND AS ONE, SOMEDAY BECOMES SOMEHOW, AND THE PRAYER BECOMES A VOW, JACK: AND THE STRIKE STARTS HERE AND NOW! (The circulation bell rings again. WIESEL pushes his window open.) WIESEL: The sun is up and the birds is singin’. A beautiful day to crack some heads, ain’t it? Step right up and get your papes. MORRIS: (stepping forward) You workin’ or trespassin’? What’s your pleasure? (EVERYONE tenses. Three SCABS walk on and head toward the circulation window to collect their papers.) DAVEY: Who are they? JACK: Scabs. What do you think? FINCH: If they think they can just waltz in here and take our jobs – CRUTCHIE: We can handle them! (The NEWSIES move menacingly forward as the SCABS collect their papers from the distribution window.) ROMEO: Let’s soak ‘em boys! FINCH: Yeah! Let’s get ‘em! DAVEY: No! We all stand together or we don’t have a chance! (calling for help) Jack! JACK: All right. I know. I hear ya. (Looks to his NEWSIES, then addresses the SCABS.) Listen, fellas… I know somebody put youse up to this. Probably paid ya some extra money too. Yeah? Well, it ain’t right. Pulitzer thinks we’re gutter rats with no respect for nothin’, includin’ each other. Is that who we are? Well, we stab each other in the back and, yeah, that’s who we are. But if we stand together, we change the whole game. 26 And it ain’t just about us. All across this city there are boys and girls who ought to be out playin’ or going to school. Instead they’re slavin’ to support themselves and their folks. Ain’t no crime to bein’ poor, and not a one of us complains if the work we do is hard. All we ask is a square deal. Fellas… for the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory and slaughterhouse in this town, I beg you… throw down your papers and join the strike. LES: Please? SCAB 1: (The SCABS look at each other, and the first steps forward) I’m with ya. (The first SCAB throws down his papers. The NEWSIES surround the two remaining SCABS.) DAVEY: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY! NEWSIES: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY! DAVEY: ANSWER THE CALL AND DON'T DELAY! NEWSIES: ANSWER THE CALL AND DON'T DELAY! WRONGS WILL BE RIGHTED IF WE'RE UNITED! LET US SEIZE THE DAY! (The second SCAB throws down his papers and joins the NEWSIES. MORRIS DELANCY reaches for the bundle, but JACK stops him.) SCAB 3: You’re kidding, right? SCAB 2: At the end of the day, who are you gonna trust? (to DELANCEYS) Them… (to NEWSIES) or them? (The second SCAB throws his satchel back at WIESEL as the NEWSIES surround SCAB 3.) JACK: NOW LET 'EM HEAR IT LOUD AND CLEAR! NEWSIES: NOW LET 'EM HEAR IT LOUD AND CLEAR! JACK: LIKE IT OR NOT, WE'RE DRAWING NEAR! NEWSIES: LIKE IT OR NOT, WE'RE DRAWING NEAR! PROUD AND DEFIANT, WE'LL SLAY THE GIANT! JUDGMENT DAY IS HERE! (The third SCAB throws down his papers.) SCAB 3: Oh… who cares? Me father’s gonna kill me anyway! (The NEWSIES cheer.) NEWSIES: HOUSTON TO HARLEM, LOOK WHAT'S BEGUN! ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE! STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE, OH….. STRIKE! (JACK leads the NEWSIES in a triumphant dance. The DELANCEYS break in, punch DAVEY and JACK, and grab LES. The rest of the NEWSIES save LES, chase them off, and celebrate.) NEWSIES: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY! THEY'RE GONNA SEE THEY’LL HAVE TO PAY! NOTHING CAN BREAK US NO ONE CAN MAKE US QUIT BEFORE WE'RE DONE! ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE! (KATHERINE arrives with her PHOTOGRAPHER, who shoots a triumphant photo of JACK, DAVEY, LES, and the NEWSIES. The ecstatic NEWSIES toss newspapers all over the square.) #10A- Seize The Day (Tag)- Newsies 27 NEWSIES: NEWSIES FOREVER! SECOND TO NONE! ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR… ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR…

(The gates swing open to reveal WIESEL, the DELANCEYS, and several GOONS. The NEWSIES stop dead in their tracks. – then a fight ensues.) #11- The Fight WIESEL: Time these kids learned a lesson. (The MEN advance.) JACK: Newsies! Get ‘em! (The NEWSIES run to the wagons and toss bundles of papers at the MEN. The MEN surge forward and the fight is more or less even. Suddenly a POLICEMEN appears and blows his whistle. ROMEO runs excitedly to him.) ROMEO: It’s about time you showed up. They’re slaughtering us— (The POLICEMAN smacks ROMEO to the ground. SNYDER appears.) JACK: Cheese it, fellas! It’s the bulls! (As more POLICEMEN arrive, many NEWSIES take flight. Some are hit, others are snatched up and taken away. The NEWSIES are helpless against the MEN. SNYDER appears.) SYNDER: You can’t run forever, Kelly! (JACK sees SNYDER and starts to make his escape.) CRUTCHIE: Jack? Wait for me! (JACK reaches back for CRUTCHIE, but he is grabbed by OSCAR and MORRIS DELANCEY. JACK continues to run.) OSCAR: (to CRUTCHIE) Where ya think you’re goin’? CRUTCHIE: Jack! Help! Romeo! Albert! Finch! MORRIS: Shut it, Crip. (MORRIS punches CRUTCHIE, knocking him to the ground. SNYDER beats him with his crutch and slaps on handcuffs.) SNYDER: It’s off to The Refuge with you, little man. (to the POLICEMAN) Take him away. (JACK watches as the POLICEMAN drags CRUTCHIE off.) JACK: Crutchie! SNYDER: Jack Kelly! (JACK ducks out of the square and runs to the safety of his rooftop.) SCENE NINE: Rooftop (Papers flutter down on the emptying square under a haunting moon. Lost in the wreckage of the failed protest below, JACK paces, desolate.) #12- Santa Fe- Jack JACK: FOLKS, WE FINALLY GOT OUR HEADLINE "NEWSIES CRUSHED AS BULLS ATTACK" CRUTCHIE'S CALLING ME POOR CRIP'S JUST MOVES TOO SLOW GUYS ARE FIGHTIN', BLEEDIN', FALLIN' THANKS TO GOOD OLE' CAPTAIN JACK CAPTAIN JACK JUST WANTS TO CLOSE HIS EYES AND GO! LET ME GO FAR AWAY SOMEWHERE THEY WON'T EVER FIND ME AND TOMORROW WON’T REMIND ME OF TODAY AND THE CITY’S FINALLY SLEEPIN’ AND THE MOON LOOKS OLD AND GREY 28 I GET ON A TRAIN THAT’S BOUND FOR SANTA FE AND I’M GONEAND I’M DONE NO MORE RUNNING. NO MORE LYING NO MORE FAT OLD MAN DENYING ME MY PAY JUST A MOON SO BIG AND YELLOW, IT TURNS NIGHT RIGHT INTO DAY DREAMS COME TRUE. YEAH THEY DO. IN SANTA FE WHERE DOES IT SAY YOU GOTTA LIVE AND DIE HERE? WHERE DOES IT SAY A GUY CAN’T CATCH A BREAK? WHY SHOULD YOU ONLY TAKE WHAT YOU’RE GIVEN? WHY SHOULD YOU SPEND YOUR WHOLE LIFE LIVING TRAPPED WHERE THERE AIN’T NO FUTURE EVEN AT 17! BREAKING YOUR BACK FOR SOMEONE ELSE’S SAKE! IF THE LIFE DON’T SEEM TO SUIT YOU, HOW ABOUT A CHANGE OF SCENE? FAR FROM THE LOUSY HEADLINES, AND THE DEADLINES IN BETWEEN SANTA FE, MY OLD FRIEND I CAN’T SPEND MY WHOLE LIFE DREAMING THOUGH I KNOW THAT’S ALL I SEEM INCLINED TO DO I AIN’T GETTING ANY YOUNGER AND I WANNA START BRAND NEW I NEED SPACE. AND FRESH AIR LET ‘EM LAUGH IN MY FACE. I DON’T CARE SAVE MY PLACE, I’LL BE THERE JUST BE REAL IS ALL I’M ASKING NOT SOME PAINTING IN MY HEAD CAUSE I’M DEAD IF I CAN’T COUNT ON YOU TODAY I GOT NOTHING IF I AIN’T GOT SANTA FE! (End of Act One.) 29 ACT TWO SCENE ONE: Jacobi’s Deli, Next Morning #12A- Entr’acte (DAVEY and the NEWSIES are quietly ignoring their drinks. MS. JACOB enters.) MS. JACOBI: Drink up, boys. And don’t never say I don’t give you nothing. And before you say water is nothing, just ask a fish in the desert. (MS. JACOBI exits.) FINCH: Why do old people talk? RACE: To prove they’re still alive. (KATHERINE arrives with a newspaper.) KATHERINE: Good morning, gentlemen. Would you get a load of these glum mugs? Can these really be the same boys who made front page of the New York Sun? ROMEO: Front page of what? (The NEWSIES rush towards KATHERINE and snatch the paper.) SALAMI: Lemme see! Lemme see! BUDDY: Look at that!? RACE: Would you lookit? Dat’s me! Dat’s me! JO JO: Front page and you ain’t even dead. TOMMY BOY: There I am! (Pointing to the paper) ROMEO: Where’s me? Where’s me? BUTTONS: Wait till my old man gets a load of dis. I won’t be last in line for the tub tonight.

DAVEY: (to KATHERINE) You got us the pape? KATHERINE: You got yourself in the pape. MUSH: “Newsies Stop the World”- now, there’s a headline even Elmer could sell! ELMER: Hey! SPECS: What else do you got? KATHERINE: Mine’s the only story that ran. Pulitzer declared a blackout on strike news, so even I’m shut down now. I heard they arrested Crutchie. Did they get Jack too? ALBERT: The Delanceys are spreading a story that he took it on the lam, first sight of the cops. LES: (charges ALBERT) Jack don’t run from no fight! ALBERT: Take it down, short-stop. I’m just reportin’ the news. CRISS-CROSS: Where’d he go? SPLASHER: I checked the usual places. No luck. CURLY: Wonder where he ended up? RACE: For jumpin’ Jack’s sake. Can you stow the seriosity long enough to drink in the moment? I’m famous! HENRY: What of it? RACE: Are you stupid or what? You’re famous, the world is your erster? HENRY: Your what? RACE: Your erster! Your erster! Your fancy clam with a pearl inside. HENRY: How much does bein’ famous pay? RACE: Ya don’t need money when you’re famous. They gives ya whatever ya want gratis! HENRY: Such as...? 30 #13- King of New York- Davey, Katherine, Les, Newsies RACE: A PAIR OF NEW SHOES WITH MATCHIN' LACES... ROMEO: A PERMANENT BOX AT THE SHEEPSHEAD RACES... HENRY: PASTRAMI ON RYE WITH A SOUR PICKLE... FINCH: MY PERSONAL PUSS ON A WOODEN NICKLE.. RACE: LOOK AT ME: I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! SUDDENLY I'M RESPECTABLE, STARING RIGHT AT' CHA, LOUSY WITH STA'CHA. ALBERT: NOBBIN' WITH ALL THE MUCKETY- MUCKS, I'M BLOWING MY DOUGH AND GOIN' DELUXE. RACE: AND THERE I BE! AIN'T I PRETTY? RACE & HENRY: IT'S MY CITY. I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! JO JO: A SOLID GOLD WATCH WITH A CHAIN TO TWIRL IT... LES: MY VERY OWN BED AND A INDOOR TERLET... MUSH: A BARBERSHOP HAIRCUT THAT COSTS A QUARTER... DAVEY: (indicating KATHERINE) A REGULAR BEAT FOR THE STAR REPORTER! RACE: AM-SCRAY, PUNK, SHE'S THE KING OF NEW YORK! KATHERINE: WHO'D'A THUNK! I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! NEWSIES: WE WAS SUNK, PALE AND PITIFUL, KATHERINE: BUNCH OF WET NOODLES, KATHERINE & NEWSIES: PULITZER'S POODLES. LES: ALMOST ABOUT TO DROWN IN THE DRINK, BUTTONS: WHEN SHE FISHED US OUT RACE: AND DROWNED US IN INK! KATHERINE: SO LET'S GET DRUNK! NEWSIES: YEAH! KATHERINE: NOT WITH LIQUOR. FAME WORKS QUICKER WHEN YOUR KING OF NEW YORK. NEWSIES: I GOTTA BE EITHER DEAD OR DREAMIN', ' CAUSE LOOK AT THAT PAPE WITH MY FACE BEAMIN'. TOMORROW THEY MAY WRAP FISHES IN IT, BUT I WAS A STAR FOR ONE WHOLE MINUTE! (The NEWSIES and KATHERINE dance in the deli.) KATHERINE AND NEWSIES: LOOK AT ME! I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! WAIT AND SEE: THIS GONNA MAKE BOTH DELANCEYS PEE IN THEIR PANT-SIES. FLASHPOTS ARE SHOOTIN' BRIGHT AS THE SUN! I'M ONE HIHFALLUTIN' SON-OF-A-GUN! I GUARANTEE: THOUGH I CRAPPED OUT, I AIN'T TAPPED OUT! I'M THE KING OF NEW- 31 FRIENDS MAY FLEE. LET 'EM DITCH 'YA! SNAP ONE PIT'CHA, YOU'RE THE KING OF NEWHISTORY! FRONT PAGE STORY, GUTS AND GLORY, I'M THE KING… OF NEW YORK! #13A- King of New York (Tag) SCENE TWO: The Refuge #14- Letter From The Refuge- Crutchie (In an empty corner, CRUTCHIE is sitting on a bed holding a pencil and paper. A lighted candle sits nearby. Other REFUGE KIDS are sleeping on the floor around him. He reads what he’s written.) CRUTCHIE: “ Dear Jack. Greetings from The Refuge! HOW ARE YOU? I'M OKAY GUESS I WASN'T MUCH HELP YESTERDAY SNYDER SOAKED ME REAL GOOD WITH MY CRUTCH (writes) OH YEAH, JACK? THIS IS CRUTCHIE BY THE WAY (back to reading) THESE HERE GUARDS, THEY IS RUDE THEY SAY "JUMP BOY, YOU JUMP OR YOU'RE SCREWED!" BUT THE FOOD AIN'T SO BAD LEAST SO FAR, 'CAUSE SO FAR, THEY AIN'T BRUNG US NO FOOD! HA, HA I MISS THE ROOFTOP (stops reading, daydreams) SLEEPING RIGHT OUT IN THE OPEN IN YOUR PENTHOUSE IN THE SKY THERE'S A COOL BREEZE BLOWIN' EVEN IN JULY (stops daydreaming, continues reading) ANY WAY, SO GUESS WHAT! THERE'S THIS SECRET ESCAPE PLAN I'VE GOT! TIE A SHEET TO BED, TOSS THE END OUT THE WINDOW CLIMB DOWN AND TAKE OFF LIKE A SHOT! MAYBE THOUGH, NOT TONIGHT I AIN'T SLEPT, AND MY LEG STILL AIN'T RIGHT!

BUT HEY, PULITZER! HE'S GOIN' DOWN! THEN JACK, I WAS THINKING WE MIGHT JUST GO, LIKE YOU WAS SAYIN' (daydreaming again) WHERE IT'S CLEAN AND GREEN AND PRETTY WITH NO BUILDINGS IN YOUR WAY AND YOUR RIDING PALOMINOS, EVERY DAY! ONCE THAT TRAIN MAKES (A KID on the bed kicks CRUTCHIE.) REFUGE KID REGGIE: Shut it crip. CRUTCHIE: Sorry. Ugh. This place (back to reading) I'LL BE FINE. GOOD AS NEW BUT THERE'S ONE THING I NEED YA TO DO 32 ON THE ROOFTOP YOU SAID THAT A FAM'LY LOOKS OUT FOR EACH OTHER SO TELL ALL THE FELLAS FROM ME, TO PROTECT ONE ANOTHER! (pauses, writes) THE END. YOUR FRIEND... (thinks, writes) YOUR BEST FRIEND... (hesitates, then crosses it out, writes) YOUR BROTHER...CRUTCHIE.” SNYDER: (offstage) You in there- pipe down! (CRUTCHIE blows out the candle.). #14A- Letter From the Refuge (Playoff) SCENE THREE: Medda’s Theater (JACK paints a backdrop of the Taos Mountains. It’s almost finished. MEDDA enters in a dressing robe.) MEDDA: Here’s everything I owe you for the first backdrop, plus this one, and even a little something extra just account’a because I’m gonna miss you so. (MEDDA hands JACK an envelope full of money.) JACK: Miss Medda. MEDDA: Jack. JACK: You’re a gem. MEDDA: Just tell me you’re going somewhere and not running away. JACK: Does it matter? MEDDA: When you go somewhere and it turns out not to be the right place, you can always go somewhere else. But you’re running away, nowhere’s ever the right place. (DAVEY finds his way in through the stage flies, excited to see JACK.) DAVEY: How ‘bout lettin’ a pal know you’re alive? MEDDA: I’ll leave you with your friend. (MEDDA exits.) DAVEY: Where’d you go? We couldn’t find you. JACK: Ever think I didn’t wanna be found? DAVEY: (indicating the backdrop) Is that a real place? That Santa Fe? (suddenly remembering, holds out the newspaper) Hey! You see the pape? We’re front page news, above the fold. Oh, yes. Above the fold. JACK: Good for you. DAVEY: Everyone wants to meet the famous Jack Kelly. Even Spot Conlon sent a kid just to say: next even you can count on Brooklyn. How about that? JACK: We got stomped into the ground. DAVEY: They got us this time. I’ll grant you that. But we took round one. And with the press like this our fight is far from over. JACK: Every Newsie who could walk showed up this morning to sell papes like the strike never happened. DAVEY: And I was there with them. If I don’t sell papes, my folks don’t eat. JACK: Save your breath. I get it. It’s hopeless. DAVEY: But then I saw this look on Weasel’s face; he was actually nervous. And I realized this isn’t over. We got them worried. Really worried. And I walked away. Lots of other kids did, too. And that is what you call a beginning. (LES enters, calling to KATHERINE behind him.) LES: There he is, just like I said. JACK: For cryin’ out loud... where’s a fella gotta go to get away from you people? DAVEY: There’s no escapin’ us, pal. We’re inevitable. 33 LES: (to DAVEY) So, what’s the story? Can we have the theater? DAVEY: Pipe down. I didn’t ask yet. LES: What’s the hold up? I need to let my girl know we’ve got a date. DAVEY: Your girl? LES: You heard me. I’ve been swattin’ skirts away all morning. Fame is one intoxicatin’ potion. And this girl, Sally, she’s a plum. JACK: (sees KATHERINE) Word is you wrote a great story. KATHERINE: (tentatively approaches JACK) You look terrible. LES: (studying the painting) Hey, Jack. Where’s that supposed to be? JACK: It’s Santa Fe. KATHERINE: I’ve got to tell you, Jack, this “Go west, young man” routine is getting tired. Evan Horace Greeley moved back to New York. LES: Yes, he did. And then he died. JACK: Ain’t reporters supposed to be non-partisan? KATHERINE: Ask a reporter. Pulitzer’s had me blacklisted from every news desk in town— LES: Can we table the palaver and get back to business? Will Medda let us have the theater? DAVEY: (to JACK) it’s what I been trying to tell you: we want to hold a rally – a citywide meeting where every Newsie gets a say and a vote. And we do it after working hours so no one loses a day’s pay. Smart?

JACK: Smart enough to get you committed to a padded room. KATHERINE: The guy who paints places he’s never seen is calling us crazy? JACK: Want to see a place I seen? How about this? #14B- Jack’s Painting (JACK turns the backdrop around and reveals a large, passionately executed political cartoon of the Newsies being crushed by Pulitzer in Newsie Square. DAVEY, LES, and KATHERINE stare in awe.) JACK: Newsie Square, thanks to my big mouth, filled to overflowing with failure. Kids hurt, others arrested— DAVEY: Lighten up. No one died. JACK: Is that what you’re aiming for? Go on and call me a quitter, call me a coward. No way I’m puttin’ them kids back in danger. DAVEY: We’re doing something that has never been done before. How could that not be dangerous? JACK: Specs brung me a note from Crutchie at The Refuge. I tried to see him. Climbed down the fire escape. But they busted him up so bad he couldn’t even come to the window. What if he don’t make it? You willing to shoulder that for a tenth of a penny a pape? DAVEY: It’s not about pennies. You said it yourself: my family wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in now if my father had a union. This is a fight we have to win. JACK: If I wanted a sermon, I’d show up for church. #15- Watch What Happens (Reprise)- Davey, Jack, Katherine, Les DAVEY: Tell me how quitting does Crutchie does any good? (JACK doesn’t answer him.) Exactly. So... HERE'S HOW IT GOES, ONCE WE WIN AND WE "WILL" BE WINNING, MAKE NO MISTAKE JACK: WE'LL BE WHAT? DAVEY: WE'RE ALREADY WINNING 34 JACK: RIGHT DAVEY: AND WE'LL TELL THEM STRAIGHT OUT THEY LET CRUTCHIE GO OR THEY KEEP GETTING POUNDED JACK: DAVE, WHAT THE HECK? DID THEY BUST UP YOUR BRAINS OR SOMETHIN'? AS I RECALL, DAVE WE ALL GOT OUR BUTTS KICKED, THEY WON. DAVEY: WON THE BATTLE. JACK: OH COME ON DAVEY: JACKIE, THINK ABOUT IT, WE GOT THEM SURRONDED JACK: HERE'S WHAT I THINK, JOE'S A JERK! HE'S A RATTLE SNAKE DAVEY: YOU'RE RIGHT! AND YOU KNOW WHY A SNAKE STARTS TO RATTLE? JACK: NO WHY? DAVEY: ‘CAUSE HE'S SCARED. JACK: SURE. DAVEY: GO AND LOOK IT UP. THE POOR GUY'S HEAD IS SPINNING. WHY WOULD HE SEND FOR THE GOONS, AN ENTIRE ARMY? DOZENS OF GOONS AND COPS, ANDJACK: YOU KNOW YOU MAY BE RIGHT DAVEY: THANK YOU, GOD! JACK: IF HE WASN'T AFRAID - DAVEY: EXACTLY! JACK & DAVEY: HE KNOWS WE'RE WINNING JACK, DAVEY, KATHERINE, AND LES: GET THOSE KIDS TO SEE WE'RE CIRCLING VICTORY AND WATCH WHAT HAPPENS WE'RE DOING SOMETHING NO ONE'S EVEN TRIED AND YES, WE'RE TERRIFIED BUT WATCH WHAT HAPPENS JACK: YOU CAN'T UNDO THE PAST DAVEY: SO JUST MOVE ON DAVEY & KATHERINE: AND STAY ON TRACK LES: STAY ON TRACK JACK, DAVEY, KATHERINE, AND LES: ‘CAUSE HUMPTY DUMPTY IS ABOUT TO CRACK KATHERINE: WE'VE GOT FAITH! DAVEY: WE'VE GOT THE PLAN! LES: AND WE'VE GOT JACK! JACK, DAVEY, KATHERINE, AND LES: SO JUST WATCH WHAT HAPPENS... WE'RE BACK! LES: And I've got a date! #15A- Back to Pulitzer’s Office 35 SCENE FOUR: Pulitzer’s Office & Cellar, Afternoon (The MAYOR, SEITZ, BUNSEN, and PULITZER are in a heated discussion. KATHERINE sits, listening quietly.) MAYOR: ...but I’ve read your editorials, Mr. Pulitzer. How can you express so much sympathy for the trolley workers and yet have none for the Newsies? PULITZER: Because the trolley workers are striking for a fair contract. The Newsies are striking against me! MAYOR: I’d spare you the embarrassment if I could, but Miss Medda’s Theater is private property. BUNSEN: He can’t order a raid without legal cause. PULITZER: Mr. Mayor, would the fact that this rally is organized by an escaped convict be enough to shut it down? MAYOR: An escaped convict? PULITZER: A fugitive from one of your own institutions. A convicted thief, at large, reeking mischief on our law-abiding community. (turns his desk chair around to reveal SNYDER and holds out the newspaper.) Mr. Snyder, which one is he? SNYDER: (pointing to the photo) That one there: Jack Kelly. MAYOR: And how do you know this boy? SNYDER: His is not a pleasant story. He was the first sentenced to my Refuge for loitering and vagrancy,

but his total disregard for authority has made him a frequent visitor. MAYOR: You called him a thief and escaped convict. SNYDER: After his release I caught him myself, red-handed, trafficking stolen food and clothing. He was last sentenced to six months, but the willful ruffian escaped. PULITZER: So you’d be doing the city a service removing this criminal from our streets. MAYOR: If that’s the case, we can take him in quietly and— PULITZER: (exploding) What good would quiet do me??? I want a public example made of him!!! (HANNAH rushes into the office.) HANNAH: Mr. Pulitzer- the boy, Jack Kelly, is here. PULITZER: Here? HANNAH: Just outside. He’s asked to see you. PULITZER: Ask and ye shall be received. Mr. Snyder, if you please. Sit. (PULITZER directs SNYDER to retreat to the shadowy corner and spins KATHERINE in the swivel chair so she’s hidden as well. HANNAH escorts JACK into the room.) HANNAH: Mr. Jack Kelly. JACK: Afternoon, boys... PULITZER: And which Jack Kelly is this? The charismatic union organizer, or the petty thief and escaped convict? JACK: Which one gives us more in common? PULITZER: Impudence is in bad taste when crawling for mercy. JACK: Crawlin’? That’s a laugh, I just dropped by with an invite. Seems a few hundred of your employees are rallying to discuss recent disagreements. I thought it only fair to invite you to state your case straight to the fellas. So what’d’ya say, Joe? Want I should save you a spot on the bill? PULITZER: You are as shameless and disrespectful a creature as I was told. Do you know what I was doing when I was your age, boy? I was fighting in a war. JACK: Yeah? How’d that turn out for ya? PULITZER: It taught me a lesson that shaped my life. You don’t win a war on the battlefield. It’s the 36 headline that crowns the victor. JACK: I’ll keep that in mind when New York wakes up to front-page photos of our rally. PULITZER: Rally till the cows come home. Not a paper in town will publish a word. And if it’s not in the papers, it never happened. JACK: You may run this city, but there are some of us who can’t be bullied. Even some reporters... PULITZER: Such as that young woman who made you yesterday’s news? Talented girl. And beautiful as well, don’t you think? JACK: I’ll tell her you said so. PULITZER: No need. She can hear for herself. Can’t you, darling? Katherine stands up. JACK steps back in surprise.) I trust you know my daughter, Katherine. (lets that sink in) Yes. My daughter. You are probably asking, why the nom de plume and why doesn’t my daughter work for me? Good questions. I offered Katherine a life of wealth and leisure. Instead she chose to pursue a career. And she was showing real promise, until this recent lapse. But you’re done with all of that now, are you, sweetheart? KATHERINE: Jack, I— PULITZER: Don’t trouble the boy with your problems, dearest. Mr. Kelly has a plateful of his own. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Snyder? (SNYDER steps into sight.) SNYDER: Hello, Jack. (JACK tries to run for the door, but is stopped by the DELANCYES. He realizes he’s trapped.) PULITZER: Ow! Does anyone else feel a noose tightening? But allow me to offer an alternate scenario: you attend the rally and speak against this hopeless strike, and I’ll see your criminal record expunged and your pockets filled with enough cash to carry you, in a first-class train compartment, from New York to New Mexico and beyond. (to KATHERINE) You did say he wanted to travel west, didn’t you? JACK: There ain’t a person in this room who don’t know you stink. PULITZER: And if they know me, they know I don’t care. Mark my words, boy. Defy me, and I will have you and every one of your friends locked up in The Refuge. I know you’re Mr. Tough Guy, but it’s not right to condemn that little crippled boy to conditions like that. And what about your pal Davey and his baby brother, ripped from their loving family and tossed to the rats? Will they ever be able to thank you enough? #16- The Bottom Line (Reprise)- Pulitzer, Seitz, Bunsen PULITZER: TIME’S RUNNING OUT, KID SO WHAT DO YOU SAY?

COWBOY OR CONVICT, I WIN EITHER WAY! YOUR ABJECT SURRENDER WAS ALWAYS THE BOTTOM LINE! PULITZER: Gentlemen, escort our guest to the cellar so he might reflect in solitude. (The DELANCEYS lead JACK out of the office and into the cellar.) TOO BAD YOU’VE NO JOB, JACK, BUT YOU DID RESIGN TOO BAD YOU’VE NO FAMILY, BUT YOU CAN’T HAVE MINE BE GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE, BOY- I’D SAY THAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE SEITZ: LIKE THE PIED PIPER YOU KNEW WHAT TO PLAY PULITZER: TILL THOSE KIDS ALL BELIEVED YOU WERE RIGHT BUNSEN: LUCKY FOR THEM ALL BUT ONE GOT AWAY PULITZER: THEY MAY NOT BE SO LUCKY TONIGHT The DELANCEYS deposit JACK in a dark space populated with nothing but a printing press.) MORRIS: We been given discretion to handle you as we see fit, so behave. 37 OSCAR: But, just in case, I been polishin’ my favorite brass knuckles. (Morris pulls the dust-covered tarp off of the old press and tosses it to JACK.) MORRIS: You can sleep right here on this old printing press. (slaps the hard surface) Now that there is firm. (OSCAR and MORRIS exit as JACK hopelessly takes in his surroundings. Suddenly, a familiar drumbeat sounds in military style. Voices are heard offstage.) #17- Brooklyn’s Here- Spot, Newsies SPOT: Come on Brooklyn! BROOKLYN NEWSIES: Newsies need our help today! (Newsies need our help today) Tell 'em Brooklyn's on their way! (Tell ‘em Brooklyn’s on their way!) We're from... (Brooklyn!) We are... (Newsies!) We are… (Brooklyn) Newsies! (The scene shifts to the Brooklyn Bridge as a cavalry of BROOKLYN NEWSIES make their way to the rally.) SCENE FIVE: Brooklyn Bridge & Medda’s Theater, Evening BROOKLYN NEWSIES: JUST GOT WORD THAT OUR BUDDIES IS HURTIN', FACIN' TOTAL DISASTER FOR CERTAIN. THAT'S OUR CUE, BOYS: IT'S TIME TO GO SLUMMIN'. HEY MANHATTAN, THE CAVALRY'S COMIN'! BROOKLYN NEWSIES GROUP 1: HAVE NO FEAR! BROOKLYN NEWSIES GROUP 2: YOU KNOW WE GOT YOUR BACK FROM WAY BACK! BROOKLYN NEWSIES GROUP 1: BROOKLYN'S HERE! BROOKLYN NEWSIES GROUP 2: WE'LL GET YOU PAY BACK WITH SOME PAYBACK! BROOKLYN NEWSIES: WE'RE THE BOYS FROM THE BEACHES OF BRIGHTON, PROSPECT PARK AND THE NAVY YARD PIER. STRIKES AIN'T FUN, BUT THEY SURE IS EXCITIN'. LOUD AND CLEAR! BROOKLYN'S HERE! SPOT: BOROUGH WHAT GAVE ME BIRTH, BROOKLYN NEWSIES: FRIENDLIEST PLACE ON EARTH. PAY US A VISIT AND SEE WHAT WE MEAN, AND WHEN YA DO, (WHEN YA DO, WHEN YA DO) WE'LL KICK YA HALFWAY TO QUEENS! (The BROOKLYN NEWSIES arrive at Medda’s Theater. With JACK’s political cartoon of Newsie Square as the backdrop, the theater begins to fill with NEWSIES from all five boroughs, singing and waving banners and placards.) BROOKLYN NEWSIES: NOW THEM SOAKERS IS IN FOR A SOAKIN'. WHAT A SAD WAY TO END A CAREER. THEY'S A JOKE, BUT IF THEY THINKS WE'RE JOKIN'. LOUD AND CLEAR! MANHATTAN NEWSIES: MANHATTAN'S HERE! FLUSHING NEWSIES: FLUSHING'S HERE! RICHMOND NEWSIES: RICHMOND'S HERE! WOODSIDE NEWSIES: WOODSIDE'S HERE! BRONX NEWSIE: SO'S DA BRONX! BROOKLYN NEWSIES: BROOKLYN'S HERE! ALL NEWSIES: LOUD AND CLEAR: WE IS HERE!! 38 (The NEWSIES go crazy. LES is seated with SALLY. SPOT shakes hands with DAVEY in the center of the stage as MEDDA steps forward.) MEDDA: Welcome, Newsies of New York City. Welcome to my theater and your revolution! (CROWD cheers.) DAVEY: Let’s here it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn! SPOT: Newsies united! Let’s see what Pulitzer has to say to you now. SALLY: Hey Les, where’s Jack? FINCH: Yeah Davey, where is Jack? NEWSIES: Yeah. We want Jack! Where is he? (DAVEY looks to MEDDA for help.) MEDDA: Sorry, kid. No sign of him yet. Looks like you’re doing a solo. NEWSIES: JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK! (DAVEY timidly takes the stage.) DAVEY: Newsies of New York... look at what we’ve done! We’ve got Newsies from every pape and every neighborhood here tonight. Tonight you’re making history. (NEWSIES cheer.) Tonight we declare that we’re just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor. (The cheers grow louder.) We’re done being treated like kids. From now on they will treat us as equals. (JACK appears from the back of the theater and starts down the aisle.)

JACK: You wanna be talked to like an adult? Then start actin’ like one. Don’t just run your mouth. Make some sense. DAVEY: And here’s Jack! NEWSIES: Jack! Jack! Jack! (JACK climbs up onto the stage as DAVEY heaves a sigh of relief. KATHERINE has arrived and stands in the balcony.) JACK: (quieting the NEWSIES) All right. Pulitzer raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us. That was a lousy thing to do. (The NEWSIES cheer.) So we got made and let ‘em know we ain’t gonna be pushed around. (More cheers.) So we go on strike. Then what happens? Pulitzer lowers the price so’s we’ll go back to work! And a few weeks later he hikes the price back up again, and don’t think he won’t. so what do we do then? And what do we do if he decides to raise his price again after that? (Davey and the NEWSIES look to each other, confused by what JACK is saying.) Fellas, we gotta be realistic. We don’t work, we don’t get paid. How many days can you go without makin’ money? However long, believe me, Pulitzer can go longer. (The NEWSIES boo.) But I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer and he has given me his word: if we disband the union, he will not raise prices again for two years. He will even put it in writing. (The boos are now drowning out JACK.) I say we take the deal. Go back to work knowing that our price is secure. All we need to do is vote “NO” on the strike. Vote “NO”! (The boos overwhelm JACK. He walks toward the wings, where BUNSEN is waiting with a wad of cash. He holds out the money out and JACK pockets it, looking around guiltily. LES reaches out, but JACK muscles him away and rushes out. The NEWSIES are furious, and their booing echoes across the theater, and the city, as the scene transitions...) SCENE SIX: Rooftop, Night #17A- To The Rooftop (KATHERINE has discovered JACK’s drawings stuffed in an air vent pipe and opens them up. JACK arrives.) KATHERINE: That was some speech you made. JACK: How’d you get here? 39 KATHERINE: Specs showed me. JACK: (snatches his drawings) He say you could go through my stuff? KATHERINE: I saw them rolled up, sticking out of there. I didn’t know what they were. These drawings...? These are drawings of The refuge, aren’t they? (takes the drawings back and studies them closer) is this really what it’s like in there: three boys to a bed, rats everywhere, and vermin? JACK: A little different from where you were raised? KATHERINE: Snyder told my father you were arrested stealing food and clothing. This is why, isn’t it? You stole to feed those boys. (JACK, embarrassed, turns away.) I don’t understand. If you were willing to go to jail for those boys, how could you turn your back on them now? JACK: I don’t think you’re anyone to talk about turning on folks. KATHERINE: I never turned on you or anyone else. JACK: No. You just double crossed us to your father. Your father! KATHERINE: My father has eyes on every corner of this city. He doesn’t need me spying for him. And I never lied I didn’t tell you everything... JACK: If you weren’t a girl you’d be trying to talk with a fist in your mouth. KATHERINE: I said that I worked for the Sun, and I did. I told you my professional name was Plumber, and it is. You never asked my real one. JACK: I wouldn’t think I had to unless I knew I was dealing with a backstabber. KATHERINE: And if I was a boy, you’d be looking at me through one swollen eye. JACK: Don’t let that stop ya. Gimme your best shot. (JACK presents his face to her. KATHERINE, out of nowhere, grabs JACK and kisses him full on the lips. They part. A moment of silence and then JACK tries to get another kiss, but is blocked.) KATHERINE: I need to know you didn’t cave for the money. JACK: I spoke the truth. You win a fight when you got the other fella down eatin’ pavement. You heard your father. No matter how many days we strike, he ain’t givin’ up. I don’t now what else we can do. KATHERINE: Ah. But I do. JACK: Oh, come one... KATHERINE: Really, Jack? Really? Only you can have a good idea? Or is it because I’m a girl? JACK: I didn’t say nothin’...

KATHERINE: This would be a good time to shut up. Being boss doesn’t mean you have all the answers. Just the brains to recognize the right one when you hear it. JACK: I’m listening. KATHERINE: Good for you. The strike was your idea. The rally was Davey’s. and now my plan will take us to the finish line. Deal with it. (KATHERINE takes a piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to him.) JACK: (reading) “The Children’s Crusade”? KATHERINE: (snatches it back and reads) “For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughter house in New York. I beg you...join us.” With those words the strike stopped being just about the Newsies. You challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table. JACK: “The Children’s Crusade”??? KATHERINE: Think, Jack, if we publish this- my words with one of your drawings- and if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work... or better yet, came to Newsie Square- a general city-wide strike! Even my father couldn’t ignore that. JACK: Only one small problem: we got no way to print it. KATHERINE: Come on, there has to be one printing press he doesn’t control. 40 JACK: (suddenly remembering) Oh no. KATHERINE: What? JACK: I know where there’s a printing press that no one would ever think we’d use. KATHERINE: Then why are we still standing here? (KATHERINE starts climbing down the fire escape ladder, but JACK stops her.) JACK: Wait. Stop. What’s this about for you? I don’t mean “The Children’s Crusade.” (indicating the two of them) What’s this about? Am I kiddin’ myself or is there something... KATHERINE: Of course there is. JACK: Well don’t say it like this happens every day! KATHERINE: Oh, Jack... JACK: I’m not an idiot. I know girls like you don’t wind up with guys like me. And I don’t want you promisin’ nothin’ you gotta take back later. But standing here tonight... lookin’ at you... I’m scared tomorrrow’s gonna come and change everything. #18- Something To Believe In- Katherine, Jack JACK: If there was a way I could grab hold of something to make time stop. Just so’s I could keep looking at you. KATHERINE: You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly. I never even saw it coming. JACK: For sure? KATHERINE: For sure. TIL THE MOMENT I FOUND YOU, I THOUGHT I KNEW WHAT LOVE WAS. NOW I'M LEARNING WHAT IS TRUE, THAT LOVE WILL DO WHAT IT DOES. THE WORLD FINDS WAYS TO STING YOU AND THEN ONE DAY, DECIDES TO BRING YOU SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN FOR EVEN A NIGHT. ONE NIGHT MAY BE FOREVER, BUT THAT'S ALRIGHT, THAT'S ALRIGHT. AND IF YOU'RE GONE TOMORROW, WHAT WAS OURS STILL WILL BE. I HAVE SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN, NOW THAT I KNOW YOU BELIEVED IN ME. JACK: WE WAS NEVER MEANT TO MEET, AND THEN WE MEET, WHO KNOWS WHY. ONE MORE STRANGER ON THE STREET. JUST SOMEONE SWEET PASSIN' BY. AN ANGEL COME TO SAVE ME, WHO DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE GAVE ME SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN FOR EVEN A DAY. ONE DAY MAY BE FOREVER, BUT THAT'S OKAY, THAT'S OKAY. AND IF I'M GONE TOMORROW, WHAT WAS OURS STILL WILL BE. 41 I HAVE SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN, NOW THAT I KNOW YOU BELIEVED IN ME. JACK AND KATHERINE: DO YOU KNOW WHAT I BELIEVE IN? LOOK INTO MY EYES AND SEE. (JACK and KATHERINE kiss until JACK pulls away.) JACK: If things were different... KATHERINE: What, if you weren't going to Santa Fe? JACK: And if you weren't an heiress. And if your father wasn't after my head. KATHERINE: (teasing) You're not really scared of my father. JACK: No, but I am pretty scared of you. KATHERINE: Don't be. JACK: AND IF I'M GONE TOMORROW... KATHERINE: WHAT WAS OURS STILL WILL BE. JACK AND KATHERINE: I HAVE SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN, NOW THAT I KNOW YOU BELIEVED IN ME. JACK: I HAVE SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN, JACK AND KATHERINE: NOW THAT I KNOW YOU BELIEVED IN ME. (Lights fade as a drumbeat is heard.) SCENE SEVEN: Pulitzer’s Cellar #19- Seize The Day (Reprise)- Newsies (In the semi-darkness, the NEWSIES cross the stage, lanterns in hand, spreading the news to NY CITIZENS in conspiratorial whispers.) NEWSIES: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY STARE DOWN THE ODDS AND SEIZE THE DAY

MINUTE BY MINUTE, THAT’S HOW YOU WIN IT. WE WILL FIND A WAY, BUT LET US SEIZE THE DAY. (JACK and KATHERINE enter the cellar. She hands him a ring of keys.) KATHERINE: I’ll get the lights. You get those windows unlocked. JACK: (goes to work undoing the window) You got enough keys here for the entire building. Has someone been picking daddy’s pockets? KATHERINE: The janitor’s been working here since he was eight year sold and hasn’t had a raise in twenty years. He’s with us one-hundred percent. (KATHERINE turns up the lights and uncovers the printing press. DAVEY, RACE, and a few other NEWSIES pour through the window. Two well-dressed kids, BILL and DARCY, go straight to work on the printing press.) JACK: (to DAVEY) You bring enough fellas to keep us covered? DAVEY: We could hold a hoe-down in here and no one would be the wiser. JACK: Good job. DAVEY: It’s good to have you back again. JACK: (apologizing, appreciatively, in his own way) Shut up. KATHERINE: Here she is, boys. Just think, while my father snores blissfully in his bed, we will be using his 42 very own press to bring him down. JACK: Remind me to stay on your good side. (RACE goes to the printing press) RACE: Is this what they print the papes on? DARCY: I can see why they tossed this old girl down to the cellar, but I think she will do the job. KATHERINE: Jack, this is Darcy. He knows just about everything there is to know about printing. JACK: You work for one of the papes? DARCY: My father owns the Trib. JACK: Whoa! KATHERINE: And this is Bill. He’ll be typesetting the article for us. JACK: (being funny) Bill? So I suppose you’re the son of William Randolph Hearst? BILL: And proud to be part of your revolution! JACK: (in awe) Ain’t that somethin’? KATHERINE: In the words of the little one, “Can we table the palaver and get down to business?” DARCY: A little grease and she’ll be good as gold. BILL: Great! Let’s get to work. #20- Once And For All- Jack, Davey, Katherine, Newsies DAVEY: All right. Here’s how it’ll work: as we print the papes, Race, you’ll let the fellas in and they’ll spread them to every workin’ kid in New York. After that…? (RACE takes his position at the window.) JACK: After that it’s up to them. THERE'S CHANGE COMIN' ONCE AND FOR ALL. YOU MAKES THE FRONT PAGE, AND MAN, YOU IS MAJOR NEWS. JACK & DAVEY: TOMORROW THEY'LL SEE WHAT WE ARE, JACK, DAVEY & KATHERINE: AND SURE AS STAR, WE AIN'T COME THIS FAR….TO LOSE! RACE: Here they come! (More NEWSIES take up their positions.) NEWSIES: THIS IS THE STORY WE NEEDED TO WRITE THAT’S BEEN KEPT OUT OF SIGHT, BUT NO MORE! IN A FEW HOURS, BY DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT WE'LL BE READY TO FIGHT US A WAR. THIS TIME WE'RE IN IT TO STAY. TALK ABOUT SEIZING THE DAY! JACK: WRITE IT IN INK OR IN BLOOD, IT'S THE SAME EITHER WAY: THEY'RE GONNA HAVE TO PAY! NEWSIES: SEE OL'MAN PULITZER SNUG IN HIS BED, HE DON'T CARE IF WE'RE DEAD OR ALIVE. THREE SATIN PILLOWS ARE UNDER HIS HEAD WHILE WE'RE BEGGIN' FOR BREAD TO SURVIVE. JOE, YOU CAN STOP COUNTIN' SHEEP. WE'RE GONNA SING YA TO SLEEP. THEN WHILE YA SNOOZE, WE’LL BE LIGHTIN’ A FUSE WITH A PROMISE WE’SE ACHIN’ TO KEEP. (BILL typesets the Newsies Banner.) JACK: ONCE AND FOR ALL, IF THEY DON'T MIND THEIR MANNERS WE'LL BLEED 'EM! NEWSIES: BLEED 'EM! 43 RACE: ONCE AND FOR ALL WE WON'T CARRY NO BANNERS THAT DON'T SPELL NEWSIES: “FREEDOM!" FIN'LLY WE'SE RAISIN' THE STAKES, THIS TIME WHATEVER IT TAKES, THIS TIME THE UNION AWAKES, ONCE AND FOR ALL! (DARCY pulls the first proof from the press and hands it to RACE. He passes it across the NEWSIES to KATHERINE.) KATHERINE: (reading) “In the words of union leader Jack Kelly, ‘We will work with you. We will even work for you. But we will be paid and treated as valuable members of your organizations.’” Riveting stuff, huh? JACK: (to KATHERINE) Get going. You’ve got a very important man to see. KATHERINE: Keep your fingers crossed. JACK: For us, too. (KATHERINE exits. The printing press churns away at a rhythmic pace. Papers are bundled. Bundles are passed between NEWSIES and collected for distribution.) NEWSIES:

THIS IS FOR KIDS SHININ' SHOES ON THE STREET WITH NO SHOES ON THEIR FEET EVERYDAY. THIS IS FOR GUYS SWEATIN' BLOOD IN THE SHOPS WHILE THE BOSSES AND COPS LOOK AWAY. I'M SEEIN' KIDS STANDIN' TALL, GLARING AND RARIN' TO BRAWL, ARMIES OF GUYS WHO ARE SICK OF THE LIES GETTIN' READY TO RISE TO THE CALL! ONCE AND FOR ALL THERE'LL BE BLOOD ON THE WALL IF THEY DOUBT US. THEY THINK THEY'RE RUNNING THIS TOWN BUT THIS TOWN WILL SHUT DOWN WITHOUT US! NEWSIES GROUP 1: TEN THOUSAND KIDS IN THE SQUARE! NEWSIES GROUP 2: TEN THOUSAND KIDS IN THE SQUARE NEWSIES GROUP 1: TEN THOUSAND FISTS IN THE AIR! NEWSIES GROUP 2: TEN THOUSAND FISTS! NEWSIES: JOE YOU IS GONNA PLAY FAIR, ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 1: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 2: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 1: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 2: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 1: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES GROUP 2: ONCE AND FOR ALL! (Ready to hit the streets, the NEWSIES raise their papers in defiance.) NEWSIES: THERE'S CHANGE COMIN' ONCE AND FOR ALL. YOU'RE GETTING TOO OLD, TOO WEAK TO KEEP HOLDIN' ON. A NEW WORLD IS GUNNIN' FOR YOU, AND JOE WE IS TOO, TILL ONCE AND FOR ALL, YOU'RE GONE! DAVEY: ONCE AND FOR ALL! JACK: ONCE AND FOR ALL! DAVEY, RACE, SPOT, MIKE, IKE, & MUSH: ONCE AND FOR ALL! NEWSIES: ONCE AND FOR ALL! (The sun rises as KATHERINE heads to her meeting, the Newsies Banner and JACK’s drawings in hand.) #20A- Once And For All (Playoff) 44 SCENE EIGHT: Pulitzer’s Office, Next Morning (The office is in full panic mode. HANNAH and BUNSEN scramble to answer phones as they continue to ring incessantly. PULITZER sits furiously at his desk.) HANNAH: (into the phone) I’m sorry, Mr. Pulitzer will have to call you back. BUNSEN: I’m sorry, but he’ll have to call you back. HANNAH: (next phone) He can’t talk. He’ll call you back— BUNSEN: I’m sorry, but he’ll— I’m sorry. I’m sorry. PULITZER: Silence those phones!!! (HANNAH and BUNSEN remove the receivers from their cradles.) BUNSEN: The entire city is shut down. No one is working anywhere. And everyone is blaming you. HANNAH: They’re all calling: the Mayor, the publishers, the manufacturers... and such language! (JACK, DAVEY, and SPOT enter merrily, chased by SEITZ.) SEITZ: You can’t just barge in... JACK: (offers up the Newsies Banner to PULITZER) How we doin’ this morning, gents? PULITZER: You’re behind this? We had a deal. JACK: (tosses bribe money on PULITZER’s desk) And it came with a money-back guarantee. And thanks for your lessons on the power of the press. SEITZ: (examining the article) Did you read this boss? These kids put out a pretty good paper. Very convincing. PULITZER: No doubt written by my daughter. JACK: (now reclining in an office chair) I’d sign her before someone else grabs her up. PULITZER: I demand to know who defied my ban on printing strike material! JACK: We’re your loyal employers. SPOT: We’d never take our business elsewhere. SEITZ: (examining the paper) The old printing press in the cellar. PULIZTER: (taking measured steps toward JACK) I made you the offer of a lifetime. Anyone who does not act in his own self-interest is a fool. DAVEY: What’s that make you? This all began because you wanted to sell more papers. But now your circulation is down seventy percent. Why didn’t you just come talk to us? JACK: Guys like Joe don’t talk with nothin’s like us. But a very wise reporter told me a real boss don’t need the answers. Just the smarts to snatch the right one when he hears it. (NEWSIES sing in Newsie Square below Pulitzer’s office.) #20B- Seize The Day (Reprise 2)- Newsies NEWSIES: NOW IS THE TIME TO SEIZE THE DAY STARE DOWN THE ODDS AND SEIZE THE DAY MINUTE BY MINUTE, THAT’S HOW YOU WIN IT WE WILL FIND A WAY. BUT LET US SEIZE THE DAY. HMMMMMM……(The NEWSIES continue to hum as a drum beats steadily.) SPOT: Have a look out there, Mr. Pulitzer. In case you ain’t figured it out, we got you surrounded. JACK: New York is closed for business. Paralyzed. You can’t get a paper or a shoe shine. You can’t send a

message or ride an elevator or cross the Brooklyn Bridge. You can’t even leave your own building. So, what’s your next move? (BUNSEN rushes back into the room in a tizzy.) BUNSEN: Mr. Pulitzer, the Mayor is here along with your daughter and... oh you’re not going to believe 45 who else! (In walk the MAYOR, KATHERINE, MEDDA, and GOVERNOR TEDDY ROOSEVELT.) MAYOR: Good morning, Mr. Pulitzer. I think you know the Governor. PULITZER: Governor Roosevelt? ROOSEVELT: Joseph, Joseph, Joseph. What have you done now? PULITZER: I’m sure when you hear my explanation— ROOSEVELT: Thanks to Miss Medda Larkin bringing your daughter to my office, I already have a thorough grasp of the situation- graphic illustrations included. (brandishes JACK’s drawings) Bully is the expression I usually employ to show approval. But in your case I simply mean bully! (to KATHERINE, referring to JACK) Is this the boy of whom you spoke? KATHERINE: Yes Sir. ROOSEVELT: (to JACK) How are you, son? I’m told we once shared a carriage ride. JACK: Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Governor. ROOSEVELT: (to PULITZER) Well, Joe, don’t just stand there letting those children sing… endlessly. Give them the good news. PULITZER: What good news? ROOSEVELT: That you’ve come to your senses and rolled back your prices. Unless, of course, you want to invite a full state senate investigation into your employment practices. PULITZER: (red with anger) You wouldn’t— ROOSEVELT: After the pressure you wielded to keep me from office? I’d do it with a smile. Come along, Joseph. There’s only one thing worse than a hard heart, and that’s a soft head. (PULITZER growls and postures.) And think of the happiness you’ll bring those children. (to HANNAH) He doesn’t do happiness, does he? HANNAH: (hushed) No sir. PULITZER: (cornered, shifting tactics) Mr. Kelly, if I may speak to you...alone. (The OTHERS withdraw from the room.) ROOSEVELT: (to JACK) Keep your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ground. You can do this. (ROOSEVELT exits. JACK and PULITZER are alone.) PULITZER: I cannot put the price back where it was. (JACK starts to move away.) I’m sorry, I can’t. There are other considerations— JACK: I get it. You need to save face front of all these folks. I’m young, I ain’t stupid. PULITZER: Thank you for understanding. JACK: But I got constituents with a legitimate gripe. PULITZER: What if I reduce the raise by half and get the others to do the same? It’s a compromise we can all live with. JACK: (he thinks…) But you eat our losses. From now on, any papes we can’t sell, you buy back- full price. PULITZER: That’s never been on the table! What’s to stop Newsies from taking hundreds of papers they can’t sell? My costs will explode! JACK: No Newsie is gonna break his back haulin’ around papes he can’t sell. But if they can take a few more with no risk, they might sell ‘em and your circulation would begin to grow...(mocking PULITZER) “It’s a compromise we can all live with.” PULITZER: (calming considerably) That’s not a bad head you’ve got on your shoulders. JACK: Deal? (JACK spits in his hand and holds it out for PULITZER to shake.) PULITZER: That’s disgusting. JACK: Just the price of doing business. (PULITZER spits in his hand. JACK grabs it and shakes. Deal sealed.) 46 SCENE NINE: Newsie Square #21- Finale Ultimo (Part 1)- Company NEWSIES/BROOKLYN NEWSIES: AND THE WORLD WILL KNOW, WE BEEN KEEPIN’ SCORE EITHER THEY GIVES US OUR RIGHTS OR WE GIVES THEM A WAR WE BEEN DOWN TOO LONG, AND WE PAID OUR DUES AND THE THINGS WE DO TODAY WILL BE TOMORROW’S NEWS. AND THE DIE IS CAST, AND THE TORCH IS PASSED NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND A ROAR WILL RISE… NEWSIES GROUP 2: … FROM THE STREETS BELOW NEWSIES GROUP 1: AND OUR RANKS WILL GROW NEWSIES: AND GROW AND GROW AND GROW AND GROW AND GROW AND…. (JACK, KATHERINE, MEDDA, SPOT, DAVEY, ROOSEVELT, and PULITZER come out to the square. PULITZER, ROOSEVELT, and JACK mount a raised platform to address the CROWD.) JACK: Newsies of New York City... we won!!! (The CROWD cheers. JACK quiets them.) And now I’d like to

introduce my own personal pal, Governor Theodore Roosevelt himself!!! (The CROWD cheers.) ROOSEVELT: (recognizing this historical moment) Each generation must, at the height of its power, step aside and invite the young to share the day. You have laid claim to our world and I believe the future, in your hands, will be bright and prosperous. (to JACK) And your drawings, son, have brought another matter to bear. (signaling offstage) Officers, if you please. (A police whistle sounds. CRUTCHIE appears, blowing the whistle and waiving.) RACE: Hey lookit, Jack. It’s Crutchie! NEWSIES: (ad lib) Crutchie! CRUTCHIE: Hiya, fellas. You miss me? NEWSIES: (ad lib) Yeah. Sure. Ain’t been the same without ya. CRUTCHIE: And lookit what I got yis: straight from The Refuge. (calling offstage) Bring him in, fellas! (Two POLICEMEN enter with SNYDER between them.) RACE: It’s Snyder the Spider! MUSH: He ain’t lookin’ so tough no more, is he? ROOSEVELT: Jack, with these drawings you made an eloquent argument for shutting down The Refuge. Be assured that Mr. Snyder’s abuses will be fully investigated. (to a POLICEMAN) Officer, take him away. CRUTCHIE: (to ROOSEVELT) Please, Your Highness... may I do the honors? (ROOSEVELT gives him the approval. CRUTCHIE slaps handcuffs onto SNYDER.) SNYDER: You’ve got to be joking. CRUTCHIE: And you’ll be laughing all the way to the pen, “little man.” (CRUTCHIE gives SYNDER a kick in the rear.) So long, sucker! JACK: Thank you, Governor. (JACK races down to embrace CRUTCHIE. PULITZER steps forward, snatching JACK’s drawings away from ROOSEVELT.) PULITZER: (to JACK) I can’t help thinking... if one of your drawings convinced the governor to close The Refuge, what might a daily political cartoon do the expose the dealings in our own government back rooms? (to ROOSEVELT) What do you say, Teddy? Care to have this young man’s artistry shine a lantern behind your closed doors? 47 JACK: Don’t sweat it, Gov. With the strike settled, I probably should be hitting the road. (DAVEY and KATHERINE move towards JACK.) DAVEY: Don’t you ever get tired of singing that same old tune? What’s Santa Fe got that New York ain’t? Tarantulas? KATHERINE: Better yet: what’s New York got that Santa Fe ain’t? CRUTCHIE: New York’s got us. And we’re family. PULITZER: (bellowing from above) Didn’t I hear something about a strike being settled? (WIESEL and the DELANCEYS open the distribution window as PULITZER exits.) WIESEL: Papes for the Newsies. Line up, boys. These papes ain’t gonna sell themselves. MEDDA: (exiting with ROOSEVELT) Come along, Governor, and show me that back seat I’ve been hearing so much about. KATHERINE: (teasing JACK) Well don’t just stand there, you’ve got a union to run. Besides, didn’t someone just offer you a pretty exciting job? JACK: Me work for your father? KATHERINE: You already work for my father. JACK: Oh, yeah. KATHERINE: And you’ve got one more ace up your sleeve. JACK: What would that be? KATHERINE: Me. Wherever you go, I’ll be right there by your side. JACK: For sure? KATHERINE: For sure. JACK: DON’T TAKE MUCH TO BE A DREAMER. ALL YOU DO IS CLOSE YOUR EYES. BUT SOME MADE-UP WORLD IS ALL YOU EVER SEE NOW MY EYES IS FINALLY OPEN. AND MY DREAMS, THEY’S AVERAGE SIZE BUT THEY DON’T MUCH MATTER IF YOU AIN’T WITH ME (JACK grabs KATHERINE in an embrace and they kiss.) LES: (pointing to the public display of affection) Guys! (The NEWSIES catcall and whistle their approval.) DAVEY: Well, Jack… you in or you out? (JACK leaves KATHERINE. With a big smile, he approaches WIESEL, slaps his money down on the counter, and snatches up his papes.) #21A-Finale Ultimo (Part 2)- Company COMPANY: WE'LL ALL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER MAN TO MAN! WE'RE ALWAYS OUT THERE, SOAKIN' EV'RY SUCKER THAT WE CAN. HERE'S THE HEADLINE: NEWSIES ON A MISSION! KILL THE COMPETITION! SELL THE NEXT EDITION! WE'LL BE OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! SEE US OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! ALWAYS OUT THERE CARRYING THE BANNER! LOOK AT ME: I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK!

SUDDENLY I'M RESPECTABLE, STARIN' RIGHT AT'CHA, LOUSY WITH STA'CHA. GLORY BE! I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! VICTORY! FRONT PAGE STORY GUTS AND GLORY I’M THE KING…OF NEW YORK! (BOWS.) THE END

[ootori-sibs]

Kyoya's second shot

Chapter seven: Big brother to the rescue!

It's unlikely that two days are just perfect as each other, you cannot simply have the best day of your life, then have the same day tomorrow. And unfortunately common occurrence is for one day to be wonderful, simply the best, then the next day to be empty and hollow- even if nothing bad happens; the lack of the joy makes a normal day seem even worse. That was how Sunday went for Kyoya; he couldn't even talk to Tamaki over text, as he was spending the day with Haruhi.

He had woken up in Tamaki's bed, alone. Tamaki had already left to go and spend time with Haruhi, having left a note and some of Kyoya's favourite foods for breakfast. Kyoya had barely picked at it, not feeling all too hungry, but he didn't want to upset Tamaki, so he finished the food before leaving. The ride home was silent, Kyoya simply read through Arai's report of the day spent with Haruhi. Apparently they'd spent the day reading and sitting in the local park, nothing really romantic in the slightest- Kyoya had to wonder if Arai had even tried.

The moment he'd gotten home, he stumbled upstairs, completely ignoring his brother who was visiting for the day, he made a b-line for his bedroom, crawling under the covers and just hiding. He had lain like this for the entire summer holiday, so what was one day more? He wasn't being selfish, he was just tired, a whole day outside had taken a lot out of him. He barely glanced up to read the shadow council group chat, oh… they were calling him slurs again. Maybe he should just sleep.

But Eclair reminded him that he'd scheduled a meeting with the council today, so he took about an hour to compose himself enough to at least sit up, the many blankets still wrapped around his head and body- if they wanted to judge him he couldn't care less, he felt as if he could cry without the soft pressure from his blankets. His maids had brought him lunch, along with a note from his brother, asking if he wanted to talk or hang out… Kyoya sighed at that, Yuuichi was always trying to bond with him, it was strange; why would he want to spend time with Kyoya when he could spend that time working? If Kyoya had a job he'd do absolutely nothing else, how dare his brother spend so much time doing nothing at all yet still be the favourite.

Kyoya had turned his laptop on, setting up the meeting before inviting all his council, they did have work to do after all. "Good afternoon everyone."

Eclair was simply sat on a chaise lounge, drinking wine and smoking, clearly just showing off that she could do that kind of thing. Nekozawa was sat in a dark room, lit only by candles, he was missing both his wig and cloak, and sat there with his regal features- if he wasn't such a creepy guy, maybe Kyoya would be attracted to him. Akira was hunched over his desk, looking incredibly stressed to be in this call, good. Seika was laying on her bed, legs in the air like she was in an American movie about teens, it was uncanny. Chika was sitting in a quiet corner of a garden, there were a couple of baby ducks in the background, just chirping about. Arai, ever the lovely commoner, was simply in his kitchen, making his lunch as they spoke.

Kyoya sighed, adjusting his glasses, "first thing I have to address; Arai, how did yesterday go?"

The commoner boy barely glanced at him, busy making food, "well it was alright I suppose, I sent a message about it didn't I?"

"You did, but I'd like you to make a formal report for the rest of the council."

"Alright then," Arai nods, chopping some tomatoes, "we went to the park and read books together, I bought her a milkshake with ice-cream. She complained about school, I let her-" he clearly pause, putting the knife down for a moment, "she complained about you at one point actually."

Kyoya froze, Haruhi was complaining about him? What did he do? Did she know? If she was complaining to Arai, imagine what she could be saying to Tamaki at that very moment… Kyoya's hands were already shaking as he wrapped his blankets around himself even more, "what did she say?"

"Oh she just said some stuff about how you've been really pushy and snappy lately, also like- totally going through someone but kind of being a dick about it." Like all commoners, Arai spoke bluntly, but there was something in his tone, in the way he paused when he saw Kyoya's expression, his gaze softening… "hey, those aren't her exact words, just a bit of paraphrasing. Don't worry about it, she doesn't suspect a thing, also I mean; she's not wrong, you're clearly going through someone, and you're clearly lashing out- forgive me for getting too personal." He had smiled, before turning to continue making his lunch.

Kyoya didn't know how to respond to that, how dare that commoner see straight through him- but he wasn't cruel about it… like anyone else in existence would be, Kyoya felt himself bristle nonetheless, his pride forbidding him from accepting any care. "Oh look, the basket case is about to start crying and we've barely started the meeting." Ayanokoji had made a cruel comment, one that people laughed at, Arai was ignoring the meeting now, clearly he was only going to speak when asked to. Kyoya's fists clenched, he felt like he was about to put a hole through his laptop… he'd done that before, he remembered his father's reaction, he'd been grounded for two weeks after that. He hated to imagine what would happen the second time. So he took a deep breath, glaring down the camera.

"I'm sorry, Ayanokoji, why don't you tell us any new ideas you've had?" His tone was clear; she'd already been reprimanded for the graffiti, so any inappropriate idea would be criticised heavily- especially by a shadow king in a foul mood. Her eyes had gone wide, and she lay flat, glancing about a little nervously.

"Oh, well…" it was clear she hadn't thought of a single thing, "well I was thinking… oh! Maybe I could drug her coffee? Or ruin her work for classes? Or spread a nasty rumour..?" Kyoya thought about these options, letting the other council members speak first however, as he already knew his opinion.

Chika was the first to speak, "you're gonna poison the crossdresser??" His words got the attention of the other people in the call who weren't paying attention, such as Arai and Eclair; one of whom seemed a lot less onboard than the other.

Kyoya shook his head, "we will not be drugging her, as easy as it would be for me to get my hands on a harmless dose of something, we are better than that- we are smarter than that. Your other two ideas however, are fine. However; only ruin her schoolwork once, as we don't want to get her expelled."

"I thought we were trying to ruin her life?" Akira spoke up, why was he even still allowed to speak? Kyoya respected the commoner more than he could ever respect this newsboy.

So he rolls his eyes, adjusting how he's sat, "don't be foolish, we're just trying to drive her away from Tamaki, I harbour no real ill will towards the commoner- she is simply in the way. Now," he looks down at where Akira was on the screen, before his eyes filter back up to the webcam, staring straight into the lense, "I suggest you bite your tongue, Komatsuzawa, you're on thin ice here as it is." It seemed to work, the boy glanced away from the screen, biting his thumb and going silent.

Seika laughed, "god, what a baby. Sucking his thumb cause he got told off, how absolutely pathetic." Her words clearly annoyed Akira, but he was notably silent and the call was quiet for a second until Tonnerre spoke up.

"Ootori isn't much better," she addressed Seika, ignoring the other folks in the call as she lifted a glass of red to her lips, "he's all bundled in blankets like a baby, you can see his lunch behind him; there's even milk." She doesn't laugh, she doesn't even smile, but there's an airy huff that tells Kyoya she finds herself quite amusing, Seika's chuckling doesn't make it feel any better.

But she's not the only one laughing, Chika, the little brat, seems to find this oh so funny. "He's more of a baby then some of the people in my class! No wonder my brother hangs out with him!" Such childish laughter, and yet Kyoya feels more obliged to defend Honey with that insult then to defend himself… though he knew how it felt to be a younger brother, he found himself unable to sympathise with Chika at all in this regard.

He just stayed silent, not wanting to speak and incriminate himself for anything, he knew he could move his blankets but he felt if he did so he might just cry. So he stayed completely still, staring at the screen. Luckily the sound of cruel laughter was silenced by Nekozawa speaking up, "Ootori-san may have some clear issues, but it's not as if he embarrassed himself to the degree you did Ayanokoji-chan," he was smiling at her, expression and words completely harmless, though of course dear Seika took great offence, gasping at the very idea of her being worse than Kyoya.

The meeting delved into insults and jokes, slurs being thrown around as if it were middleschool again… Kyoya just sat there, hands shaking, as he watched Arai's screen. Arai wasn't partaking in the jokes of the rest of the council, he had finished making his lunch and had just sat down to eat it, watching the show with concern. Kyoya watched him take out his phone, typing something slowly, then… oh, Kyoya's own phone had pinged. He picked it up from his bedside table, reading the text.

Peasant: hey, are you doing ok?

you can talk to me if you want

I'm always willing to listen if you need it

even if we aren't friends

Kyoya had saved them all on his phone with the same nicknames they had in the group chat, with Nekozawa as an exception obviously. So he instantly realised that the text he'd just saw Arai type was this one he was reading now… or four texts he supposed, one after the other. He was caught off guard by them, the idea of someone he's barely spoken to, caring about him, seeking him out to make sure he's alright, offering to be a willing ear, using a gentle tone with him… it was all entirely new to Kyoya- and he didn't trust it one bit.

Kyoya Ootori: Don't take me for a fool, there is no viable reason for me to trust you.

He watched Arai receive the text, and noticed how he sighed lightly- Kyoya was right! Arai had been planning to dig into Kyoya's secrets! And pry at his weaknesses! Kyoya had won, he had been so smart to not open up to the common boy! He had to congratulate himself on that at least, he had one talent, if nothing else. He sighed slightly at that, realising his conclusion meant that no one on the council was even genuinely nice. So he sat there, eyes just focusing on whoever was speaking at the time, whoever was calling him a slur at any given moment… oh, his door had opened.

He glanced over to the entrance to his room, noticing Yuuichi standing there, looking entirely concerned. His brother glanced at his laptop, his frown deepening, "who just called you that?" Uh oh.

Everyone in the meeting had heard it, and most knew Yuuichi by his voice, and knew to be afraid- even the few that didn't, had enough sense to stay silent. Yuuichi walked over, taking the laptop from Kyoya's bed, looking at the screen. Kyoya silently watched in horror as his brother slowly looked at the members of his council, recognising them one by one- he looked extremely surprised to see… Eclair, Kyoya had to assume. Then Yuuichi's eyes landed on Arai, and he spoke his first words since entering the room, "what the… is that a commoner?" Kyoya nodded when Yuuichi glanced at him, staying completely silent as he processed this fact.

"What kind of strange gathering is happening here?" Yuuichi didn't seem to understand what was going on in the slightest, Kyoya was glad of that. But as Yuuichi sat down on the bed next to Kyoya, the laptop on his lap, the council began to speak.

Eclair spoke first, with a polite but clearly forced chuckle, "bonjour monsieur Ootori, I don't believe we've spoken properly yet?"

"Please," Yuuichi's smile was also faked, "call me Yuuichi."

She nodded, "Yuuichi, I don't believe you need to worry about this little meeting, your baby brother is awfully good at arranging things isn't he?" God, she was hiding her insults in complements now, as if Kyoya couldn't hate this woman anymore then she already did.

Yuuichi's face lit up at that, pulling Kyoya close to him, "oh you're right! He is so good at planning and organising, you should've seen the rigorous routines he used to map out when he was younger, he had a schedule for playtime!" He laughed, not realising how humiliating this would be for Kyoya, "he'll always be my sweet little baby brother, even if he's grown up a lot since then."

Chika let out a snort at that, causing Yuuichi to frown again, "why is there a toddler in this call?" It was incredibly rewarding to watch Chika splutter and explain that he's a middle schooler, as if Yuuichi wasn't fully aware exactly who he was. But the boy's laughter had reminded Yuuichi of what he'd heard, "so, which one of you did I hear call my brother a slur?" There was complete silence on the other end of the line.

Kyoya looked up at Yuuichi, frowning, he gently pinched his brother's arm, not wanting to draw attention to himself but also really wanting Yuuichi to stop it. Yuuichi glanced at him the moment he felt the pinch, smiling softly, he let Kyoya take the laptop from him, though frowned at that. "Alright everyone," Kyoya made sure to keep his voice level, smiling politely to the council, "I apologize for the interruption and I'm afraid we'll have to cut our meeting a little short, please ruminate on what we've discussed today and I hope to speak with you again soon, that will be all," and without letting anyone else get a word in edgeways, he ended the call, slamming his laptop shut and headbutting his brother in the chest fairly hard, just resting their for a moment.

"Kyoya…" Yuuichi had uttered softly, placing a gentle hand on Kyoya's head, playing with his hair, "why did you do that? You know I'd have stood up for you."

"Humiliate me is what you did." Kyoya's words were spat out, quite aggressively, but Kyoya only got so aggressive when he was close to tears, and Yuuichi knew this, and Kyoya knew that he knew, "you always fucking show me up, I don't need you to come to my rescue…"

These words must hurt his brother deeply, Kyoya knew that, but frankly, he didn't care, not right now at least. He had his own feelings, ones that were hurt a hell of a lot more than his silly little words could ever harm his brother, tears filled his eyes, already dangerously close to spilling over. Yuuichi didn't respond, at least not verbally- he gently picked Kyoya up, still swaddled in all those blankets, and he cradled him on his knee, just like he did when Kyoya was a baby…

Kyoya hated to admit it, but this did genuinely make him feel better- he felt so, so stupid for it, but being held by his older brother like that was actually so comforting, and Kyoya wasn't exactly sure why. Yuuichi gently shushed him, even though Kyoya hadn't made any noise, and just began to rock him gently. It wasn't as effective as when Kyoya was tiny, but it was still oddly comforting… like laying on a pool floaty and taking a nap.

After a while, Yuuichi gently put Kyoya down, frowning slightly, "can you tell me why you were talking with those people? I know you've been more social in highschool, but you actively hate some of those people."

Kyoya had sighed, really not wanting to have to admit to anything, so he attempted to lie his way through it. "Well I… it's a mutually beneficial alliance, personal opinions aren't a part of the equation. You of all people should know not to involve emotions in business."

"Kyoya, you're seventeen, you don't have any business to attend to," Yuuichi sighed, before reaching out and ruffling Kyoya's hair, "you should be paying attention to your feelings, you're at the age where you need to be fighting for your happiness." He smiled a little, that friendly, overly soft smile, that Kyoya knew meant he was about to get nosey, "I heard you had a day out yesterday, did you have fun?"

Now, Kyoya usually hated it when his siblings tried to pry into his private life, but Yuuichi was giving him a chance to talk about the wonderful day he'd had yesterday, and Kyoya couldn't help but to smile. "Well myself and Tamaki went to a little commoner-ran store to order custom food platter, because Tamaki wanted to do a theme based on commoner foods, and then-"

"Do you enjoy regular food then?"

"Huh?" Kyoya paused, looking up at Yuuichi in confusion, "what do you mean? We aren't talking about regular food, we're talking about commoner food?"

His brother had laughed at him, and Kyoya didn't quite understand why, "come on Kyoya, you're smarter than that- think about it for like, two seconds." But Kyoya still didn't understand, why would regular food be- oh.

"Oh. Oh dear, it seems I spend too much time around the others." He glances down in shame, having just embarrassed himself in front of his brother like that, he was just glad it was Yuuichi and not Akito- Akito would have just laughed.

Yuuichi, however, only chuckled a little, pulling Kyoya in and ruffling his hair even further, "Nothing wrong with having friends, even if you do pick up strange habits from them. Either way, do you like regular food then?"

Kyoya just hesitantly nodded, remembering yesterday's lunch, and that one time Haruhi bought him a burger. He wasn't sure why Yuuichi had asked him that, what use could that information be to him? His brother had smiled at him, clearly liking that reacting, then he glanced down at the untouched tray of food.

"How about we go grab some fast food for dinner? You don't seem too keen on lunch so we'll go early, how about five?" Kyoya was caught off guard by this- Yuuichi actively wanted to spend time with him? He hadn't just written the note to be nice? He was silent, just staring up at Yuuichi in silence. "What'd you say, Kyo? Wanna hang out with your big bro?"

Kyoya just quietly nodded, not smiling or even speaking, he was just- he didn't even know why Yuuichi wanted to hang out with him, didn't his brother have more important things to do? It seemed that Yuuichi had noticed his confusion, putting a gentle hand on Kyoya's shoulder.

"Kyoya, you're my baby brother and you're clearly going through something right now… Fiyumi told me there are fresh scars, please understand that I care about you, people care about you."

Oh. He'd been told about the scars, of course he had, why else would he be here? Kyoya had genuinely felt hope, that- for just a second, he thought his big brother actually wanted to hang out with him… he felt even worse then he had before. He hated being pitied, more than anything. But he couldn't tell Yuuichi how he felt, he knew his brother would never admit the pity. So he just smiled, nodding, making sure to appear to be the innocent child he knew his brother saw him as. Yuuichi seemed satisfied by this, smiling back and ruffling Kyoya's hair one last time before leaving the room, leaving Kyoya in an uncomfortable silence.

His phone was buzzing, he didn't need to check it to know it was the council, likely mocking him further. He just grabbed his blankets, wrapping them around himself again and flopping down on the bed, face in his pillow for a moment before he sighed and rested the side of his head on the pillow, looking over across the room and out the window. Kyoya hated the silence, he used silence to study, he used silence to cry, he only sat in silence when he was in pain- so he hated it. So he reached over to his phone, planning to just put some quiet music on- but he saw the notification sitting on his lockscreen, and he froze.

Woman: Yes of course, and he needs to hide behind his family all the time, he's barely a person without his name.

They were still talking about him, it hurt more that they were right; he did hide behind his surname too much, but it was all he had. He thought about how Fiyumi had helped him yesterday, how, even today, Yuuichi had come to his defence even without being asked, and had proceeded to promise to spend time with him… even Akito had been calling and texting him lately. It all felt so wrong, it was like he was a toddler again, he felt so babies, so protected. Eclair was right, he didn't exist without them right behind him- he certainly wouldn't be alive… if Fiyumi hadn't helped him with all those scars, even finding him after the first time it happened… he assumed he'd have gotten much worse, much sooner.

When he spent time with his siblings, it often made the bad thought disappear- so was that all he was without them? Was that who Kyoya was? Just an unstable bundle of bad thoughts? His fingers found his scars again, and he slowly traced over them, not daring to look… he was going to spend time with Yuuichi soon, he couldn't do that… but he wanted to, oh he was so tempted. He opened up the group chat, he could hurt himself in easier, less evident ways.

Child: He's a fucking wierdo, all those idiots my brother hangs out with are.

Woman#2: It's like, the only reason anyone even listens to, or pretends to care about him is because of who his father is.

Woman: Oh you don't know the half of it, he literally shows off his father's police force at any chance he gets.

He thinks being powerful is a personality trait.

Woman#2: I don't even know why they let him stay in the club, he doesn't even do any actual hosting.

Sorcerer: It's because Souh-san can't do maths.

Child: Lmao the guy he loves is using him, fucking ironic

Peasant: i think its sad…

Woman: Sad? It's fucking pathetic is what it is.

Kyoya promptly closed the group chat, feeling tears biting his eyes. He really, truly, desperately wanted to text Tamaki- to just ask if that was true. He knew it wasn't, he knew it, made no sense for it to be true… but that didn't stop it from hurting. His phone buzzed again, and Kyoya reacted with rage, tossing the thing across his bedroom, and curling up into a ball. Sure, he hated himself, and reason didn't really come into the equation at this point- but logic was Kyoya's best… and only quality, so he had to reason that bothering Tamaki, or anyone for that matter, would only serve to make himself look stupid, or crazy, or something to that degree.

He was still sitting in silence, and he didn't really want to get up in order to grab his phone. He wished he had one of those smart home things like the twins had, but his father considered them spyware- even if the house was already covered in cameras and microphones. Kyoya just lay there, maybe it wouldn't be silent if he was crying, but he couldn't cry… at least not like normal people. He was always silent in his sadness, tears running down his cheeks, he hated crying… it just reminded him how he wasn't normal, how he was broken- unemotional. He used to be proud of his silence when he was younger, he wasn't loud nor a bother like other children, he didn't scream or throw tantrums, he just sat quietly, getting on with his studies.

He had trained himself to be silent, thinking he'd be loved more, if he was quieter, more productive. Now that was all he was worth, it seemed he'd dug his own grave… he wasn't sure if he wanted to lay in it- death sounded wonderful, but he was terrified of leaving the people he cares about. He just lay there, he lay there… he stayed there for hours, just quietly crying- but then he got too tired to cry, and he felt quite thirsty, but he didn't want to move, so he lay there uncomfortably, staring into the middle distance.

[oswaldsirius]

Smoke and Mirrors

Day Two

Pairing: Leonardo/Arabella

Word Count: 1906

-

           “We can go home if you like.”

           Looking away from the attraction in front of them, Leonardo gave Arabella a smile. “After all the effort you went to to come here?” he asked lightly.

           “It isn’t worth it if you don’t enjoy it as well,” she said.

           He caught her hand and chuckled when she quickly pulled it away. “Scusa. Forgot. Should get going before the line gets too long.” Before there were too many people to see through her disguise.

           She nodded and walked with him, but he couldn’t help throwing glances at her. He’d never seen her in trousers before-where had she even gotten them on such short notice?-but he doubted anyone was going to believe that ass belonged to a young man. Even with her coat hiding most of it, she was unmistakably a woman. Or maybe that was because he was well acquainted with that part of her.

           His gaze skipped over the rest of her; the vest, button down and scarf all strategically placed to mask her breasts where the corset couldn’t quite manage. He’d seen the contraption when she put it on, meant to restrict rather than support, and he’d asked if she was going to need a massage after how tightly it was holding her. She hadn’t said no even if she’d rolled her eyes at him so he had hope for the rest of their evening. Sturdy boots that those wicked trousers went into and a newsboy cap containing all of her curls but the tips of them finished the look. It was an elaborate set of hoops she’d jumped through to create this smokescreen around her. “You want to go in that bad?” he muttered.

           Arabella glanced at him. “Mostly because they said I couldn’t.”

           He shook his head at her, fingering the pack of smokes in his pocket. They’d all heard about the mirrored maze and none of them had missed her pout at the declaration that the ‘truths revealed within were too much for the fair ladies to handle’. His Bella, stubborn, modern creature that she was, had hatched this scheme-most likely helped along by Arthur-to get her inside and roped him into it.

           “Keep quiet,” he said as they approached the ticket vendor, “and keep your hands in your pockets.” There was too much about her that gave away the fact that she was a her and not a him. He could play his part well enough, lean on people just enough if they had minor slips, but he’d rather not have to deal with anything major.

           She quickly followed his instructions, ducking her head a little.

           Leonardo wanted to sigh. The things he did for his love…. Catching the vendor’s gaze, he held up two fingers. He made a noise as they started to look at Arabella, pulling them back to him. “Don’t mind the boy,” he said, smiling. “He’s shy.”

           The vendor laughed. “Sure you want to take him in then?” he asked. “It isn’t for the faint of heart in there.”

           “We’ll be fine,” Leonardo assured him, paying for the tickets.

           “Your money,” the man said with a shrug.

           He took the tickets and walked away, knowing she would follow. “Last chance,” he said. “Still want to go in? We could go find a nice place alone for us instead?”

           Arabella grunted softly from behind him.

           How was that cute? How had she made that cute? She wasn’t good for his heart. He told himself not to react and they approached the entrance. “Me and that one,” he said, gesturing at her.

           “Oi, lift your face, son. Look at us.”

           He didn’t need to look to know she’d stiffened, worried they were going to be found out. “You don’t need to see his face,” Leonardo said firmly.

           “Yeah, we do. Had some birds trying to sneak in already and-”

           Catching the man’s arm as he reached out for Arabella, Leonardo held his gaze. “No. You don’t.”

           The other man trembled as the suggestion wound through him. “Right,” he said slowly. “Go on in.”

           Leonardo waved shortly and let her go in before him. “Grazie,” he murmured, following her.

           “It’s always strange to see you do that to someone else,” she said softly once they were beyond earshot.

           He hummed. “I don’t do it to you.” He gave up waiting and lit a cigarillo. The brief flare of the match lit up the dark hallway they were walking through and the first inhale soothed the tension in his chest.

           “Yes you do.”

           “…Not like that I don’t,” he corrected. “And I try not to.”

           Her hand brushed his, her fingers briefly curling into his. “I know. But you still do it.”

           He hooked his little finger around hers, squeezing it for a moment, before slipping away as they stepped into lantern light. “There are just mirrors,” he muttered, looking around.

           “Not really scary,” she agreed.

           He wasn’t so sure of that. His reflection never changed, never waivered, never altered. Hadn’t for centuries before and wouldn’t for centuries to come. Some would find that horrifying. His gaze turned to her in the mirror, watching as she looked around. They hadn’t been together a year yet, not even close, and-

           Arabella’s gaze met his in the mirror and she smiled. “Come on, Leonardo. Let’s see the spooky mirror maze.”

           He nodded, absently blowing out smoke as he followed. He’d only brought one pack with him but if his thoughts lingered on things like that and this maze was overly long, it wouldn’t be enough.

           The mirrors warped as they went on, distorting their figures to a laughable degree and she did giggle, making faces at the mirror. Her amusement soothed him as much as the tobacco and he followed her a little more willingly, focusing on her and not himself.

           “Victorian ladies are too soft if a blurry reflection is too much for their hearts,” she muttered, twisting in front of a mirror that was doing interesting things to her curves.

           “Or the idioti out front don’t know women.”

           She gave him a grin and kept going.

           He followed, keeping his eyes on her. The maze wasn’t all that fascinating to him. Her reactions were more interesting any day and-He heard the rattling too late. “Bella!”

           She turned to look at him, eyes wide, before he lost sight of her as a mirrored panel slammed down between them. “Leonardo!”

           Gritting his teeth, he felt around the edges of it. He could lift it, could break it easily enough but doing so would expose them a little more than he cared to. “We’ll need to go on separately and meet up later,” he said.

           “O-Oh.”

           His heart lurched. Was she scared now that she was alone? “Bella, you’re the bravest person I know,” he said calmly, wanting nothing more than to soothe her fears. “You can get through this silly maze.”

           “R-Right.”

           “I’ll find you soon,” he promised.

           There was a small pause and he heard her inhale deeply. “You always do.”

           He always did. Closing his eyes for a moment, Leonardo listened as she moved forward before he went looking for his own path. It was harder to find, masked by all the strange mirrors, but he did find it. But judging by how this building was set up it was taking him in the opposite direction of her.

           The mirrors were taunting him now that he was alone, twisting his visage into monstrous shapes. He knew it was a trick of the glass and the lights, designed to frighten…or perhaps show what lay beneath the thin veneer of civility that was presented to the world. He liked to think he was a good man, trying to do good things, but the reflection looking back at him was that of a monster that had no thoughts for anything good.

           Almost have it right, he thought sourly at his reflections. They almost captured what being an immortal was. Nothing more than a monster hiding among the common folk.

           Stop.

           He exhaled slowly, lighting another cigarillo. She wasn’t here but he knew it was her voice in his mind. She always pulled him out of the mire his thoughts took him to if he wasn’t careful. She always pulled him back and reminded him of the good, of the now, of their love.

           Glancing around, he wondered if that was the true meaning of this place. Showing how desperate a person could get, how quickly they could succumb when they found themselves alone.

           Picking up his pace, Leonardo swore under his breath as the mirrors led him in circles and to dead ends he nearly smacked into. There were more tricks in here than he had expected. He fought his own irritation with the place, mapping it out in his head from his look on the outside. It was only so big and there were only so many ways to go. He was starting to think that he’d gotten the ‘scary’ route and that she had probably passed through mostly unscathed. Getting out and finding her was what mattered.

           He caught a hint of fresh air, his pace quickening as he saw a door. He paused as he reached it, feeling cool night air rushing through it. If this led out, did the two paths not meet up again? Had she found her way out yet? Well, he’d find his way in again if she hadn’t.

           Leonardo pushed the door open and stepped back into the night. She was smart and brave, his Bella, she had surely made it out before him as he’d wandered between mirrors. She was-there! He spotted her under a lamp across the street, scanning the back of the house.

           There was no way to miss her visibly relaxing when she saw him. He went to her quickly and took her arm without saying anything. “I’m sorry we went in there,” she said softly as he led her away, glancing up at his face.

           He shook his head and traced their steps back to the carriage. Once they were inside, he hauled her into his lap and held her tightly.

           “Was it bad?” she whispered.

           “Saw things I’d rather not,” he muttered, pulling in her sweet scent and shoving everything else away. She mattered. They mattered. What they had mattered more than anything else to him, more than what monster was lurking beneath his skin.

           “I’m sorry, Leonardo.”

           He shook his head and lifted her chin as he pushed out the last of those thoughts. She was back in his arms and he was going to continue being that good man with her. “Wasn’t all bad, yeah? You look good in those trousers.”

           She studied him for a moment, knowing exactly what he was doing, but she smiled and kissed him slowly. “I can wear them again for you if you like,” she offered. “Maybe for just the two of us some time?”

           “You can keep them on when we get home. For a while.”

           She laughed softly and nodded, kissing him again.

           His arms tightened around her. He could admit to himself that it would probably be a while before he let her go too far from him. He’d spend all night convincing her it was because of the trousers and not anything else. But he knew his Bella would see through him no matter how he tried to distract her.

[earthafromearth]

Fanfic | Cook a Goat Lamb With the Goat's Mother's Milk 1/3

AO3：https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343103/chapters/55920346

yes i translate my own work just because i know there gotta be more people still want to read some fanfic about those two and I want to make friends, okay? basically any feedback is highly welcomed

and of course im not an english native speaker

so... you know... there maybe some serious English mistake and typo

i cant even type Chinese right for god sake.....

Adolescence was as annoying as that board whose makeup was so heavy that seemed to make her impossible to get up from Charlie’s lap.

Meyer was lying motionless on the bed. He took a deep breath. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, the room filled with that rotten smell of stale beans. The sunlight outside the window was dazzling but without any bit of warm. Meyer pressed his arm against his eyes, hard enough to cause his eye sockets hurt, seeing some scattered sparkles in the dark behind his eyelids.

He had dreamed of Sicily. The window leaked, making every pore in his arm shrank tightly and dry, but the sheet was still moist on Meyer's lower abdomen. Meyer's Sicily was a total fake. He had never been exposed to Italian’s hot sun, New York's sun never brought any bit of heat with it, especially in winter. He had never experienced sweat flowed down his spine into the pants, maybe he should go to Cuba later and get some sun. But Charlie was real, Charlie whose hair was wet with sweat and clung to his forehead; Charlie whose whole upper body naked ,vest throwing on his shoulders causally; Charlie whose belly is tight and soft at the same time; Charlie whose pants hanging loosely on his buttocks ; Charlie, who tasted like lucky strikes but more salty … …Charlie could be real, but Charlie who bit Meyer's throat could not be real. A teenage wet dream. Meyer hated adolescence.

"Mey, are you alright? " Meyer heard his mother's voice and sat up quickly. But before he could shake his head, Jake rushed into the room. "Meyer wet his bed!" Shouted that little bustard. His mother blushed faster than Meyer himself. "Charlie want me to see him later." Meyer said, holding the quilt in a pile and putting it in the large basket filled with dirty clothes of the whole family. If mother noticed that he had purposely straightened his arms and put the sheet deliberately in front of his thighs, neither of them say a thing.

Adolescence made the streets of New York even more noisy, and the woman standing at the alley would wink at Meyer as he passed by, as if she could see through Meyer's wet dream at a glance, while Meyer just happened to notice, really accidentally, that the woman's shabby skirt was folded up and smashed into her underwear. The desire was being hit by a truck head-on, and all of a sudden, his pants seemed to be one size smaller, wrapped around his thighs. He lowered his head slightly and looked at himself, taking each step with extreme cautious, heels landed first then the toes, body moving forward with the toes, walking like a normal person, but he knew he had been founded out.

Meyer should have told Benny that he had seen Charlie dined with a woman at that Italian restaurant a week ago. Those two sitting in the corner of the window, and the woman was leaning her legs to Charlie’s under the table, and her toes were touching Charlie's calf bones again and again. He should have told Benny, so that Benny would chase Charlie over and over until Charlie told him all about it, then Meyer would have known who that woman was, "just a broad." Meyer also knew Charlie would say that. But Meyer didn't say a word to Benny. He just stood quietly across the street and a glass window. He stood there and stare quietly for a moment until he caught himself and hurried away, like a normal person.

Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was also a whore who would stand at the alley and show her thighs. Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was a hot mother of someone bets on their dice, or maybe Charlie was like him, just wanting a head from that woman, touching up and down on that smooth thighs. And that woman would cover Charlie's hand with her skirt. He refused to think about what Charlie would look like at that moment, but he knew at heart that Charlie would hold the woman's ass, hugging her and reaching into her underwear. Meyer wasn't just hit by the truck head-on. He was run over by the truck alive, his flesh felling to the ground, unable to save himself and had to wait for death. Desire was becoming more and more violent.

The hat shop Charlie was working for had a "rest" sign on the door, and Meyer stood still in front of it. He dragged his jacket down, picking up the body crushed by the truck with his bare hands, pieced together a decent body again, and pushed in the door.

"In the back!" Meyer heard Charlie's voice coming from the storeroom. As he walked in, he picked up the cigarette and the match Charlie had thrown on the counter. The door to the storage room was half closed, and the dim light leaked out of the crack. Meyer stepped between the light and shadow cast on the floor. He put the lucky strike it in his mouth, but as soon as he struck the match, Charlie pushed the door open and the fire went out.

Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie wasn't wearing his blazer, and his trousers' straps were pulling. Although he didn't roll up his sleeves, he unfastened the cuffs, exposing a section of his wrists, and his carpal was just there, easy to reach. Meyer lowered his head, lighting another match, guarding it with his other hand to lit the cigarette. He took a full puff and let the smoke float out of his nose. Even if Charlie knew that Meyer was delaying his time, he just waited quietly. However, even if he didn't say a word, he couldn't be still. He swayed back and forth, raised his chin slightly and looked behind Meyer.

One side of the hat shop was neatly arranged with men's top hats with little difference in style, and the other side was colorful female hats. On the back wall, facing the door, several popular hats were displayed. Charlie took a low-eave newsboy cap and put it on his head, suppressing most of the curly hair that took a lot of work to tame. Meyer blinked; the lining of the hat must have been stained with Charlie's hair gel. This is the patience of the Italians, superficial efforts which would only cause more trouble.

Meyer caught himself again staring at Charlie's face half blocked by his hat. Charlie was older than Meyer, but still had a little baby fat on his face. That somehow made his cheekbones a little more obvious. He looked like a cub, but the reality was that the fangs had already grown. You think he was cute, however, the moment you reached to him, he would twist his head and bite you so hard you would scream until you lost your voice It wasn't until Charlie took Meyer’s arm and pulled him into the room and the smoke ashes fell on Meyer's hand, he suddenly came back to reality. But the smoke had already fallen to the ground. Fuck.

"Something happened to the joint?" His voice was a little husky. He just smoked too hard. That had to be it.

"There gotta have a problem? I can't ..." Charlie pushed Meyer in front of him. "Just want to have a late lunch with you?"

The storage room had been originally well-organized. Rows of hat boxes had been piled up like rows of walls. Between each row there had been a line of empty space just enough for one person to walk through. Now all the boxes were pushed together, tightly close to the wall. Many boxes protruded or inserted obliquely. However, there were several boxes neatly piled in the middle of the vacated field, like a small coffee table, and there were a few kraft paper bags on it. Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie was like a kid squatted next to the Christmas tree, couldn’t help but laughing slyly, waiting for others to open their gifts. Meyer took the bags with different trademarks on it, opening them one by one. Cheese buns, bacon, pickles … … he took out the food and put it on the top of the boxes. Out of the corner of Meyer’s eyes, Charlie smiled like a weasel who had caught the mouse. Meyer took a deep breath and folded the paper bag, neatly lowering it along the edge of the boxes.

Meyer could be seen by whoever was dealing with them as a child whose hair hadn’t grown; he could be seen by a neighbor as a rogue kid who doesn't learn well; and he could even be seen as a shop seconder who could be bullied at will, but he was not Charlie’s prey, the mouse in the weasel's mouth He just was not.

He knew that Charlie wouldn't invite others to dinner for no reason, because he was just like Meyer in his bones and heart. So, what was all this about? I asked you to a fine dinner together so later you would go to a cheap hotel with me?

"It's all kosher." Charlie put a hand on Meyer's shoulder and walked to Meyer's side. He grabbed the cheese from the hat box, and weighed the rectangular bars wrapped in foil in his hand. "Good stuff from uptown." Meyer turned to look at Charlie, and Charlie was smiling so wide that his canine teeth appeared. "Where did you get the money to go uptown and buy food like those?" He heard his voice without a trace of undulation, but Charlie still smiled as if he had secretly hidden lump sugar under his tongue. "I'm good at bargaining.” Charlie threw the cheese on the table, as if it was a hammer from the auction house. Once the hammer is downed, the deal is done.

Meyer squeezed his lips tightly, and Charlie's hand on his shoulders kept him warm for most of his body, as if he was basking in the Sicilian sun. He twisted, and fled stiffly from Charlie to the other side of the table. "You and I both know how you are good at bargaining," he said dryly. He tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but Charlie refused to let him go. He walked to Meyer again, grabbing Meyer's shoulders with both hands, looking down at Meyer, putting Meyer under the newsboy hat he was sneaking on his head. Damn Italian. "What's wrong?" Charlie's hands moved to the sides of Meyer's neck, and Meyer had to raise his head. "Tell me what's wrong, little man, it can't be because of that pile of food."

"You can't cook goat lambs with goat's mother's milk." Meyer whispered, slowing down every byte, as if teaching a baby to speak.

"Meyer." Meyer could feel Charlie holding him harder. It was a warning, a question, and it was Charlie's finger that struck Meyer's skin. Charlie leaned on a fruit tree. The air in Sicily was filled with the sweet smell of citrus and lemon after maturity. He grabbed Meyer's arm and arched his back slightly to lick Meyer's neck and shoulder, exactly where Charlie was holding him now. Meyer didn't know if he was really trembling, but he was trying hard to restrain himself and make him look like a decent businessman, not a stinky boy whose nerves were immersed in hormones. He breathed hard and slowly, taking a small step away carefully. This time, Charlie let go. Although New York is not as cold as Grodno, who had been exposed to a Sicilian’s sun would of course be spoiled.

"I saw you dining with a woman in that Italian restaurant of Masseria." Meyer said fiercely of the word Masseria, but Masseria was not the reason for everything, the name was nothing but said along the way. That’s only Meyer's futile struggle. Meyer knew, obviously Charlie knew as well.

Charlie left out a laugh, and Meyer glared at him. "Little man!" Charlie bent down and patted Meyer's face with his arms stretched out. "It's just a broad, what's the big deal?" Charlie's answer was exactly what Meyer had thought, Meyer knew Charlie, with his eyes closed, his would know where Charlie would go next, which is the worst of adolescent fucking agitation.

Charlie's words were more of an insult than a refusal. Meyer wasn't a captured prey. Meyer wasn't a prostitute standing on the street, bored and playing with her fingers, and Meyer wasn't a cheap whore for Charlie to dine at a fake but fancy restaurant. And now they were in the storage room of a hat shop without even a decent table.

Charlie was still waiting for Meyer's response. Meyer had rushed over. He bumped into Charlie with his shoulders. Charlie was slammed backwards and hit the piled hat boxes. The top boxes fell off, as well as the newsboy hat Charlie wore. The newsboy cap fell on the ground and was covered with a layer of gray ashes. Meyer knew that Charlie would be scolded for this, and Charlie couldn't do anything except to admit it. Good.

Charlie stood up against the boxes behind him. His hair was completely messed up, curled up next to the temple. He arched his shoulders, arms behind him. He was calculating whether to attack or retreat, counterattack or let the matter go. Meyer didn't want to let it go, so he pushed Charlie again. Charlie got to firmly grasp Meyer’s arm this time, Meyer raised his knee and kicked it against Charlie's stomach fiercely. his calf was crippled over Charlie's thigh. Charlie snorted painfully, "Fuck." He heard Charlie scold, and was thrown to the ground almost at the same time. Meyer's back was on the concrete floor tears accumulate in the corners of his eyes, and the hat on the ground deformed in his afterglow. He suddenly wanted to laugh. Charlie's knees rested besides Meyer’s thighs; Meyer's wrists were firmly grasped. Charlie pressed him to the ground, the back of Meyer’s knuckles shattered on the cold ground. "What is this all about? Just because I took a girl to dinner? Didn't I have dinner with you all the time? On your Jewish street!"

"I won't step on your fucking crotch with my feet under the table!" Meyer lifted himself up, but Charlie just pushed him back again.

"Aren’t I sure of that? You just gave me a fucking punch! All because I specially grabbed something nice for you!"

"Fuck you, Luciano!"

This time was Charlie who laughed, short like he choked a mouthful of water. He released Meyer's wrist first. Meyer rubbed the back of his swollen hand. After Charlie saw that Meyer didn't plan to give him another punch, he jumped up to the other side of the room. Meyer sat up on the same spot but didn't stand up. He held his knees to his chest and curled up into a small group on the ground like a child. Charlie turned his back to him, muttering something in Italian, patting his pockets for his cigarette. Meyer took out his own and threw it towards Charlie's back. The cigarette case fell at Charlie's feet. Charlie picked it up, popping one in his mouth, and walked back to sit next to Meyer. "It is not that easy." He handed the cigarette to Meyer. Meyer raised his eyes and waited for him to continue, "You're different, do you understand?" Meyer understands, but at the same time he didn’t understand at all.

"Fuck, I even don't have to tip when I go to Massaria’s little restaurant." They took turns and the cigarette was smoked to its butt. Charlie threw it on the ground and pick another one, "Massaria thinks I'm the next golden boy or some shit." Meyer heard a smirk and said, "Yeah, fuck those old farts!" Charlie finished. He lay down on the ground, picked up the dirty newsboy hat, and nudged it into his chest, but he just pressed the dirt deeper into the texture of the hat, "Fuck." He cursed and clasped the hat on Meyer's head, Meyer immediately grabbed it and threw it out.

"Dairy products are not supposed to be eaten with meat in Judaism." Meyer said quietly. Charlie propped himself up with his elbow. "You can't cook goat lamb with the milk of a goat's mother." Meyer repeated his words before, Charlie hummed, "Then eat the pickles, like I give a fuck."

"You do not give a fuck?"

"Look, I'm only getting these foods because you're Jewish, and I don't give an honest shit about whatever nonsense they say in that book of yours. That book is as thick as a brick, you know." Charlie touched Meyer with his shoulder. Meyer used the half-burned cigarette butt to put on a new one. "I don't care about the shit rules that godfathers or bosses have to follow. I know what I can do. That good enough for me," Charlie snatched the cigarette from Meyer. All of a sudden, no one speak. Meyer heard what Charlie said and his brain just refuse to work.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?” That’s all Charlie can wait,” Or, we could eat ……”

"You fucking dago!" Meyer cursed, grabbing Charlie's collar and dragging him to himself. "Hey! Where did that come from? I didn’t even call you a Kike!."

TBC

[wtfrace]

a lapse of judgement— chapter one, racetrack higgins.

in which rosie lewis is all of a sudden very flustered around her roommate, racetrack higgins— and has absolutly no idea what to do about it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

rosie lewis must have been on something last august. something that must have desparatley lapsed her common sense— otherwise there was no explanation for how she ended up living in a sub-par apartment with three chaotic boys.

she had just started her sophomore year of college, and after two of her roommates transferred to another school a state over, she was desperate for either help with rent, or a place to move in. she had put out an ad on craigslist, as well as several flyers around campus, and waited anxiously for a reply. it came in the form of an email from someone named albert desilva. the message had begun with okay this is a long shot, and had more or less gone down hill from there.

the boy had then explained that he, and two of his friends, had been kicked out of their shared house off campus (under circumstances that were absolutly not our fault, please don’t let that lapse your judgment) and they were looking for a decent place to stay. here comes the part that made rosie think she absolutly had to be smoking something at the time— because she said yes.

now, a year and a half later— she was living in a decently large, very messy, apartment with albert desilva, antonio, racetrack, higgins, and elmer kasprzak.

now, don’t think for a moment that rosie didn’t adore those boys. at first she had been hesitant towards their loud & boyish personality’s, but now she wasn’t sure how she had ever lived without them in her life. they were as messy as her, and usually pretty annoying— but above all that they were caring & considerate & really good at making her smile. living with them had come with perks, including but not limited to almost free takeout (via elmer’s job at the italian place a few blocks away), exposure to the best movies she had ever seen thus far (via albert’s excellent taste) and rarely wavering emotional support (via race’s general personality).

so it definitely wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy living with them— moreover that occasionally it made it hard to do simple things. last month, they had sat down to figure out bills together, but had become distracted half way through by a new episode of criminal minds. a few days after that they tried to do it again, and ended up following race to the roof to see what he claimed was “a giant garfield balloon” (which there was, but still.) now, as rosie tried to complete the simple task of creating a grocery list— she found herself overwhelmingly distracted.

“in conclusion,” elmer said assuredly, “turning race’s bedroom into a vegetable garden would be only profitable to the over-all wellbeing & financial structure of our group.” rosie looked up for the first time during his spiel, continuing to write vegan mac & cheese (cheap kind) as she did, and gave him a pointed look.

“and in this made-up situation, where exactly would race be living?” she asked, glancing at the tall boy that was currently trying to see how many of albert’s textbooks he could balance on his head.

“well, race is statistically the least useful person in this apartment. we could kick him out, or just make him sleep on a mattress on the fire escape.” elmer said dismissively, mostly joking but also a little serious.

“el, we aren’t kicking race out so you can overtake another room with your herbs & dahlia’s.” rosie said, a small smile on her face as she glanced pointedly at the not one, but three pots placed on top of the cabinets (so high that it took two people to water them, one with the watering can, and one holding a rickety step-stool.)

“aw, that’s sweet flower, you care about my wellbeing.” race said cheesily, dropping the books back onto the kitchen table & pinching her cheek. this brings us to what had been distracting her the most. all day she had been weird around race. he was an unusually touchy person, but rosie has grown so used to it she barely noticed— except for today. all of a sudden every touch sent her face heating up & her heart plummeting. it was the strangest thing she had experienced in a while, and it was beginning to make it difficult to be in the same room as him. now though, she was determined to finish her grocery list, and ignored the stir in her stomach to shoo him away with her pen.

“more like your rent, racer.” albert said, yawning as he joined them in the kitchen. “wanna watch interstellar with me, rosie?”

“no! i’m determined to get this done this weekend, and it’s sunday and i’ve barely finished a list of what we need.” rosie exclaimed, “the only thing in the fridge right now is elmer’s prized wonka-bar, and three half finished arizona ice teas. so if you don’t want to starve— help, or leave.” albert and elmer shared nervous glances, and simultaneously exited the room. rosie was very rarely angry or annoyed, but when she was, she was a force to be reckoned with. talk about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

but, to rosie’s great dismay, while those two left, race chose to stuck around.

“i can see you’re frustrated, rosie— and i assure you, we won’t leave this room ‘til your list is finished!” race said, sliding into the bar-stool next to her. great, just what she needed.

“c’mon race, be serious.” a statement equivalent to asking a penguin to be a giraffe.

“hey— serious is my middle name, doll!” rosie screwed up her face, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating rapidly at that comment. she was beginning to tire of whatever new variable was causing her body to go into SOS mode when she was around him.

“you sound like a newsboy from 1899 when you call me that.” she said, eyebrows raised impertinently, and cheeks dusted with red. oddly specific, but completely accurate. race grinned back at rosie, stealing the list from in front of her, and sliding the stool closer to her so their elbows were touching.

“there’s a soar lack of ninja turtle fruit snacks on here.” race said, then stealing the pen from between her fingers to scribble down a few words across the sheet of paper. it was going to be a long night.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it took rosie the rest of the night to figure out what was bothering her.

after race had enthusiastically helped with the grocery list, he had been insistent on accompanying her to the store a few blocks away. the walk had felt a little better— the cool march air refreshed rosie a little, and she had settled into normal conversation with race (the downfalls of dunkirk, and the proper rating of 17th century artists.) they walked side by side, both with smiles on their faces, through the ever-crowded streets of greenwich village.

they got to the grocers at around 7, just as the sun was beginning to set, and rosie was thinking that maybe she had a temporary lapse in judgement earlier, seeing as she didn’t feel anything looking at race now. and then, he had blown her theory clear out of exsistence, when he easily scooped her into his arms, and deposited her into a shopping cart. rosie could feel her entire body flush red, as she gaped slightly at the taller boy. her stomach was doing a gymnastics routine not unlike elmer if you got him drunk enough, and race was grinning adorably like it was the most normal thing in the world.

still though, she had no idea what was causing her so much tribulation. until the canned foods section.

race had been unwilling to help rosie out of the cart for the entirety of the trip, insisting that she needed a break after working on her feet all day saturday— so she watched from her mildy uncomfortable seat in the basket, as race tried to bowl using a can of soup and six skinny boxes of spaghetti. too entirely flustered to insist that he stop, rosie simply stared— something in her alighting when he turned back to her with a pleased smile on his face. his hair was messy, in need of a cut, and hanging sloppily across his forehead— and every freckle & scar of his face was clear in the harsh light of the grocery store. his hands were raised in victory (having successfully knocked down all the boxes without being caught by an employee) and the baggy sleeves of his sweatshirt bunched at his wrists.

then she knew.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

24 hours later, rosie stared pitifully into space, as she ate a bowl of lucky charms, sitting criss cross on jack kelly’s countertop. jack, along with his boyfriend davey, leaned against the counter opposite her, eyeing the girl with an air of concern.

jack had been a friend of rosie’s for years— and had subsequently met davey (a friend of race, elmer and albert’s) when they were inevitably at the apartment at the same time. seven months later, they were dating, and sharing the rent on an apartment at the border of chelsea & greenwich village. albert called them gross, elmer called them a match made in heaven, but either way it was agreed that the four were subsequently the reason they met— and therefore should have the right to be the namesack of their first four children.

“okay, rose, you got your lucky charms. are you going to explain why you were on my doorstep in near tears at one in the morning, now?” jack asked, eyebrows raised with conviction.

“i got feelings, jacky— i need to know how to make them go away.” rosie’s voice came out barely a whisper, her statement sounding much more ridiculous once she said it out loud.

“you— what?” davey elbowed jack in the side, a knowing expression on his face as the two had a clear wordless conversation.

“you heard me!” the girl exclaimed, her face pitiful & desperate enough to draw genuine concern from the boy. “you got over kath, i need to know how to get over this.” jack scratched the back of his neck.

“well... it helped that kath was a lesbian. i’m assuming that’s not a variable in this situation.” jack shrugged, “c’mon rosie, you’re going to have to give us more information than that.”

“race.” the single word drew a scoff from jack’s mouth.

“rosie, i could have told you that weeks ago.” davey said, confusion clear in his expression, “what’s so bad about having feelings for race?”

“that kid wouldn’t do anything to hurt you if we paid him a million bucks & threw in a razor scooter.” jack added. rosie glared at them, opening her mouth to respond but struggling on how to word her feelings. jack crossed his arms over his chest, head tilting a little to the side.

“it’s a problem! i-i live with him! an’ on top of that he’s one of my best friends, and he would never in a million years like me back so if he ever found out— which he definetly would the way i’ve been acting, then—“

“dear god lewis, i love you, you know that, but you’re actually hopeless.” jack huffs, causing rosie to stare blankly at him. “race doesn’t like you back? how do you explain— like everything he does! are you forgetting the time he literally proposed to you with a basket of olive garden breadsticks!”

“he’s race, jack, he’s like that with everybody! that same day he flirted with a pigeon on the sidewalk outside of olive garden!” davey blinked, holding a hand up to interupt.

“first of all— that was months ago and the fact that you both remember it so vividly is a little unsettling. second of all, i knew him before you did, rosie. before he moved in with you he did flirt with anything that breathed, but now? i haven’t seen him give any man, woman, or bird other then you a second glance.” rosie looked dreadfully unconvinced, stirring her spoon absentmindedly through the now empty bowl. her heart had admittedly soared a little at the thought of race liking her.

for a split second, her brain let her imagine her and race together: sprawled across the sofa in the living room, his hand in her hair, we bare bears playing lowly in the background, race occasionally laughing gently & pressing a kiss to her forehead. she imagined waking up to his ungodly snoring, but smiling like an idiot anyway, because he was damn beautiful in the mornings. she imagined walking through little italy hand in hand with him, giggling as he pointed out stupid things in the windows of shops. then— she got a grasp of reality, pushing the thought out of her head. she couldn’t afford to get her hopes up— not when there was a huge chance race had never thought about her that way.

“i don’t like this,” rosie mumbled, setting the bowl by the sink, and pulling her knees to her chest. “how do i make it go away? seriously— no matter whether you think race likes me or not, how do i make it go away?” jack and davey exchanged a look, before laughing simultaneously.

“that isn’t really how it works, rosie.” davey said sympathetically, “you can act on it, or you can put up with it until it eventually fades away but—“

“i can’t put up with feeling like this for much longer.”

jack looked at her like the answer was obvious, “then act on it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

part two to be posted soon

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright XIX

First Previous AO3

Chapter Nineteen: The End, and Several New Beginnings

Time passed. Margot returned to work, spending her days with lesson plans and contemplation. While the Academy didn’t practice anything as barbaric as separating the pupils by gender, she wondered if any of her students had suffered from the same pressures as the Wright children, whether forced to study magic against their will like Felix or held back from their true potential like Abigail. Margot had always had an open door policy with her students, but after witnessing the self-destruction of the Wright family she vowed to take a more proactive approach. Maybe, just maybe, she could make a difference.

On her next weekend off, Margot stopped by the Red Griffin Inn. She arrived early in the day, and situated herself away from the few customers who were waiting for their breakfast. Anansi was nowhere to be found, their trademark magic absent as Gudrid busied herself with the morning chores.

Margot had been sitting perhaps fifteen minutes when Gudrid approached her. She asked in her thick accent, “You be needing something?”

“Only to tell you that we found Desdemona, along with her sister,” Margot said in a low voice that only Gudrid could hear. “The case is closed.”

The orc wiped her hands on her apron and slid into the chair opposite Margot. Though age had robbed her of some of her strength, Margot could clearly see the muscles in her forearms as she lit her long pipe.

“All this time we were trying to get information from Anansi, when we should have been asking you instead,” Margot said wryly.

“The best storyteller knows ven to stay silent. Vas not my place to speak.”

“So it’s true, then,” Margot said. “Mr. Westmacott had you help those girls.”

“Vestmacott ask if I vould consider helping. No one tell me vat to do,” Gudrid said. “I see, and I decide vat best.”

“And what did you see?” Margot asked.

“I see two girls whose story just begun. Vether vould be tragedy or not, do not know. Very alone. Very scared. But courage to valk own path.” Gudrid blew out a slow stream of smoke that took on the shape of two small elves and an orc that had to be Gudrid herself. One of the girls gestured emphatically to the other as if begging for help, while the orc gathered them both up in her arms. Gudrid sighed, and the image dissipated into nothingness.

“I no see Abigail after dat night. Is best to hide. But Dess stay vit me for many months. She very angry for long time. Sad, too, and feeling guilt. I tell her anger is two-edged sword, much goot can be done ven veilding, but also much harm. The fire that temper svord burns the vood.”

“My mother said something similar,” Margot said. “The same water that softens the potato hardens the egg.”

“Is goot saying.” Gudrid took another long drag and regarded Margot, her black eyes cautious. “People are remembered by actions. Some try to hide behind mask, but alvays falls avay in end. I make sure Dess know only she can be in charge of own actions, and own story.”

“Reputation is a man’s greatest mask,” Margot quoted, wondering if Anansi had heard of the saying from his former teacher.

“Is true, but is also not true,” Gudrid said. “Truth vants to be told, and it finds a vay to come out.” She rose to her feet as the bell above her doorway rang, Dash sauntering inside as he looked for Margot. Gudrid stepped away from the table and said so quietly Margot wasn’t sure she was meant to hear, “One vay or another.”

Dash and Gudrid shared a respectful nod as they passed, and Dash took the place she had vacated. There was something about him that seemed different, for all that he still wore his silly coat and chewed on his ever-present strip of jerky. It took Margot a moment to realize the change wasn’t in appearance, but in bearing. Dash always gave the impression as a mellow and easygoing, but now he seemed truly relaxed. He tipped his hat at Margot, a grin spreading across his face.

“You ready, Prof?”

“Are you?” Margot countered.

“Hey, for your information  I just closed a pretty big case,” Dash teased. “Paid off my rent and everything. The client was a real bear, though.”

“Was she now?” Margot said, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, real slave driver. Wouldn’t give me a moment’s rest, told me my magic was rubbish to boot. Can you imagine the indignity?”

“Well it’s true,” Margot said. “You said Westmacott was a mage himself. Didn’t he teach you anything?”

Dash shrugged. “Maybe he was going to someday, but he wanted me to learn detective stuff first. Too many people rely on magic as a crutch and don’t know how to, you know, investigate. I got some books, though. Learned some pretty good tricks.”

“You’re going to need to know more than a few tricks. Come on, you big lug. Time for your first lesson.”

Together they left the inn. “Hey, Prof, do you mind if we make a quick pit stop?” Dash asked.

“How long of a pit stop?” Margot asked.

“Not long, promise. I there’s something I want you to see.”

He refused to say any more no matter how much Margot pestered him, and was silent as he led her down the bustling street. Margot knew a lost cause when she saw one, and they fell into a comfortable silence that was only interrupted when a newsboy grabbed Margot by the arm.

“Hey lady, you seen the paper?”

Margot opened her mouth to politely decline, but promptly shut it again when she saw the boy’s cheeky grin, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“Anansi?” Margot asked.

“Hush. Someone might hear.”

“I thought you had left already for your next show,” Margot said.

“It was worth staying to ask Desdemona one last time to come along,” Anansi said.

“I don’t think she much likes the idea of being pushed into anything,” Margot said, eyes narrowing.

“It’s not like that. I’ve traveled enough to know when someone’s been struck with a wanderlust. I want her away from this pit as much as she wants to leave, but something has been holding her back all this time.” Anansi grinned, the expression looking somehow wrong on the face of such a small child. “But this time she didn’t say no. There’s some business for her to attend to before she can travel, and so I must be patient. Perhaps I’ll have better luck next time. Oh, and do look at page three, darling. I think you'll find it interesting.”

And with that Anansi melted back into the crowd. Margot and Dash shared an astonished look and hurried to the nearest bench. There was nothing of particular interest on the first page of the paper, nor the second, but on the third stood a stark black headline that made Margot gasp.

Master Arthur Wright, Framed or Fraud?

“Felix leaked his father’s letters to the press,” Margot said, skimming the article as fast as she could. “Or at least some of them? I don’t see anything here about Abigail.”

“No, but there is the correspondence between him and that dean from the University. What’d you say his name was, the guy with the drath?”

“Master Hughes,” Margot supplied. “You know, I didn’t think Felix had it in him to oust his father.”

“Really?” Dash said.

Margot tore her eyes from the paper to look at him. “You did?”

“Well, there's no love lost between the two of them, and besides, do you remember what Felix said before he fired me? He said he hadn’t gotten drunk since before his sons were born. I think that’s the sign of a man who’s trying to change.” He scratched the back of his head. “Not that I don’t think he’s not a giant blowhard, but I’m not surprised that he’s trying. I think his wife is good for him.”

“Hopefully it works out better for him than it did his parents.”

Margot folded the paper for later inspection, and the two resumed their walk. It didn’t take her long to realize where Dash was taking her, and in a few short minutes they were at the park where she had learned of his past with the Casettis.

“I quit my job,” Dash said suddenly. “I’ve decided to go out on my own.”

“What?!” Margot exclaimed. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve had some time to think. I’ve been clinging so hard to Mr. Westmacott’s name, even though Harris has done everything to drag it through the mud. I can’t do what I need to do there. It’s time for me to start out on my own.” Dash took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “It helps that I’ve already got my first client as an independent. His purse strings run pretty deep, too.”

Margot followed his line of sight, and did a double take when she saw Felix Wright sitting at a bench with his wife while Desdemona played with her two nephews. Even from a distance Margot could hear James and John’s screams of delight, as well as Desdemona’s clear laughter.

“Trying to be a better person my @$$,” Margot said. “You let Felix hire you? After what happened last time?”

“The money’s good,” Dash said with a shrug. “And it’s worth finding out if Master Wright really did steal research from his students, and if the University let it happen just because he was brilliant. If one Professor got away with it, there’s likely more. That’s not right.”

“Wright has done a lot of things that aren’t right.”

“Heh.” Dash’s grin returned, bigger than ever. “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to make a pun during the big summation? Together many Wrights make a wrong. I think it would have ruined the moment.”

Margot scoffed. “It would have done more than that. There would have been a line of people wanting to smack you, starting with me.”

“I’m glad I resisted then. Oh look, there’s Abigail. Why don’t you go over and say hi?”

Margot regarded him suspiciously, but went over to the tree where Abigail Wright sat alone, within watching distance of her family but not participating with them. A notebook was open on her lap, but it looked to have gotten little use as she watched her sister chase her two young nephews.

“May I join you?” Margot said softly.

“Hello, Professor. I don’t mind, so long as you don’t care about the dirt.”

Abigail’s eyes never left James and John, an expression of yearning on her face that she made no attempt to hide as Margot settled in beside her. The ground was cool and dry, with only a few beams of sunlight filtering through the canopy, leaving a dappled pattern that shifted as the breeze swayed gently through the leaves.

“I think Desdemona likes the idea of being an aunt,” Abigail said ruefully. “It suits her.”

“It suits you both,” Margot said.

“James and John were babies the last time I saw them. I used to be so afraid they would cry when I held them, but they never did. I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

“But you’re on speaking terms with your family?” Margot asked.

“Only Felix and Isabella. We…talked. Or at least Felix and Dessy talked while Isabella and I moderated. We’ve come to an agreement: It stops with us. Felix’s children, and any potential children Dessy and I might have, shouldn’t have to suffer like we did.”

“And what does your mother think about that?” Margot asked.

“Mother isn’t speaking to Dessy and I. I don’t know if she ever will.” Abigail looked down at her hands. “But Felix has inherited the estate, and if Mother wants to stay there she has to play by his rules. I don’t know how that’s going to work.”

“It looks like you’re off to a good start,” Margot observed.

“It helps that Felix offered to have one of his business contacts make me false papers,” Abigail said. “That, and agreeing to look into Father’s letters bought quite a bit of goodwill with Dessy.”

“I saw the paper,” Margot said. “That’s quite the scandal Felix’s has invited.”

“It depends on how you look at it. Yes, it reflects poorly on Father and the family name, but I think Felix is going to try to play the long game by building his own reputation as the one who exposed it.”

Margot hummed thoughtfully. “I noticed there was nothing about Master Wright’s theories."

Abigail began picking at her fingernails. “I asked him not to, just like I asked him not to falsify an identity for me. Technically it’s seven years before a missing person is declared legally dead. Dessy doesn’t want anything to do with her family name, but…I’m still a Wright. I want to be known as Abigail Wright.” She looked up at Margot worriedly. “Does that make sense, Professor?”

“It does.”

“I’m not ready for the backlash of when the academic community finds out about Father’s theories,” Abigail admitted, the lines in her face deepening at the very thought. “I have to suffer through coming back to life again, and that’s enough. But maybe…maybe someday.”

She fell silent, and Margot leaned back against the tree. There was something about Abigail that still bothered her, something that Margot felt like she had to say. Maybe Dash knew that, and that’s why he sent her over to speak with her.

“I know we’re basically strangers, and I hope you forgive me if I overstep a boundary, but are you planning to keep translating Elvish romance novels now that you’re a legal person again?”

“For now,” Abigail said. “I truly do enjoy writing, Professor, and it’s something that I came into on my own. There isn’t much about my life where I can say that honestly.”

“That’s fair,” Margot said, “but speaking as a mage, your magic is your own, too. It doesn’t belong to anyone else, least of all your father.”

“That’s what my healer said at the asylum,” Abigail said. “The hurt is still there, Professor. It’s too soon after Father’s death to think…” She cut herself off abruptly, and drawing a shaky breath, she said, “I used to think about what I would do if my magic came back. Did you know, when I was small I asked Father why it was that bread didn’t unbake when put into an icebox even though it baked when put in the oven. He never could come up with a satisfactory answer. Have you ever heard of such a thing, Professor, as unbaking bread?”

“I haven’t,” Margot admitted.

“It’s the most silly, frivolous thing. I knew my father would be irritated if he ever knew, but I’ve never stopped wondering if it could be done. I have lots of questions like that running around in my head without any answers. It's maddening, sometimes, living in my own head.”

“All discovery starts with a question, and the courage to try to answer it,” Margot said.

Abigail nodded solemnly. “And even if my magic doesn’t return, you don’t need to be able to cast for theory work." She paused, the line between her eyebrows deepening even farther. "The only thing I’m certain of is that if I did pursue magic again—and that is a considerable if—it wouldn’t be Teleportation. Let someone else take up my father’s torch. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Abigail’s lips, and she risked a glance at Margot. “All that being said…if you were looking for someone to proofread your next paper, I would be willing to consider it.”

Margot laughed softly. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

It was simplest, in the end, for Dash to have his first lesson in magic at the park. It was a nice day, and before Margot could even consider teaching him any spells there were the basics of theory and control that had to be learned. It went better than Margot could have expected, with Dash proving to be a surprisingly quick study. Midway through their lesson they took a break, and Margot saw Felix and Isabella gather their children to leave the park.

Even from a distance the goodbye between Desdemona and Felix was an awkward thing to behold. For all the progress that had been made, it would be a long time before the Wright family was healthy and whole once more.

“I think they’re gonna be okay,” Dash said as Isabella took the hand of one of her boys and Felix the other. They made it maybe ten steps before James (or was it John?) twisted around to wave one last time at Abigail and Desdemona.

“It’s a start,” Margot agreed. “And in the end, I guess that’s all you can ask for.”