#skittery whatever his last name is

[garussy]

The difference between Racetrack’s “can you read? Read this”, Skittery’s “hello miss support the newsies”, and Sarah’s “TAKE THIS! READ THIS! TAKE THIS!” during Once and For All is the only thing keeping me mentally stable right now.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

If he was pushed to it, Skittery would still blame the whole situation on Snitch and Swifty.

“So. What you gonna do Snitch?”

He nodded once slowly, eyes fixed on Swifty’s, “Not tell no one.”

“Exactly.” Swifty nodded back at him. “Not tell no one.”

“Right.” Snitch stared and then started. “But what if Klo-“

Before he knew it, both of Swifty’s hands were clamped on Snitch’s shoulder holding him tight and redirecting his wondering gaze back to his face. “You can’t. Tell. No one.”

Swifty had never seen Snitch’s eyes go so wide before. It would’ve been funny had it not been extremely important that he keep his big mouth closed for once.

Unfortunately, Skittery always had a gift for timing and had unintentionally heard every word as he made his way up the stairs of the Lodging house, and then had to witness it from the doorway of the room before finally deciding to interrupt. It was just his luck that he had to be the one to overhear this, which meant that he had to be the responsible adult in the room (17 was close enough.)

He sighed, deep and exhausted. (Tumbler had decided to sleep on the end of Skittery’s bed last night instead of in his own bunk and Skittery barely fit on the bed as it was) (he was too tired for this.) “Jesus Swifty, what have you done now?”

Immediately, Swifty straightened, hands dropping back to his sides. “I’ve done nothing. Ain’t that right Snitch?”

Snitch looked like he’d just planted a bomb somewhere with how red his cheeks were going and how high his eyebrows climbed his forehead, already beginning to bead with sweat.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, and then a little more confident. “Yeah. He ain’t done nothing.”

Skittery glanced between them both and then folded his arms, leaning back against the doorframe. “Right.”

“Well what’s it to you anyway, huh? Like you’re not gonna just stay in here after selling and read your book.”

“Yeah, and I’d like it to stay like that.”

“Good cuz we ain’t gonna bother you.”

“Who you planning on bothering?”

“Ain’t none of your business.”

Skittery turned his attention to the increasingly red figure to his side. “Snitch?”

“Don’t you dare-“

Skittery raised an eyebrow.

“Davey!”

“You’re such a traitor-“

“I’m sorry I can’t not tell him when he’s lookin’ at me like that-“

-and that's when he was interrupted by a scoff, and then Skittery laughed. Like actually laughed, like the sound of laughter came out of his mouth. It was short, and it didn’t actually sound like he found anything particularly funny, but no one had tripped this time to prompt it.

“The hell did Mouth do to deserve whatever you’re planning Swifts?”

Swifty frowned and then realised there was no winning. There never was with Skittery. For how apathetic he acted he seemed to care a hell of a lot about winning arguments, and he was good at it too, much to the annoyance of everyone in the bunkhouse because if Skittery decided to, he could argue about anything and everything. And sometimes the notion took him.

“Have a big sister that makes biscuits? Duh?”

Skittery raised an eyebrow. “The blondie?”

Swifty frowned. “She ain’t blonde.”

“Okay, we ain’t getting into this.” He pushed off the doorframe, then pushed his way past them to his bunk, missing the look they shared behind his back. “Biscuits right?”

They shared another glance, this time all too aware of Skittery’s gaze on them as he leaned down to untie and pull off a boot.

“Yeah. Biscuits. Les was bragging this morning.”

“So what’s your plan?” Skittery asked.

“I don’t have a plan.”

“You think I’m dumb?”

“Well-“

“Shut up, bet my plan is better” Skittery said and pulled off his other boot, tucking it under his bunk and leaning forward, an elbow on each knee.

“You got a plan? To bother the Mouth?” Swifty asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nah not quite. Just gotta become his best bud is all.”

Swifty laughed out loud at that, they were all friends, but Mouth was prickly at the best of times, paranoid, and had the glaring issue of already having a best friend by the name of Jack Kelly, otherwise cowboy, and did not seem willing to sacrifice that for the world, and least of all for Skittery. The Mouth and Cowboy were practically joined at the hip.

“Y’know if you’re plannin’ to kill Cowboy to get him outta the way that’s just gonna make Davey mourn and then none of us will get nowhere.”

Skittery sent him a look, throwing his boots under the bunk. “I ain't planning on killing Jack who do you think I am? Spot Conlon?”

“I don’t think you could even if you wanted to.”

“You’se are awful at sticking to the point.”

Swifty held his hands up in mock surrender and refused to admit Skittery was right because he had more pride than that. “Fine fine. Go do your plan. I’ll bet you six cents that tomorrow me and Snitch do ours cuz yours didn’t work.”

“Alright.” Skittery pulled out the dime novel mystery he was reading from under his pillow. “But I’m already a step ahead a’ you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lay down, tucking a hand under his head. “I ain’t told Snitch my plan.”

XxX

Like clockwork, Dave came round to the lodging house later that night, locked into what seemed to be a very important discussion with Jack, except particularly one-sided in that Jack hadn’t actually opened his mouth once since he’d come through the door and was just sending quirked grins David’s way which only seemed to rile him up more.

“- and maybe it could’ve been done differently but realistically it was the most effective, even if I didn’t get much sleep, surely you see that right Jack?”

“Whatever you say, Dave.”

And as Davey opened his mouth again Skittery returned his attention toward his book and rolled his eyes. His interest piqued again when for a few seconds Mouth said nothing at all until-

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Cowboy?” he remarked, as he finally inserted himself into the conversation and slowly sat up in the bunk and swung his legs over the edge, letting his presence be known. “He would never.”

David sent him a deadpan stare from across the room. “Haha.” He said voice as dry as sand. “Hi, Skittery.”

“How’s your day been Skitts?” Jack asked, hanging his coveted cowboy hat over the edge of his bunk. “Ain’t seen you since distribution.”

“Y’know. Same as every other day.” He shrugged. “Old lady gave me a quarter cuz I’m a ‘polite young man'”

“Clearly she ain’t ever seen you argue with Race then”

“Clearly.”

Jack turned into one of the bathroom stalls, leaving Davey to drop himself onto someone’s bunk, hat off and brushing the hair back from his face.

“You got many plans for tonight Mouth?” Davey glanced up at him, eyes narrowed a little at the nickname. They all knew he hated it, but once you were called something it was stuck. Davey had accepted that at this point, and even he couldn’t deny the accuracy.

“Not much. Gonna grab Les and head home I think. My Ma wanted me back early tonight.”

“Huh.” He closed the book, intentionally making a point of lowering his gaze. “Sounds nice.”

And because David was terrible at minding his own business and had somewhat of a bleeding heart although he tried to hide it and was convinced he could fix every problem presented to him, he did exactly what Skittery thought he would.

“Everything okay?”

Skittery had to hold back a smile.

Hook, liner and sinker.

[realcube]

msby boys finding out their s/o is pregnant

navi | masterlist | taglist  

thank you to anon for this wholesome request 

content warning ♡ pregnant! reader, sexual references, swearing & fluff

characters ♡ sakusa, atsumu, bokuto & hinata

kiyoomi sakusa 

♡ he faltered

♡ there was half a minute of silence between the two of you; him just staring at your stomach while you gazed into his eyes

♡ he was almost certain that he misheard you, so he felt inclined to inquire, ‘huh?’ as indifferently as he could, though he wasn’t doing a good job of concealing the shocked expression on his face 

♡ ‘i said i’m pregnant, sweetie.’ you giggled, admiring the emotions he displayed on his face as it wasn’t a sight you got to see often

♡ sakusa continued to stare at you, eyes wide 

♡ though he knew what you meant, apart of him insisted that he was mishearing you 

♡ his wide-eyes were fixated on you, his lips slightly agape as he tried to process what you just said and what this meant for the both of you 

♡ the only emotion you could read of his face was shock. at first, you were sure that he was happy but he was just taking a while to accept it, but now that a few minutes had passed and he was still yet to say anything or even smile, you were starting to second guess yourself

♡ despite the fact sakusa had already agreed that he was on board with the idea of having a child many times before - in fact, there were nights where he’d admit that he can’t wait to start a family with you - but you still worried that perhaps he has now that had a change of heart

♡ that was until you noticed his eyes become unusually glossy and red, along with his cheeks adapting a somewhat red tint, ‘if this is a joke, (y/n), it’s not funny.’ his ordinary, monotone voice was now slightly shaky and low 

♡ ‘it’s not a joke, ‘iyoomi.’ you laughed, feeling your own throat go dry and your cheek flare up upon seeing how emotional sakusa had become

♡ before the tears spilled from your eyes, you felt sakusa’s arms slowly snake around your waist, place an elongated kiss on your forehead then rest his chin on your shoulder 

♡ he held you close enough that you could feel his rapid heartbeat thud against your chest and his wobbly breath tickle the back of your neck

♡ he stayed like that, silent, for a good few minutes 

♡ when he finally pulled away to admire your stomach, you noticed how his damp cheeks glistened in the light and you couldn’t help but smile

♡ although he wasn’t very vocal about how happy he was, his actions spoke a thousand words

♡ he’d insist in home-cooking all your food now because he didn’t want to risk you getting food poisoning 

♡ when he’d come home from practise, absolutely exhausted, the first thing he’d do when he gets home is  wash his hands then cut you some fruit 

♡ when he has free-time, he used to just watch TV but now he’s picked up a few hobbies of reading childcare books, tending to your every need/want and researching good baby names

♡ also, he’s so gentle with you - like, he was gentle with you before but this is a new extreme

♡ excluding the time he almost tackled you to the ground when you suggested atsumu as a baby name

♡ like he baby-proofs the house like a month into your pregnancy lmao 

kōtarō bokuto

♡ the corners of his lips slowly curl into a bright smile, ‘pregnant?’

♡ you cocked your head to the side slightly, then hummed, ‘yeah. pregnant.’

♡ ‘like..with a kid?’

♡ you snorted, playfully rolling your eyes, ‘i’d hope so.’

♡ ‘like..with my kid?’

♡ ‘our kid - but yes.’

♡ a while passed and he had yet to do anything besides stare at you in pure adoration so you prompted him by opening your arms 

♡ to which he immediately responded by throwing himself onto you, ‘I’m gonna be a dad?! like seriously?!’

♡ luckily you were sitting on your bed so you fell back onto that but you were still being smothered by his chest 

♡ ‘bo!’ you squealed and squirmed under his weight and tight grip, glad that he was as cheery as you had hoped but not appreciating being suffocated 

♡ he suddenly pulled away but kept his large hands glued to your shoulders, revealing the tears that were already streaming down his cheeks and dampened your shirt, ‘really?!’

♡ ‘yes, bokuto. i am 100% pregnant.’ you declared for the final time before bokuto cupped your face with his hands and pulled you in to a passionate kiss, not stopping until your lips were basically swollen

♡ he’s just so hyped during the first few days of your pregnancy and he’s just super duper ready to become a dad!

♡ like he’s already practising his dad jokes 

♡ but then you remind him that he’s gonna have to wait around 9 months before he can actually see his baby and his hair literally deflates 

♡ ugh how rude of you 

♡ can you not like...make it grow faster?? please??

♡ once you explain to him that’s not how babies work, he kinda accepts it and just focuses his attention on you

♡ he kinda does some research on babies/pregnancy but not prior, he just does a quick google search when he needs to 

♡ but the intention is definitely there bc he googles the most trivial of things like ‘what to make pregnegant ppl for breakfast?’

♡ ‘what do pragnant ppl need from the supermarket?’

♡ ‘can my pregenunt wife have peanut butter?’

♡ ‘how to spell preaignant’ 

atsumu miya 

♡ DEEP denial

♡ he thinks you are playing a prank on him bc you don’t ‘look pregnant’

♡ even when you show him your positive pregnancy test he’s like ‘and how much did that cost?’

♡ he deadass acts as if he wasn’t the one who’s been trying to get you pregnant and raving on about how much he wants a family with you for the last few months 

♡ but he just doesn’t want to believe you bc he know he’ll get way too happy for his own good and he’s afraid to be let down

♡ plus, it was one of those ‘a blessing of this magnitude couldn’t have happened to me - of all people - so this is probably either a cruel joke or a hallucination.’ moments 

♡ he’s just so far gone that after your eleventh attempt at trying to convince him that you’re pregnant for real, you just give up

♡ so y’all just go around your business somewhat normally - except atsumu was more skittery - until your baby bump started to become more prominent

♡ one day, he came back from practise, noticed your bump and pulled you into the most passionate, heartfelt kiss before placing a gentle kiss upon your stomach, a buoyant grin gracing his features

♡ though he doesn’t say much since he is at a loss for words, he mutters a few sweet nothings into your ear as he carries you to the bedroom

♡ for a joke, he pretends to be gutted if you’re libido production decrease but really, he couldn’t care less

♡ but if it increases tho- 

♡ expect him to take full advantage of that 

♡ also, if he didn’t already treat you like his goddess, he does now 

♡ work has moved down his list of priorities and you + his baby are now at number one 

♡ usually he keeps his phone on silent/stuffs it into his bag while he is practising but now he insists on keeping it on full volume, out on the bench, just in case you call him for an emergency 

♡ same goes for texts; he will literally stop mid-set to rush over to his phone if he hears it vibrate 

♡ bokuto thinks it’s sweet but the rest of them get pretty annoyed of his antics quite quickly but whenever they try to call him out on it, he’s like ‘is your wife 6 months pregnant? no! i didn’t think so. i should be on paternity leave right now so be glad i’m blessing you with my presence.’

shōyō hinata

♡ he cannot stop thanking you

♡ as if you’re doing him a favour, which - depending on how you view it - you are

♡ he’s literally on his knees with his hands clasped together, tears of joy streaming down his face as he looks up at you in pure adoration, ‘thank you, (y/n)!’

♡ you tilted your head to the side and stared at him with a perplexed expression, ‘you’re welcome?’

♡ it’s a while before he moves from that position but when he does, it’s only so he can press his ear against your stomach to see if he can hear the baby 

♡ ‘shō, i don’t think it’s body has even formed ye--’

♡ ‘shh! it’s speaking to me.’ he chuckled then proceeded to squeeze his eyes shut, intensely listening to whatever the baby had to say 

♡ you quirked a brow, waiting for him to finish and once he did, he sprung to his feet and threw his arms over your shoulders to pull you in for a hug - in which he had to stop himself from squeezing you too tightly in fear of hurting you, as if pregnancy meant that your bones were now made of glass

♡ he’s just so happy that you agreed to bear his children 🙏

♡ also, seeing how excited you were to tell him about your pregnancy really prompted him to step up his husband-game 

♡ from now on, he loads the dishwasher, does both of your laundry, cleans the house on his own and cooks most of the food 

♡ he acts as if being pregnant means you are no longer able to do basic tasks but his real motive behind doing these things was not only to take the pressure off of you but to also prepare himself for father life 👍

♡ also, to prepare him for shopping for his kids’ clothes, he goes out and buys you maternity wear 

♡ he does this like...3 weeks into your pregnancy though so the clothes just sit and catch dust until a few months later when you actually need them 

♡ and although he is a bit of a pain to go stroller/pram shopping with (he just says buy whichever one goes the fastest), you let him take the reins when it came to buying/preparing the baby’s room and it came out beautiful!

♡ like the cradle was good quality and firm, the rug wouldn’t irritate the baby’s skin, the walls were painted expertly and the plushies/toys he picked out - unbeknownst to you at the time - kept the baby entertained for ages

♡ oh and no matter what day/week/month you are in of pregnancy, he will always look at you and your bump with the same amazement and gratitude as he did the first time you told him

[jiubilant]

For the winter prompt challenge: "20. Black ice" for the OC who has had least "screen time".

20. black ice

“Shurri,” her father calls from the back stoop, “how long does it take to borrow a broom?”

Shiv, with a sheepish slice of the broomstick, beheads the last of the snowmen.

“Not too long,” she calls back, bundling her sort-of-sword under her arm. The weight of it is wrong, all wrong, on account of the bristles; a real sword would be weighted so well in pommel and blade that she could balance it seesaw-wise on one finger. She wonders, crunching to her father through the snow, if the cane he’s leaning on might better suit. “S’only that Roggvir wouldn’t let me knock an apple off his head with it, so I had to impervise.”

Her father eyes the carnage in her wake—twig arms twisted, carrot noses trodden in the snow—with weary resignation. He’s still dressed for bed. His breath fogs in the morning air. “Improvise.”

“Im—imp—that,” Shiv agrees, nodding vigorously, and stands on tiptoe to look him in the face. She’s nearly as tall as him now, really, but he’s cheating by standing on the top step. “I’ve got to practice, see.”

“And why,” says her father, scratching the stubble on his chin, “have you got to—”

“House besieged,” says Shiv like an impresario, “by money-grubbers grubbing for what’s owed them. Picture it.” Eyes wide with exaggerated worry, tail atwitch, she gestures broadly with her sort-of-sword. “Bookies—bookies battering the back door, and suchlike. Patrice the Lease”—she bounces on her toes and draws a small, swift circle in the air—“wheeling up the catapult. And—what’s this—oh, tits, it’s Belms-Who-Always-Beats-You-At-Nineholes with the boiling oil—”

Her father frowns. “He doesn’t always—”

“Does so.” She narrows her eyes and pokes him with the broomstick. “You picturing?”

Her father, looking martyred, closes his eyes with a sigh. “Vividly.”

“Then riddle me this. What’s a skittery old spidershanks to do,” Shiv asks, tapping a gentle death–blow to his head, “when all these beeves are bellowing at the gates?” She squints a grin and thumps her chest in a swordsman’s salute. “Sleep in, is what—‘cause here’s yours truly, trained in sundry tricks, with a knock for anyone knocking.”

“You,” says her father, clacking the broomstick aside with the crook of his cane, “have read one too many drake-dreadfuls for my liking. Come and sweep the hearth like I asked.”

Shiv beams. “Good parry—”

“Shurri,” says her father.

He’s serious, she realizes, her smile falling. The makeshift sword droops in her hand.

Then, with grave ceremony, she taps him on the shoulder with it.

“I dub thee Featherhead,” she says.

“Shurri.”

“On account of that’s what’s in there.”

They glower at each other. A gust of snow whirls between them.

Then her father’s lips twitch. He shrugs off the sword and glances meaningfully at the icicles, black with dirt, that hang from the gutter like fangs.

“Getting a bit long in the tooth, our downspout,” he observes.

Shiv stares at him. Then she pricks her ears, comprehending his meaning, and stands up straighter. “Somebody better knock some knowledge into it.”

“Mm.” Her father finally smiles. “Maybe someone with a—a knack for knocking, or whatever in god’s name you said—”

“Stay right there,” says Shiv, grinning, skipping backwards off the back stoop. She wags the broom at him, then at one of the offending icicles, her tail sweeping the snow. “Right there, and let me show you my riposte! S’positively perfidious, let me tell you—”

* * *

“What are the odds, do you think,” Berthegerd mumbles into her pillow, “that our fool neighbor finds new work as a fencing-master?”

Her husband, a warm lump in the bedfurs beside her, snorts. “Bet against him and you’ll win, is all I know.”

“Sigmar.”

“It’s true,” says Sigmar, philosophical, and rolls over. In minutes he’s snoring again, despite the racket sifting through the window with the dusty dawn light.

But Berthegerd is awake. She gathers her hair in one hand, turns her face sunward, and listens with raised eyebrows to the din: the voice of their neighbor, raised in laughing command—en garde! Fleche! Remise!—and, in time with his every cry, the crystalline crashing of icicles.

[winter prompts]

[violetwolfraven]

If you’re still taking requests maybe 1+4 for Sprace?

Canon-era in general

And

Soulmate AU

I am always taking requests, my dude. Anyway here we go! This is mostly in the musicalverse but if I reference a few movieverse characters as older Newsies during Race’s childhood...😏 Also there are a couple of ocs in here, and it gets a bit angsty towards the end. Enjoy!

Tw: Underage drinking, a couple of side characters are mentioned to have died, and homophobia is kind of implied, I guess?

...

Race had grown up knowing that he liked boys, and that didn’t really match up with what people said love was supposed to be, but that was just how Race was.

And it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone, was it? Being only a little kid, Race was too young to actually do anything, and if he sometimes paid attention to the way a friend looked really cute when he’d just woken up, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had to or even could act on those little crushes.

It was like Manhattan’s leader, Waffles, said. He called it ‘puppy love’ when Jack snuck glances at a girl his age on the street or Crutchie shyly gave one a flower when he handed her mother a pape. Nobody actually acted on these things.

Little baby crushes when you were a kid meant nothing, and that meant that Race would outgrow this and start liking girls in time to meet his soulmate, right? Because soulmates meant a boy with a girl, and nothing else, right?

At least, that was what he thought, until he and Jack walked into an alley when Race was 8 and Jack was 10 and found a couple of older boys kissing—which Race was pretty sure you were only supposed to do with someone you loved.

Snitch and Itey jumped apart, staring at the younger boys in shock. Then they each grabbed one and dragged them into the Lodging House bathroom to tell them that Race and Jack could not tell anyone.

Race was too scared to speak (Snitch and Itey were significantly bigger than him) but Jack stepped in front of him and demanded to know why.

That was when Itey sighed, said that maybe it would be better if Waffles explained this, and gone to get their leader.

Race hadn’t really believed it at first when Waffles sat them down and carefully explained that Itey and Snitch were soulmates.

“That ain’t possible,” Jack argued, “They’s both boys.”

“Yeah,” Waffles said, “And maybe it’s a cruel trick of fate or a mistake or whatever the church thinks, but here with the Manhattan Newsies? We don’t care. Okay? We’s a family. We don’t turn on Itey and Snitch for somethin’ they can’t control.”

“Why would we turn on them?” Race asked, confused. That was what this was; confusing.

Waffles sighed, “Look, among family, it’s okay. We don’t care who your soulmate is. But the rest of the world does, okay? Adults don’t know nothin’. They think boys lovin’ boys and girls lovin’ girls is wrong.”

“Would Itey and Snitch get hurt if adults found out?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, kiddo, they would. And that’s why you can’t tell no one, okay, boys? Nobody outside the house finds out and no new kids either ‘till we know we can trust ‘em. Okay?”

“Okay,” they both said, and though, like most people, Itey and Snitch kept their soulmarks covered, as it was something intensely personal and none of anybody’s business, from there, Race started realizing that he should have seen something between them a long time ago.

It was fairly obvious, in how they shared a bed, snuck off occasionally, and sometimes let touches of reassurance or affection linger a bit longer than they probably should.

Race started noticing how the other older kids covered for them. How Skittery would knock something over, allowing them to slip out together under the excuse of not wanting to help him clean it up. How Boots would make a joke to draw attention to himself if they started getting too obvious. How Waffles would take on any new kid thinking of selling with them, himself, so they had an excuse to keep being just the two of them.

It was... nice, in a mushy kind of way that they had that support. And Race didn’t really think seriously about kissing his crushes yet, but he did wonder if he would have that if he did.

Race’s soulmark—the first name of his soulmate that appeared on his wrist on his 10th birthday—was Sean.

It was a boy’s name. That scared Race a little.

But every time he saw the older Manhattan kids go out of their way to make sure nobody noticed Itey and Snitch, he got a little less scared, but still a bit confused

He stopped being scared, at least mostly, when Jack came to him, nervously confessing that he liked girls and boys, and his soulmark said a boy’s name; David. There was something less scary about being different when you didn’t have to be alone in it.

Of course, among the Newsies, finding your soulmate was always a little complicated, because damn near everybody had nicknames. Honestly, Race‘s soulmate could be almost any of his friends for all he knew, but he liked to think he didn’t. He liked to think he’d know immediately if he found him.

Race was 10 when he started selling at Sheepshead, having a deal with a Brooklyn girl, Palomino. She got to use his cuteness for easy sales, and in return, she taught him to weaponize just the right combination of friendliness, flirtation, and annoyance to get people do to pretty much whatever he wanted.

Race asked her when he was 11 what she thought about soulmates, particularly same-sex soulmates. He wanted her opinion because while Palomino was kind of an asshole, there was one thing she was really good at, and that was survival.

And Race wasn’t sure what he thought about the fact that his soulmate was a boy yet, but he knew that just living as someone like that, you had to be careful to survive.

‘Mino just shrugged, “Love is unreliable, Racer. It never does what you want it to and more often than not, it’s a liability. Soulmates ain’t an exception just cause they’s supposed to be together.”

“What about boys lovin’ other boys and girls lovin’ other girls?”

“The fuck did I just say? Love’s a liability. Feelin’s get ya hurt—even more so if those feelin’s is illegal.”

Race struggled to get what he was really asking across, “But if it’s illegal... does that make it wrong?”

‘Mino’s face softened infinitesimally. No one who didn’t know her would even recognize it as softening.

“What did I teach ya, kid? Long as ya don’t get caught, nothin’s illegal. Whether ya love girls or boys or both ain’t my business—it’s still stupid. Now, come on. If we place our bets right, we can both go home with some extra dough.”

Yeah... Race never mastered the whole ‘winning bet-placing’ thing. He never accepted Palomino’s offers to teach him to pickpocket, either, though there were winters where he wished he did.

And he never believed her when she said love was stupid. Because Palomino might have a cynical, angry outlook on life, but Race didn’t. Whenever he asked Waffles or Jack or any of the kids back home in Manhattan, they always said love and soulmates were good things.

Of course, it wasn’t like her opinion mattered anymore. After that winter when Race was 11, he never saw his old mentor again.

Sure, Race didn’t know anything about love besides the platonic bond he had with friends, but he still believed in it with how he saw pairs of his friends fall into it more and more as he got older. Love and soulmates made people happy. That much, he could tell.

Race was 16, Jack was Manhattan’s leader, and he’d been selling at Sheepshead for years when he learned that it wasn’t always that simple.

He and his friend Spot were a little drunk, probably, because Spot had gotten hurt in a fight and hadn’t wanted to drink his cheap booze to dull the pain alone.

Race had met him when he was 12 and Spot was 13, not long after Spot became King of Brooklyn. In the last 4 years, they’d become close friends. He was Race’s best friend, to be honest, besides maybe Albert. Of course, Jack and Crutchie didn’t count because they were more Race’s brothers.

And if Spot was like, really attractive, that didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in Race. Race didn’t even know if he was interested in boys, period. It was just never something they talked about.

Spot didn’t seem like a Sean, anyway.

“Hey, Spot, buddy, do you ever think about... like... soulmates?” Race asked, trying not to slur his words.

Spot laughed kinda tiredly, “Sometimes. Why?”

“Just ‘cause...” Race tried to think despite his mind being fuzzy, “What do ya think about ‘em?”

Spot just shrugged, “Love’s a liability. Soulmates ain’t an exception.”

“Ooh, I see you’s usin’ Palomino’s philosophy.”

They both laughed.

Was it just the booze making Race slow, or were Spot’s eyes lingering on his lips as he put his cigar in his mouth?

“Oh, Palomino,” he muttered, “That bitch. I ain’t thought about her in a while.”

“That ain’t nice—she’s dead, Spottie.”

“Yeah, which means she ain’t here to care what I say ‘bout her.”

Race’s laugh sounded drunk even to him, “She tried to teach me to pickpocket.”

“She did teach me to pickpocket.”

“Spot, you son of a bitch, you actually let her teach ya to steal?”

“She taught all the younger Brooklyn kids when I was little. She was older and smarter than me, so’s I kinda did whatever she told me. I don’t steal nowadays though, if I can help it. Ain’t worth the trouble with the bulls.”

“She was pretty smart,” Race admitted, “I dunno if she was right ‘bout soulmates, though.”

Spot looked away from Race’s face, taking another swig of alcohol, “She was.”

Race took another sip of his own drink, a bit disappointed, for some reason, “How do ya know?”

“Because Waffles was hers and they both knew it and it just hurt ‘em both.”

“Oh,” Race looked at the floor, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Spot laughed, “One pair of Newsies actually landed right side up and it was the one where both of ‘em died.”

“That ain’t funny, Spot.”

Race hadn’t thought about ‘Mino in a while, either. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about Waffles, and that made him sad because they both deserved to be remembered and—

“Hey, hey, Racer, it’s okay. Don’t cry. That was stupid of me.”

Race remembered to hug Spot gently as his friend embraced him. They were drinking for a reason, so Race avoided touching Spot’s ribs. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Spot didn’t hug often, but when he did, it felt special. It felt warm and safe, like home.

“I’m sorry, Race, I just... they actually wound up as a girl and a boy and they wasn’t together, but they should’ve been and... I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

“I ain’t gonna cry.”

Spot pulled away enough to look him in the eye to make sure he wasn’t lying.

Race couldn’t say he was sorry that Spot kept holding onto him. Their faces were very close together.

“Do ya really think love is stupid, Spottie?”

Spot shrugged, “Everyone I know what’s in it gets hurt. I mean... you’s seen what it does to Cowboy and Mouth, right? Knowin’ all it would take is one bad person findin’ out ‘bout them.”

“But they makes each other happy,” Race pointed out, “Ain’t that what’s really important?”

“I dunno, just seems easier not to have to worry ‘bout it. Soulmates is just another person who can hurt you or be used against you, and besides— just cause the universe says you’s supposed to be in love don’t mean ya have to. I sure don’t give a damn about whoever mine is.”

Race smiled, tapping the piece of cloth Spot used to cover his soulmark, “What’s the harm in your best friend knowin’, then?”

“Why?” Spot teased, “Hopin’ it’s you?”

“I’m fairly certain it ain’t,” Race said, “We’s known each other for years. If we was soulmates, we’d’ve found out by now. Still, ya never have shown me your mark.”

“You haven’t shown me yours, either.”

“Fair.”

Race thought about it for a second.

“What if we showed ‘em at the same time? I mean, ain’t no harm in it, right? Only one of my close friend’s Marks I ain’t seen is yours.”

“Yeah,” Spot muttered, “Same for me, I guess. Showin’ ‘em at the same time sounds fair.”

“Course it is,” Race let go of him, still staying sitting pretty close, and untied the strip of cloth from his own wrist, “Ready?”

Spot untied his, “Set.”

“Go.”

They showed their soulmarks at the same time. By the time of day, it was almost too dark for Race to read the text on his friend’s wrist.

Almost.

Anthony.

“Shit,” Race mumbled under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Spot was still silent, just staring in shock at the name on Race’s wrist.

Any chance of it being a different Anthony was gone, now, by the look on his face.

“Spot...”

Spot finally looked him in the eye, and Race could see pain there, but also some kind of... relief.

Race knew exactly how he felt. He’d somehow... well, he hadn’t expected it, but it wasn’t surprising, either.

He was glad it was Spot. He was glad it was someone he already knew. Someone he already... already loved.

Race dared to lean a little closer, knowing Spot would read his intentions and pull away if he wanted to.

He didn’t pull away, though his deep breath was shaky.

Their faces were close enough that Race could smell what they’d been drinking on Spot’s breath.

He didn’t see any signs of him not wanting it, so Race leaned forward enough to kiss Spot as softly as he knew how.

For a second, he thought maybe Spot was kissing him back, and then hands were on his shoulders, gently pushing him away.

When Race opened his eyes, his soulmate had an extremely pained look on his face, and he was already grabbing his strip of cloth to cover his wrist again.

“I’m—“

“Don’t be sorry, Race,” he said quietly, “Just... go. You’s gonna have to run for it or you’ll miss the last carriage to hitch a ride home.”

A small part of Race was hurt and angry and wanted to argue that, no, they needed to talk about this and they needed to talk about it now.

But Spot looked agonized enough as it was, and the larger part of Race didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

He stood up and walked all the way back home.

[trashyswitch]

A Little Magic to Help the Days Go By

Day 1: Butterflies!

The Coronavirus is forcing people to stay inside, and not everyone is pleased about this. So, Roman tries to make the slow days easier with a little bit of magic...

T.S’s Notes: I know a lot of people are trying to get away from the whole 'CO-VID19 Paranoia' thing, but I want to turn it into something positive with this fic. I think we all need a bit of magic in our lives, especially right now.

Everybody in the U.S.A is being forced to stay indoors. Medium/large gatherings are prohibited until further notice. No one should leave their house unless absolutely necessary. Those who leave the house are instructed to wash their hands really good and to resume previous instructions. The cleaning product sections are all empty in the local grocery stores, and so is some of the produce. People are rationing and finding things to do in their own home. Those who struggle with staying still and being in the house, are being forced to either deal with that issue in the safety of their homes, or risk their chances of catching the deadly virus. Anyone who is immunocompromised, are especially warned to stay in their home, and to wear gloves/use sleeves when they go places. Overall: The world has become a paranoid mess in less than a week, and Thomas doesn't know how to process it.

Introverts, like Virgil, are taking this news in a bittersweet manner. Introverts are always looking for excuses to refuse socializing. Now, they have one. Virgil is perfectly content with being in his room with his spider, listening to heavy metal. But, he's also anxious as can be. He has to keep reminding Thomas to stay inside, refusing to let him go anywhere without some anxiety and paranoia going through his brain. The last thing Virgil wants is for Thomas to get diagnosed with the virus and be close to death.

Logan is a little like Virgil, but with more sweet than bitter. Logan is the definition of unsocial, which means the virus pandemic is doing him some favors. Logan has been taking time to research whatever questions come to his mind, and has caught up on some documentaries he's wanted to watch for months. He's been busy learning all he can in the comfort of his room.

Roman's reaction is more optimistic. He's happy to be running around in the imagination he created for himself. He's had quests, dragon fights, and even invited Remus to have a sword fight with him! And surprisingly, it was really fun!

But Patton...Patton was not enjoying it. He missed Thomas's friends. He wished they could come over like they used to all the time. But...it wasn't allowed. Nothing fun was allowed. Though Disney movies and popcorn were allowed, that was really it. No friends over, no travelling too far away, no nothing. It was unfair. Patton had spent a couple of the days just pouting and crying on his own. It hurt, but it also felt nice to cry.

Meanwhile, it was growing painful for the other sides to see Patton like this. It just...wasn't right. They knew crying was okay, but for this long? That's never happened before. So, Roman made it his personal goal to make him a little happier everyday.

Starting today.

Roman hid behind the opened door, as he peeked in and saw a crying Patton, laying on the bed under the covers. Roman could sense himself ready to cry alongside him. He's been like this for almost a week. It's felt like forever since Patton's baked something in the kitchen. Perhaps some magic will cheer him up? Roman knew just the thing...

Patton laid in his blue bed in the darkness. He didn't feel like doing anything, except staying here to be comfortable. He knew it wasn't realistic. He knew he'd have to get up at some point to eat and go to the washroom. But for now, Patton closed his eyes as he laid down in his warm, comforting bed.

...He was so bored and saddened, that he didn't even notice his floor was changing color. His grey carpet had slowly turning brown, and grass was starting to sprout out of the ground. It was only when Patton smelled a flowery scent, that he finally opened his eyes. Patton gasped as big, enthusiastic smile grew onto his face! It was the biggest smile he had ever mustered up in over a week! Patton couldn't believe it! His room was covered in colorful flowers! They were all gorgeous, and pretty-smelling!

Flowers of all sizes, colors, types, and shapes were growing in his room! Butterfly Bushes, Cone Flowers, Phlox's, Lantana's, Marigolds, Black-eyed Susans, Blazing Heart Flowers, even Lavenders were growing there! It was the lavender scent that Patton actually opened up his eyes to. Patton slowly sat up in his bed, and looked at the flowers beside him. There were Chocolate Cosmos' and Lavenders growing beside him! Patton happily squealed before smelling them. They smelled so pretty!

How this was happening, Patton had no idea! But, that didn't matter! Patton knew what these flowers had in common: They attracted butterflies! So, where were the butterflies? Patton looked at each one, looking for any signs of butterflies.

Suddenly, Patton could hear the sound of twinkling magic! Patton turned around towards the source of the sound: Sure enough, there were sunflowers with monarch butterflies on them! Patton squealed and clapped his hands excitedly. Patton placed his finger slowly, but closely to the sunflower. Amazingly, one of the butterflies climbed onto Patton's finger! Patton was now holding a butterfly on his finger!

Patton giggled. "Hi! I'm Patton!" the father greeted. Another butterfly, a yellow and black one, flew itself over to Patton's shoulder! Patton bit his lip as he tried to stay as still as possible, as to not disturb it.

Soon, another butterfly came flying over from across the room! Patton's face froze as the butterfly landed on his hair! Patton slowly lifted his free hand up to his head, and showed it his index finger. The butterfly hopped itself onto Patton's finger, ready to be lifted up to him. Patton slowly carried the butterfly towards his face, and looked at it: It was a sky blue butterfly, with an outline of black pokadots on the outside of its wings, and an outline of black surrounding the dots. Lastly, there was an outline of white outlining the black! It was so pretty!

Unexpectedly, the monarch that was on his finger, hopped off and onto his shirt. It climbed his shirt up to his collar, before fluttering its wings up to Patton's nose! Patton went cross-eyed, to see the butterfly. The content monarch moved its wings open and closed to show Patton what its wings look like up close! Patton giggled and bit his lip nervously. This has never happened to him before! The butterfly's tiny skittery legs tickled the surface of his nose. It was so cute!

"Hi! Do you like my nose?" Patton asked curiously. It felt so weird to have 4 little butterflies on his body. Soon, the butterflies flew off him and onto some of the flowers surrounding him. Patton was so happy! There were so many butterflies! It was so cool!

Patton gasped as he realized who would love this: Logan!

"Logan! Logan!" Patton cheered excitedly, as he headed for the door. He opened his door, and sprinted out. Patton ran towards Logan's door, and began ramming on the door excitedly. "Logan! Come here! You HAVE to come see this!" Patton pleaded excitedly. Logan opened his door, and just about exploded in happiness. Patton was standing in front of his room, a glimmer of happiness in his eyes, and a huge smile on his face! How- Is Patton feeling better? How did he get out of his sad little funk?!

"What-" Was all Logan could get out of his mouth, before being interrupted.

"What do you know about butterflies?" Patton asked quickly.

Logan stumbled on his words for a second. "B-butterflies, you said?" Logan clarified.

Patton nodded his head eagerly. "Yes! What do you know about them?" Patton repeated.

Logan stumbled with his words as he attempted to create an answer for the suddenly enthusiastic Patton.

"I-I can name them off, based on their wing colors and shape-" Logan explained.

"Great!" Patton shouted, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of his room. "Follow me! There's something AMAZING I wanna show you!" Patton shouted as he pulled Logan with him.

"WAIT! PATTON! WHERE ARE WE-"

"TO MY ROOM! IT'S IN MY ROOM!" Patton replied excitedly. Logan quickened his feet to try and catch up with the witty father. As soon as they got to his room door, Patton stopped Logan's body by pushing lightly with his hand. Then, Patton slowly opened the door, and smiled as the flowers and butterflies filled his room still. Patton quietly told Logan to come in. Logan's left eyebrow raised, but he followed him into the room anyway.

Logan's eyes widened, as he observed the world around Patton's room: The whole room was filled to the brim with flowers and butterflies! It was absolutely gorgeous! He's never seen anything like it! Sure, Logan has red books on butterfly greenhouses before, but a butterfly greenhouse in Patton's room?! Who's heard of such a thing?!

"Hi buddy! Look! I brought a friend!" Patton cheered as he looked at the medium-sized monarch. Logan's eyes widened as he adjusted his glasses. This can't be real...This has to be Roman's imagination! Who else could create such beauty in under 10 minutes?! "This is Logan!" Patton introduced, bring the butterfly closer to Logan's eyes.

Logan let a small grin grow onto his face, as he lifted his right finger up to Patton's. Unexpectedly, the butterfly flew onto Logan's finger! Logan's smile grew wider as short gasp entered his lungs. Logan slowly brought his other free hand underneath the finger, to keep the butterfly safe. "Hi." Logan quietly greeted. The butterfly slowly opened and closed its wings, revealing its orange and black wingspan. It was so pretty. Logan couldn't fathom it. All he could do, as stare at it in awe, as it opened its wings again. Soon, the butterfly slowly walked itself up Logan's finger, up his hand, and onto his lower arm. It was so calming seeing such a beautiful creature on his arm.

Suddenly, Patton walked into Logan's view with several, different colored butterflies on his body. There were 8 butterflies: 2 on each arm, one on each index finger, one on his head, and even a tiny white one on his glasses! Patton looked so happy! He giggled as one of the butterflies on his right arm began skittering down his arm. The white, light orange and black butterfly flew off of Patton, and onto Logan's reached-out arm.

"A White Peacock butterfly." Logan thought aloud.

Patton gasped, and looked up to the butterfly on his glasses. "That's a Cassius Blue butterfly." Logan told Patton.

Patton gasped again excitedly. "Really?" Patton asked.

Logan nodded, before pointing at the butterfly on Patton's head. That one, on your head, is an Orange Sulphur butterfly." Logan stated.

"Is it orange?" Patton asked, unable to see the butterfly that was standing on his hair.

"Kind of...it's more of a yellow color." Logan replied. He pointed at the now-single butterfly on Patton's right arm. "That one is a Great Purple Hairstreak." Logan told him. Patton looked at it.

"That streak isn't purple, it's blue!" Patton corrected.

"I know it's blue. The name is what's stating it's purple." Logan explained.

Patton narrowed his his eyes with a smirk. "It sounds like the people who named these butterflies, were colorblind when they named them." Patton commented.

Logan chuckled as he watched the monarch butterfly walk up his arm further. "Perhaps they were." Logan agreed.

As they explored the different butterflies in the room, Patton happily listened as Logan named each type of butterfly off by heart and told him little facts about them.

"Here's something coincidental: all of the butterflies in your room are native to this state." Logan told him.

"Really? They originated in Florida?" Patton asked. Logan nodded in response.

Patton looked at a purple and black butterfly, that was collecting nectar from the lavenders. "This purple butterfly reminds me of Virgil." Patton stated.

Logan knelt down beside him, and observed the butterfly in its natural habitat. "This butterfly is called a Purple Emperor." Logan told him.

Patton giggled. "It's beautiful." Patton said with a smile. Logan watched as a yellow, lime green and black butterfly on a Chocolate Cosmos flower nearby. "That one is a Golden Birdwing. It kinda reminds me of Deceit..." Logan stated. Patton turned his head to the side slightly, as he looked at the butterfly. Slowly, Patton lifted hi finger up, and let the butterfly land on his finger. When the butterfly opened its wings, Patton observed them and smiled.

"You're right: It does remind me of Deceit." Patton stated with a grin. "Just put a tiny hat on him, and you'd get Deceit." Patton added.

Logan giggled at the extra comment.

Patton gasped; He suddenly got an idea! Patton got up and let the Golden Birdwing fly off his finger. Then, Patton looked around for a certain butterfly. When he found it, he slowly got the butterfly to get onto his finger. It took a few extra tries (this butterfly was stubborn), but Patton managed to carry back an outstanding-looking butterfly on his finger!

"Here's Roman!" Patton cheered. Logan's eyes widened at the sheer beauty of the butterfly in Patton's grasp: It was a hot pink color, with a mix of light purples mixed into the inner top of the wingspans. It was perfect for him!

"A Noble Leafwing. Good choice!" Logan told Patton.

Patton placed the butterfly onto the lavenders and looked around for a blue butterfly. It wasn't that hard, unsurprisingly. Soon, Patton had come back with a large black and blue butterfly. "Logan!" Patton called, grabbing his finger, and lowering the butterfly onto Logan's finger. "It's you!" Patton said excitedly.

Logan looked at the butterfly with a big grin. "A blue morpho?" Logan asked.

"Yeah! Logan the Nerdy Morpho." Patton stated proudly. Logan took one more peek at the butterfly, before placing it on his pocket. The butterfly locked its tiny feet onto the pocket flap, and opened its wings.

"Logan the Nerdy Morpho: at your service." Logan stated. Patton giggled happily and gave Logan a toothy smile.

"Yes! It's so cute!" Patton reacted.

To add to the butterfly party, Logan grabbed a monarch butterfly, and placed it on Patton's grey tied sweater. Patton's eyes widened as he looked down at the butterfly. "There. Patton: King of the Monarchs." Logan presented. Patton gasped happily. His reaction was so wholesome! Patton's eyes practically glittered with excitement from the light! He looked like he was gonna die of cuteness overload!

"I'm a kiiiing..." Patton whispered excitedly. Logan chuckled and shook his head with a smile.

"Do you wanna collect some flowers for the kitchen table?" Logan asked. Patton's lips closed to hide his teeth, before nodding his head. Logan conjured up some scissors to cut the flowers and fill their hand.

20 minutes later:

Patton and Logan looked at the flowers they collected.

"Hey Patton. Feeling better?" Virgil asked. Patton looked over to him, and nodded.

"Look what I collected!" Patton said, pointing to the vase of flowers.

Wow...those are pretty! Where did you get them?" Virgil asked.

"From my room." Patton replied, casually. Virgil froze. His room?! How does THAT work?!

A couple seconds later, Roman walked in. Upon seeing Patton out of his room and looking at the flowers (Roman's flowers), Roman ran up to him and gave him a big hug from behind. "You're okay!" Roman reacted.

Patton giggled in response. "Yeah, I am!" Patton replied.

"And you're collecting flowers again!" Roman reacted.

"Yup! The table looked like it needed it." Patton admitted.

"It's really nice!" Roman said.

"Thank you! Logan helped!" Patton told him.

"Really? Good job, Logan." Roman said, grabbing his shoulder and winking as he walked by.

Logan blinked and widened his eyes when he realized something:

It was Roman's doing! That explained everything. And now, Logan's in on his secret as well.

Here's some links for where I got the inspiration:

Virgil's butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183946971862

Roman's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183946010202

Deceit's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183944038382

Logan's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183943297077

Patton's Butterfly: 

https://the-ghost-of-pastels.tumblr.com/image/183942152672

Credit goes to @the-ghost-of-pastels!

[eyespywithmyoneeyegtfo]

Arden’s Story

Then. She was dead. Worse than dead. The terror in her eyes agreed with Arden's assessment. Three men holding daggers of various shapes and sizes surrounded the miqo'te girl. It had begun as just a simple mugging. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. It was the girl's fault for being out in this dark alley at this time of night when she should know better, and such fools deserve to lose their possessions. The leader, however, seemed to think the girl was pretty enough to do more with than simply take what meager money and trinkets she possessed. The others didn't take long to agree. He knew who she was. She danced at the Ruby Road Exchange for gil. They pawed at her, saying all sorts of unpleasant things. She closed her frightened brown eyes, preparing for the inevitable. Only it never came. She knew something had changed when she heard first the gurgle, then a scream and finally a plea cut short by a loud crack. When she opened her eyes, she saw with some degree of relief as well as horror that the three men were dead. Another man stood, towering over her and wearing dark, blood-smeared clothes. "Come on, girl," Arden said, extending his hand to her. She hesitated. Her hyur savior looked every bit as dangerous as the others that tried to rob and rape her. "Come on!" he repeated. "It's not safe here." But she already knew that. Hesitantly she lifted a shaky hand to take his. He didn't hesitate, pulling her up to her feet and dragging her along a number of dark, winding alleys. Eventually, they arrived someplace down a side alley deep within Pearl Lane that looked more like some sort of wreckage from one of the buildings that no one had bothered to remove from the outside, but once they got past the debris, there seemed to be some sort of hovel underneath. A shabby table in the center, some pillows and a bunch of blankets in one corner, a small, weathered wood stove in another corner. A curtain hung in place of a door leading further in. "Get yourself cleaned up. Through there," he pointed at the curtain. "If you're hungry, I'll be making something." The girl nodded once, stumbling slightly before regaining her composure and walking towards the other room. It was in there when she finally broke down into a blubbering mess, as the enormity of what almost happened- and what did happen- struck her. Arden gave her her privacy as he went about cooking something from meat best left unidentified. It was a while before she came out, he didn't wait before he started eating. He looked up as she approached and pushed a plate in her direction, gesturing as he chewed his food. She hesitated almost a full minute, regarding the plate with a bit of suspicion. She came, sat down, and started ravenously eating. "Slow down, girl," he said, his mouth still mostly full. "Food ain't going anywhere." "Thank you," she said between bites as she slowed down. "Don't," he said, gesturing to a glass of water. "Wash it down." "Why... shouldn't I thank you?" She looked confused. "What do you have to thank me for?" he asked. She was about to reply when he started talking again. "I was just in the wrong place at the right time. If I had been going in a different direction, you'd be under one or more of those thugs, probably for the second or third time. Or you'd be dead. Or being trussed up to be sold off as a sex slave to some moneybags Syndicate lackey- you're pretty enough for it, I reckon." His every word seemed to make her shrink into herself. When he was done, she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm alive. That's enough. It's not going to be like this forever." Arden snorted. The girl looked up. There was something different. Something in those tired, hungry, large and expressive eyes of hers that made him frown slightly. "What's your name, girl?" She blinked. "A'rsinoe. My name's A'rsinoe." ******** Arden looked at A'rsinoe as she went about preparing dinner. Surprisingly, he found himself glad that she was around. The girl smiled entirely too much- and there she went, smiling at him as she put whatever the mystery-meat-of-the-week is on the pan. She smiled entirely too much and was entirely too optimistic for a street urchin. And she hugged. Dear gods, she hugged, and it bugged him. It was a wonder she'd survived as long as she had out on the streets, as friendly and lovely as she was. But after seeing her own skills at work, he didn't wonder particularly long. Hidden beneath the skittery little dancer was a very able pickpocket, and most people were too busy examining how well her hips moved to really notice. He ended up letting her stay with him not long after they'd met, since she proved more than able to earn her keep. She kept the place as tidy as it could be kept, and truth be told (and he never would, not to her) coming home and getting a hug, as much as he grumbled about it, made him feel... What did it make him feel? Something entirely unfamiliar. He wondered if this what was family was like. Family- now, there was a word that hadn't been in Arden's vocabulary for a good long while. Family. He allowed himself a smile. ********* For the first time since he could remember, life was good. They'd settled down- what a strange phrase to use, that- out by Horizon. The fishing was good. He and A'rsinoe had rented a small place above a general goods store, barely big enough for one, let alone two. But they made do. They shared that space as they had the hovel in Ul'dah. Shared the same bed, where they had once huddled for warmth, simply for the other's company, now. A'rsinoe doing odd jobs around town, eventually working as a waitress and occasional dancer at the local Inn. As for Arden, well... he did what he best knew how to do. A'rsinoe had grown from pretty young girl to stunning young woman. That fact didn't escape him at all, especially when males began trying to court her, only to back away when the overprotective Highlander with the murderous glare burned figurative holes through their heads. Surprisingly, it didn't seem to bother her at all. He didn't understand why- as affectionate as she was, it would be natural for her to want it from someone who would return it as avidly as she would like. Such things were anathema to Arden, and he made it known. But since it never stopped her, for a wonder, he was the one that gave up trying to tell her no. It wasn't until that one night, when she came to the bed they'd shared for so long wearing nothing but that which she came with when she entered the world, that he finally understood. ********* "I want you to teach me how to fight," she said to him out of the blue, on a night some months later, both of them half-asleep, curled up against one another, the covers on the floor. "Come again?" "I'm too tired," she said with a giggle. "You know what I mean," he said as he bit her shoulder. "I didn't stutter, Arden." "Nope, no you didn't." His tone was even, neutral. "Why, all of a sudden?" She took a long while to answer. "I want to make a difference," she began quietly. "I want to be more than that frightened girl that you rescued." "You are, kiddo." She shook her head as she turned over to face him. "No, not really. Deep down, I'm still her." She closed her eyes. "Deep down I'm still afraid that when you need me, I'll wilt and simply roll over and accept defeat. Like I nearly did that night." He snorted. "No, seriously." "I'm being serious, you dummy!" she hit him in the chest. He suppressed a laugh when he saw the look of determination in her eyes. "Alright." "I hear things. I read things. I know things are getting bad out there. I want to do something about it. And..." she shrugged. "I'd like to see if my parents are still alive." Arden said nothing, just nodded, waiting for her to continue. After a moment, she did. "I-- I'm a runaway. I had no desire to mate with my tribe's Nunh as was expected of me... so... in the dead of night I gathered what meager belongings I had and... well, I went to Ul'dah. I'd not been there more than a few months when... when you and I met." "I see," was all he said in response. He'd never asked. She'd never told. It was much the same with him. They respected each other's privacy and past, agreeing without explicitly saying so that such didn't matter, and it never had. It still didn't, as far as he was concerned. They lay there for a long time, with their breathing the only thing to pierce the heavy silence they shared. "You should go," he said at last. She started, and looked at him with confusion in her eyes. "If this is what you feel you need to do, go. Find your family. Let 'em know you're alright." "I was-- I was hoping you'd come with me." He snorted. "Not sure that your family'd appreciate you comin' home with your hyur boyfriend in tow." She punched him lightly. "Is that all you think you are to me?" "Well, isn't that what I am?" Complete silence followed the next few heartbeats. "You're more than that, Arden. Much more." The kiss she gave him after she spoke those words made Arden's blood feel like it was on fire. ********* Later. Arden ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The job turned to shite in a great big hurry. It was supposed to have been a simple smash-and-grab. There were supposed to be a few guards, but nothing that Arden and the guys he'd been hired along with for this job (who in Arden's estimation weren't exactly luminaries in the Ul'dahn criminal underworld) couldn't handle. But something seemed off about it. There were supposed to be three guards with the merchant’s carriage. Arden made out six instead, and that niggled at him. Arden decided to hang back after his instincts told him something was wrong, and it was a good thing that he did. Without the cover of darkness, he might've been cut down as quickly as some of the others by the archers hiding inside the carriage. Once he saw that happening, he did the only sensible thing: he turned on his heel and ran like all seven hells. Straight for home. He had a sinking feeling that this was all meant to go wrong from the get-go, and he-- and A'rsinoe by extension-- were going to be in neck-deep shite if they didn't get the hells out of Thanalan. Arnulf the Merciful only fancied himself that in truth. Death was certainly a mercy compared to what he did to people that failed him. Or the people that he made examples of. Arden had no right clue what he’d done to cross Arnulf. Seven hells-- he didn't care, and he wasn't about to find out. Arden burst through the door, gasping for breath, "A’rsinoe, grab your things, we're-- " "Well, isn't that rude- trying to skip town without finishing the job, are we?" Arnulf’s voice interrupted him. His blood chilled as he stopped in his tracks and stared at the man and the two muscular bodyguards flanking him. A scuff on the stone floor had Arden looking over his shoulder to spot two more bruisers behind him. Two others emerged from the next room. He was outnumbered, and A'rsinoe nowhere to be found. He could defeat them all, but it’d cost him, and then he'd never find A'rsinoe. "They were onto us. They had archers hiding. The others are all dead." Not like the explanation mattered. "How convenient that you're the only one to survive," Arnulf said, smiling. The man wasn't physically impressive; middling height, slight build, never a weapon visible on him. He was the kind of person Arden could break in half without much effort. It was his eyes that marked him as dangerous. The fair-haired midlander was often affable, all friendly smiles to most people around him. But those smiles never, ever reached his eyes. "There were six guards instead of three, and they seemed to be looking in our direction the moment they went by. I didn't have time to warn the others. When the arrows started flying, I ran." Arnulf and his thugs laughed. "Of course, predictably, you'd be the one to survive. Didn't I tell you boys he'd make it?" Grunts of assent and yessuh's followed. "That's why I decided to wait for you here. Sometimes being predictable can be a bad thing, Arden Tide." Arden clenched his hands into fists at his side. So he was set up. "So what now? Where's A'rsinoe?" "Ah, the miqo'te wench you call a wife?" He shrugged. "Someplace else, obviously. Insurance against you doing me and my subordinates any harm. If enough time goes by without word from me, she dies-- that sort of thing." Arden let out a quiet breath. "Why the set-up? Why not just put a hit on me?" Arnulf grinned for a brief moment. "I should have, shouldn't I? But where's the fun in that? I mean, I've waited three long years to be in a position to do this, what's a bit longer?" Arden frowned. "Why? What did I ever do to you?" Arnulf stepped closer, until he was slightly beyond arm's length. Arden twitched. It would be easy, so veryeasy, to snap the man's neck like a twig. But then A'rsinoe would pay the price. She might anyway, he thought with great frustration, doing his best to not let it mount into panic. "You killed my brother. Over the miqo'te." Arden blinked. "What?" "Just so," he said as he walked away to take a seat on a nearby chair. "My brother was one of the men you gutted as they went for the wench. He fell over at our doorstep with his hands keeping his guts in his middle. He lived long enough to tell me who killed him. Me? I didn't much care about it-- he'd made his bed long ago, and I had determined not to follow his footsteps. He was mum's favorite, though, and she was crushed. And she begged me to find the son of a whore what did this to her favorite son." Arnulf looked down at his feet for a moment. "What's a boy to do, eh?" He grinned. "So I did what I had to do. I built myself up from nothing. My brother was built like a brick outhouse, but he had the smarts to match. I was the opposite. So I did the things I needed to do," he shrugged. "You know my reputation. I built it over three long, hard and brutal years." Arden nodded slowly, his mind racing. He could have sworn they'd all been dead. On the other hand, at the time he’d been pretty focused on getting A'rsinoe out of that alley and someplace safe, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have missed someone faking... Gods damn me for being sloppy, he cursed himself. The devils were in the details, and this particular devil was going to end his and A'rsinoe's life. "But, you know what? Now that I have you here, in my hands as sure as my hair is blonde," Arnulf smirked, running a hand through his hair, "I find that I should be thanking you rather than killing you out of hand. I mean, I wouldn't be where I am without you. Old mum went and croaked last year, and with her dead, well, I find I don't quite have the passion for revenge.” "Then why go through with it? Why not just... let things go? Or why not just do for me and let the girl go?" "Well, that'd be too easy-- I mean, you wouldn't have killed my brother if she hadn't been involved, would you?" Arnulf waited for Arden to shake his head before going on. "And besides, old mum's liable to haunt me if I didn't at least make the effort. So!" He clapped his hands. "I'm going to be merciful instead, and give you a sporting chance. Even dear old mum couldn't blame me. She always said I was a bit of a softie at heart." His cronies all sniggered in amusement. Arden's heart sank, and he nodded. "Alright. What do you have in mind?" "Two million gil. That's what the little cottage by the Silver Bazaar that mum wanted to retire to was gonna cost me. Get me that amount in seven days, and I'll let you have the girl back. You have my word, we won't touch a hair on that pretty little head of hers unless you take off without paying up." Arden blinked once. It wasn't as bad as he had thought. He had just a bit over a million squirreled away for the day when he and A'rsinoe moved to La Noscea. However, seven days wasn't a whole lot of time. "I won't run." Arnulf's smile chilled Arden further. "Good. I'll tell you the location of the meet the day before," he stood up and gestured to his men, and they all began to file out. "See you then." Arden stood rooted to the spot for about a minute before slapping his cheeks and steeling himself, springing into action. ********* Six days later, Arden found himself just west of Little Ala Mhigo-- the last place on Eorzea that he wanted to be. He was exhausted after running around Thanalan pulling every favor he was owed-- and after taking a few quick but dangerous jobs that he barely pulled off, resulting in injury as well as gil. He was just under a hundred thousand gil short of two million with no other well to draw from but this one. He spotted the man he was here to meet and five others coming. Arden was unsurprised-- he'd asked to meet with him alone. Of course there would be others. "Teobalt, thank you for meeting me." "Spare me the pleasantries," Teobalt spat. "Speak plain and quickly. If not for my grandfather's... regard for you, I'd scarcely have time for this." Arden bristled at the mention of Teobalt's grandfather, but nodded. "I need your help. Some bastard kidnapped my wife. He’s demanding two million gil for her return." Expressions of shock rippled through Teobalt's companions, and the man himself simply sneered. Arden went on, "I'm short one hundred thousand gil to pay the ransom. I've drawn on every resource I have. I have nothing else left but to come to you." "Two million gil, for a woman? And a miqo'te no less?" "Just so," Arden replied, trying to keep the anger boiling at what Teobalt implied out of his voice. "You got any idea what that sorta money could do for our people?" One of the others said seethingly. Not as tall as Teobalt, this one, but stockier with a chest like a barrel. Arden recognized him as one of Teobalt’s grandfather’s bodyguards. "F’get the wench, ‘and the money over to us instead," said another, younger than the rest, tall and lanky, growing into his frame still. "Why would he? He's the son o' traitors, and terr’ble inna sack" a third one said-- a female he recognized as one he’d rebuffed years earlier-- with as much derision as she could muster, to a general fit of laughter. Teobalt hushed his companions harshly. "One hundred thousand gil," he shook his head. "What makes you think I can get my hands on that kind of money?" Arden ground his teeth for a couple of seconds before speaking. "Because I know that everything that happens around here that's not of the strictly legal sort goes through you. I know that the reason Little Ala Mhigo has even as little as they have is because of you. I know that you can get your hands on that money, and I know that you could do it within the hour if it pleased you." "And what makes you think that I would lift a finger to help the son of two traitors?" Arden sighed and shook his head. "Because you're not helping me. You're helping my wife. An innocent that was caught in something that was not her fault." They all laughed at him. Arden could hardly contain the anger building inside him. "Your wife. An outsider. Not even of the same damned species. No, son of Steelbreaker.  You'll get nothing from us. And if we had even the slightest belief that you had the rest of that money with you, we'd take it for ourselves. Pah, two million gil for some whore when that could be used to feed and clothe-- " Teobalt wasn't able to finish as Arden’s fist lashed out at his face. Teobalt's nose collapsing under the force of the punch was the last thing Arden clearly remembered before he felt his bell rung as one of the others clubbed him in the head. ********* Arden awoke an hour or so before dawn, his entire body feeling like it had been put through a grinder. His brain was foggy, but not enough for him to forget what would happen if he missed the meet. It didn't matter that he felt like he would topple over with every step, or that every breath he took brought different degrees of pain. Barely aware of getting the chest with the money, he dragged it behind him. He heard Arnulf calling to him as if from a great distance, and before he knew it two of the man's musclebound thugs held him up while a third man, memorable to Arden for having overly styled and pointed beard, shoved a potion down Arden's throat, which made him choke and cough, unexpected as it was. It took a few moments for the potion's effects to manifest. Not particularly strong, but strong enough to allow him to stand with his own power and enough to clear his mind somewhat. Arden shook his hands, and inhaled sharply as his brain caught up with the fact that several of his knuckles were broken. The two muscular henchmen were already busy carrying the chest over to Arnulf, Pointy-Beard following in their wake. "Better?" Arnulf said as Arden blinked rapidly and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "Too bad,” he continued dryly as the men with the chest dropped it at Arnulf’s feet. "Alright, let's see what we've got, hm?" The crime lord gestured and a slimy, squirrely-looking fellow standing beside him knelt and opened the chest, shifting to let his boss look. Arnulf whistled appreciatively at the contents. "Is that all of it, then?" Arden fought the urge to lie, to tell the man it was all there. But he'd have it counted, and when the lie was discovered, it would be all she wrote. So he shook his head. "No. I'm a hunnerd thousand short." A long silence followed before Arnulf sighed and shook his head. "You disappoint me, Tide. More's the pity, you look like you really gave it a go. Would that my men were half as single-minded and dedicated," he chuckled. One of his men scuffed the sand, seeming chastened. "I'm sorry Arnulf... I tried. If I had just one more day-- a few hours maybe..." Arden trailed off as his voice began to quaver, realizing how desperate, how pathetic he must sound. His hands balled into fists and stayed that way in spite of the sharp pain of his broken knuckles. The pain helped his senses sharpen a bit more. Arnulf made a dismissive gesture. "If I had a gil for every time I've heard that before... well, I'd be that much richer," he smirked as he threw glances at his two burly men. "Bring the girl," he said. The men hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other in confusion for a moment before Arnulf barked, "Now!" Shortly they emerged from behind a large rock, A'rsinoe in two between them, bound and gagged but otherwise looking unharmed, her brown eyes bright and fearful, then relieved as she saw her husband. Arden took a step forward, but a raised hand from Arnulf stopped him. "That'll be enough of that. Now, I know what you're thinking-- you failed to come up with the full amount, so naturally I'm going to kill your beloved bride. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I am, after all, merciful." That did nothing to assuage Arden's fear. Nor did the all-too-knowing chuckles from Arnulf's lackeys. Arnulf gestured and A'rsinoe was placed in front of him. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face her husband. Arnulf drew a dagger from a sheath at his waist. Arden visibly tensed, but then her hands came free, and he relaxed. Just before A'rsinoe made to bolt towards the Highlander, Arnulf caught her by the arm. "Ah, not so fast, my dear," he said as he turned her around unkindly. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. "I want to apologize to you. You were caught up in events outside your control from the start." He took A'rsinoe's right hand in one of his and lifted it to his lips, giving it a kiss. "And as I said, I plan to be merciful. I won't kill you-- your husband, after all, brought most of the money I demanded. And since he was only missing a small bit of it..." he trailed off as he suddenly squeezed her hand tightly. A sudden jerk of motion, and someone was screaming. Arsinoe fell backwards and curled into herself, clutching her right arm. "...I think you should go back to your husband missing a small bit of you too," Arnulf concluded, tossing A'rsinoe's severed right hand aside. The sight of it hitting the sand was the last thing Arden was consciously aware of before his entire world went red. ********* Now. He hid in the shadow of a tall rock as he waited patiently for the old man to come out. It wouldn’t be long. He knew the old man made regular trips out to Ul’dah for his… entertainment. And with his regular bodyguards strangely missing, he’d have to make do with inferior sorts. Everything was going according to plan, even the lack of true and concrete reaction to the “gifts” he’d sent the Night Blades. It wasn’t that difficult to predict how people would react if you watched them long enough, listened to them long enough. Having access to a good deal of their personal information didn’t hurt in the least. A young, black-haired, blue-eyed boy that hasn’t eaten anything but scraps and leavings for days, shoved away roughly by a man ladling out water. A kindly old grandfather beckoning him over, offering him water and a bowl of soup. He shook his head and wiped sweat from his forehead.  He remembered how much he hated being out here.  The oppressive heat even in the dead of night.  The sounds of the skulking creatures that hunted in the dark. The people that lived in Little Ala Mhigo.  He shook his head again as his thoughts turned away from the task at hand.  Time to concentrate on the job. For certain, whomever the old man chose in such short notice wasn’t going to be up to the caliber of the former ones, but he still needed to be on top of his game if he was going to do this with the same level of efficiency and quiet as all the others. “And there he is,” he murmured to himself as he watched one of the bodyguards brought a chocobo and harnessed it to the old man’s personal carriage-- an affectation that few people in Little Ala Mhigo would adopt, but the old man’s advanced age necessitated it, and his influence made it happen. Scornful eyes belonging to dirty, hungry people following the boy as he walked into the tent. The boy forcing himself to eat slowly, and sip from a mug of tepid water, grateful for the kindness he does not remember knowing. A red-haired boy watches confused as that boy, someone everyone else seems to hate is given water and soup and led into a tent. Later, he awakens as a scream echoes through the cold passages. “Whassat? Why’s ee screamin’?” the boy asks his mother “It’s nonna our bi’ness, nei git up,” came the snappish, curt response as he was roughly pulled to his feet and moved along, farther away, where the echoes wouldn’t reach them as easily. The next thing he knew, he was standing over the old man. The bodyguards and the chocobo battered and broken. The look of fear on the old man’s face, the stench of him voiding himself in terror, almost made it all worth it. *********

Then.

Arden dreamt.

He dreamt and couldn’t wake up.  He thought he was dreaming, but he couldn’t wake up.  Couldn’t wake up when the dream turned into nightmare.  When he saw A’rsinoe’s hand fall to the sand.

On top of him

Crushing him under its weight

The blood from the wound drowning him

The children they would never have asking why he failed her, why he failed them, why wasn’t he stronger, why wasn’t he faster why wasn’t he smarter whywasn’thedeadinsteadwhydidn’theseethiscomingwhy

why

whywhy

whywhywhy

whywhy

why

The light was blinding and painful.  He felt more pain, someplace in the background, hidden behind a haze of medicines that he could almost taste.

He could hear something.

No.  No.  It wasn’t a thing.

Someone. Someone was saying his name.  It took him a few tries before his eyes focused on the young girl with red hair and green eyes that smiled when she realized he was conscious.

“Whhhhwhaaaaaaa?” he asked about as eloquently as someone who forgot what language was while in a drug-induced haze.

“Well, conscious might be a bit generous,” she said with a touch of amusement.

“Where... am I?” he asked finally, mustering what lucidity he could in his current condition, realizing that he wa sin a bed... with all sorts of tubes and contraptions stuck to him.

“You’re in Garlemald,” came the answer.  It wasn’t the young redhead.  No, it was a silver-haired, severe-looking older woman dressed in a uniform.  Her facial features resembled the redhead, though without the pleasant smile.

Arden blinked owlishly, trying to figure out exactly how he ended up halfway across the known world. “I’m still delirious, aren’t I?” he asked.

The older woman smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.  There was something familiar about that... something that tickled the back of his brain.  Something he’d long forgotten.

“Nothing of the sort.  You really are in Garlemald,” she paused.  “You truly don’t remember, do you?”

“Perhaps it’s the drugs, Mother” the young redhead interjected.

“Hmm, perhaps,” the older woman said skeptically.  “Or perhaps he just wishes not to remember.  Not that I would blame him.”

“I’m still right here,” Arden said, mildly annoyed that they were speaking about him while standing above him.

The redhead looked abashed and maybe a little amused.  The older woman simply ticked an eyebrow upward.  That expression brought back an awful lot of memories.

“Mother,” he said abruptly.  “They were right about you after all...” he muttered quietly as the young redhead exclaimed “Oh, he does remember!”

“Indeed,” Arden’s mother said with a nod, her expression wavering into something... that might have been sadness?  Regret.  “Agrippa mal Sylua, once Agrippa Tide.”

Arden nodded.  He remembered all too well all of a sudden.  “But you died.”

Agrippa shook her head.  “Clearly I did not.  It wasn’t difficult to fake my death with ingenuity and careful preparation- there is little that you cannot overcome with those lessons I tried to instill in you as a child,” she smiled again, glancing at the redhead,”and upon your sister as well.”

“S-sister...?” he asked dumbly, looking at the redhead, who grinned. 

“Ravija jen Sylua.  Pleased to finally meet you, brother mine.”

“Likewise,” Arden replied, staring at her, looking as if he’d been poleaxed.  His mother, truly a traitor, and alive.  And he had a sister.

“Half?” Arden asked his mother. “Not that it matters,” he muttered quickly with a glance at Ravija, who didn’t seem to take offense, by the smile that she kept wearing.

“No, I was already with child when I escaped.  She is your full-blooded sister.”

Arden nodded.  “How... did you find me?”

“It’s a long story.  The condensed version is that I got wind that you were alive after believing you dead and gone for a very long time,” he paused.  “Believe me, son.  I would have sent agents to find you sooner if I had believed that you were alive.”  She reached down and gently took one of his hands in hers, giving it a small squeeze. “I know that this is a lot to take in, particularly in your condition.  You should rest.  There will be time enough for explanations once you’ve recuperated further.  Ravija here will remain with you to monitor your recovery,” Agrippa smiled as Ravija nodded.

Arden nodded again, somehow not failing to notice that strange lack of emotion in his mother’s eyes.  Any doubts he might have had that this was indeed his mother were dispelled by that. 

It was but one of the reasons why he had hated his mother as a boy.

He didn’t dwell on that for very long, remembering something else.  Something much more important.

“A’rsinoe,” he gasped, suddenly trying to sit up and failing, causing some of the tubes attached to him to unceremoniously rip from his flesh.  He hardly felt the pain.  Later, Arden would recall Ravija’s quick and decisive response in ensuring that he didn’t injure himself further with gratitude and not a little amazement for a girl not quite in her fifteenth year.

But at that moment, all he could think of was A’rsinoe.  

The blood. 

The hand.  

The rage.

Agrippa didn’t even flinch as Ravija and a pair of medical technicians worked to settle the injured man.  Once he was settled again and given a potent dose of sedative, she stepped closer and furrowed her brow.  “A’rsinoe.  The miqo’te that had been in your arms when you were found.”

Arden nodded groggily as the grief, the despair and the anger all just melted away from him, rolled off of him like water off a fowl’s back with alarming alacrity.

“I’m sorry, my son.  When they found you, my men said you were barely conscious and delirious, raving about finding her a healer.  But she was already dead.  There was nothing anyone could do.  There wasn’t room in the craft for her, so she was buried in the badlands where we found you.  There is a marker.  When you’re healed... if you wish to visit... it can be arranged.”

Arden was already falling, falling, falling back into that blissfully hellish oblivion of unconsciousness, so he missed the obvious reluctance in his mother’s voice.

“Rest, son.  We shall speak again soon.”

Arden grunted something barely recognizable as language as Agrippa turned to Ravija and gave her instructions.

The last thing Arden remembered as his perception went black was Ravija’s voice.  “Don’t worry, big brother.  I’ll take good care of you.  That’s what family does, right?”

...

Family.

He had one before.

But she-

[pandolfo-malatesta]

Scraps

“They’re sales samples,” Pauline explained, “from the summer before last.”  Sure enough, the mill’s name was printed on the cardboard flaps that held the little rectangles of fabric together.  “I like them, but I haven’t any need to keep them.”

They were the soothing colors of ladies’ day dresses, pastel calicos and printed bouquets.  And they were soft, far finer weaves than the Kollárs could afford.  Each piece was just about the size of her hand—not even large enough to serve as a handkerchief—but there were dozens of them, making the booklet three inches thick.  All together they couldn’t make up a blouse, let alone a skirt; but there was likely enough fabric to piece a pillowcase, or a very small blanket.

Hana stroked a bit of green-and-cream striped cotton with a fingertip.  “Can I have it?”  

“You’re welcome to it,” Pauline said warmly.  “I know it will come to good use with you.”

Unlike her mother, Hana had little patience for sewing.  Still, she applied herself to the project with a will, and before too long was able to unveil the result to her friend, pride and nervousness mingling as she spread it out.

“It’s charming!  And just the right size for a crib.”  Pauline looked up from the corner where Hana had stitched the year and, with eyes dancing, asked, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Hana’s face inflamed as she snatched the quilt back.  “Hush,” she snapped, but weakly, and focused on folding her handiwork.  “It will be a present.” 

“If you insist.” 

She draped the folded quilt over her forearm.  “I have to go find Tumbler,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.  Pauline waved her off, still giggling, and Hana marched to the door.  There she announced, “I will tell Kid Blink you miss him,” and, grinning, closed the door on Pauline’s cry of protest.

 * * * * *

“Can you help me with something?”

Tumbler heaved a sigh that shook his narrow frame.  His reluctance was somewhat at odds with the curiosity apparent even as he squinted at the wrapped parcel she held.  “I guess,” he answered, far from enthusiastic. 

“This is for Sarah and Jack.”  Against her expectation, his expression darkened.  Puzzled, she went on nonetheless.  “Do you know where they are staying?”

“Yeah, with Les an’ Dave an’ their parents, all squashed in together,” he groused.  “I told Jack he should come stay at Duane Street, but he said he didn’t think Kloppman’d let him, since he ain’t a newsboy no more.”  His shoulders drooped.

“Would you please take me there?” 

“I’m s’posed to meet Les in a little while,” he said dully.  “He can take it to ’em.”

When Les arrived she was introduced to what was clearly a longstanding ritual as each boy spit into his palm before shaking hands with a solemn air.  Without the expectoration it would have been as serious a greeting as any between fellow businessmen.  Before Tumbler had even finished asking, Les was already inviting them both back to the apartment. 

“Mama an’ Sarah are out shopping,” he informed them scornfully, “but Jack an’ David might be back.  They went to lunch with Mr. Denton today.”

This update on his hero’s movements did not appease Tumbler, who walked with hands jammed deep in his pockets.  Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him—but he’d sold most of his papers by the time she’d found him, and he’d never seemed opposed to spending time with her before.  As they walked she fretted over his mood, trying to figure out what she could have done to offend him so.  Whatever it was hadn’t been bad enough to eclipse his desire to see Jack, though.

Les, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by his friend’s silence.  “How come you didn’t get Skittery to help ya deliver that?” he asked Hana, nodding at the bundle she hugged to her midsection.  “What is it, anyway?”

“It is a blanket I made for the baby.”  Tumbler grumbled and Les scoffed; their noises gave her time to think of an answer to Les’ first question.  The truth was that she didn’t want Roman to know she’d made the blanket.  It had been meant as a simple gesture in thanks for the Kellys’ hospitality and kindness; but now she felt the parcel weighed down with unintended innuendo.  She didn’t want Roman to get the wrong idea, to think that she was in any rush, that she wanted more than he did.  Her stomach roiled and she shifted the package in her arms, wishing rather hopelessly that he wouldn’t hear about any of this.  “He was at work,” she said finally.

Tumbler glared down at the sidewalk and mumbled something.  Les looked at the other boy and then shot her an apologetic glance before hurrying forward.

The building he led them into was much like her own though perhaps older, the banister wobbly, the hallway’s wallpaper water-stained.  Les pushed open a door, calling “Jack?  David?”

“We’re here,” answered an unfamiliar voice.  

Jack sat at a table with another young man who could only be David.  Tumbler rushed to Jack, though when he reached his side he seemed at a loss; Jack threw an arm around his shoulders with ease and some of the sadness drained from his face.

“Hana!  How ya doin’?” Jack asked. 

“Fine, thank you.”

He waved her in, then reached over to squeeze his companion’s shoulder.  “This is my best pal an’ brother-in-law, David Jacobs.  Davey, this is Hana...”

“Kollár.”  She smiled shyly at the other man.

“Aha,” he said.  It was an unusual response, and one that would have put her on her guard had she not known what incurable gossips newsies could be.  Despite the keenness of his eyes, his tone was affable as he said, “Dzień dobry.”  

Aha, she thought, cocking her head to one side.  “Dobrý deň.”

“Czy rozumiesz po polsku?”

“Trochu.”  Though she wiggled her hand to indicate the variable and unreliable nature of her understanding he grinned.

“You gettin’ any of this?” Jack asked the boys by his side.  Les shrugged as Tumbler shook his head.  Jack looked from Hana to David and said, “How’s about English for us dummies?”

“Sorry,” she said.  David, on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he granted magnanimously.  Then his attention was caught by the package, and his eyebrows rose.  He looked so childlike and eager that she wanted to laugh.

“This is for you and Sarah, for the baby.”  At the last word his face brightened still further, and he leapt to his feet.  The boys stumbled into each other in his wake. 

“She made it,” Les put in as a scowling Tumbler shoved him away. 

Jack took the proffered gift with something approaching reverence.  “Ya didn’t have to do anythin’.  We already liked ya fine,” he added with a cheeky smile.

“Oh.  Then—”  She reached out as if to reclaim the gift, and he laughed.

“Thanks,” he said, giving it a surreptitious squeeze.  With obvious reluctance he set the package on the table.  “Guess I oughtta wait ’til Sarah’s back to open it.  C’mon, let’s go up to the roof.  If I can’t see it, maybe I won’t want to open it.” 

He led the way out a window and up a fire escape, the boys at his heels.  David followed but she remained in place, unsure whether the invitation had included her, and whether she ought to accept if it had.

David paused, one hand on the window frame.  “Aren’t you coming?”  

“I don’t think I should.”  Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden; she swallowed thickly before she confided, “I think Tumbler is mad at me.”

His mouth twisted wryly and he turned away from the window.  “I think—this is just a hunch, but I think he’s probably jealous.  Skittery’s got a girl, and then Jack comes home, but all anybody wants to talk about is the baby...”

Her eyes widened even as her heart sank.  The last thing she ever wanted was to separate the brothers, and she hadn’t thought she was.  Now it seemed she’d been mistaken. 

“I mean, I could be wrong,” he went on, “but before Les was born I wasn’t too happy about the idea of not being the baby anymore.  Not that I was a baby anymore at that point.”  His smile was a little embarrassed.  “But Tumbler’s been one of the youngest of the newsies—his family—for a while now, and it’s possible that right now he sees this as a loss, rather than a gain.”  He half-shrugged, diffidently.

She’d always thought that the larger the family, the better: more people to share the work, more to lean on in difficult times.  Even surrounded by aunts and cousins, uncles and grandparents, her place had never felt precarious.  But she hadn’t lost her family as Tumbler had, however he had; she’d never been on her own, or had to find her own way.  She feared she would never understand how he felt, and feared how it might come between them.

“Anyway, you’re welcome to come up.  It’s not a bad view of the city up there.  But if you want to go, I understand.”

Though Jack and Les glanced over as she stepped onto the roof, Tumbler steadfastly ignored her.  Then the three went on with their impromptu boxing lesson and Hana shaded her eyes to admire the view, trying to ignore the heaviness of her heart.

It got easier as she talked with David.  He was curious, those blue eyes bright as he asked about where she was from and how she’d gotten to New York and why they’d stayed in the city when her brother had already established himself in Pittsburgh.  Her father was no miner, nor a steel worker; he had no experience in such dangerous work, and feared being forced into such work—or excluded from any other—simply because of his ethnicity.  In New York they felt free, she explained, and David smiled, looking southward.

“‘And her name Mother of Exiles,’” he murmured.  Then he talked about Poland, the way his tongue had felt thick and slow in his mouth as he struggled to learn the language, the way the sun flashed on the river as he fished with his cousin.  Soon they were comparing their two languages; his expression was satisfied each time the Slovak and Polish words were similar, but the divergences bewildered him.

“Wait, so ‘yes’ is áno?”

“Yes.”

“But in Polish ‘yes’ is tak.”

“And in Slovak tak means ‘so.’”

He clutched fistfuls of curls.  “That’s...that makes no sense!”

The distant clang of a bell cut through her chuckles.  “I should go,” she said, standing.

“Ugh.  Right, just leave me with this linguistic conundrum.  I guess I’ll be stopping by the library during lunch tomorrow...  This was fun,” he told her. 

“Yes, I see.”  She glanced at the state of his head with a smile that made him grimace anew as he smoothed a hand through his hair.

Then she looked over at the others and sighed.  Jack was on one knee, a hand on Tumbler’s shoulder; she saw his eyes flick toward them and back, at which Les joined them.  “Come on,” David said, tousling his brother’s hair, “we’ll wait downstairs.”  As she stepped over the side she just barely heard Tumbler mumble, “I wish ya didn’t have to go away again, Cowboy.” 

The indecision she’d felt before returned in the family’s apartment; she was torn between wanting to escape her mounting unease and knowing that it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye to Jack.  Meanwhile David had taken a book down from a shelf and sat at the table with a pen and paper.  “This will just take a minute,” he said without looking up from whatever he was writing.  So she stayed, inching closer to the broom with each passing moment, longing for the purpose she felt while cleaning.

Before she reached the broom Jack ducked through the window, rubbing an eye.  As he straightened and saw her he pasted on a smile. 

“Is he okay?” 

The mask dissolved.  He glanced upward and shrugged.  “He’ll be alright.”  It did not answer the question she’d asked and both of them knew it.  He studied her face for a moment; she lifted her chin to meet his gaze, even as she wrung her hands.  No matter what he saw in her face, she had no doubt he noticed her fidgeting, could divine her every weakness.  

When he spoke again it was with a much more genuine smile.  “Thanks for comin’ by.  An’ for the present; Sarah’s gonna love it.” 

She smiled faintly.  “You do not even know what it is.” 

“Nope,” he said, “but I know Sarah.”  And that, at least, was unarguable. 

David joined them then.  “She’ll be back soon, if you want to give it to her in person.  Of course, then you’d have to meet my mother, too.  And then she’d find out I didn’t even try to feed you.”  His eyes went wide in mock horror, though his lips twitched with a smile. 

“I understand,” she said, nodding sagely.  “I will go so you will not be in trouble.”  She turned to the other man.  “Goodbye, Jack.” 

He shook her hand.  “Bye, Hana.”

David walked with her to the door, where he handed her a piece of paper covered in meticulous cursive.  A glance revealed its title to be The New Colossus.  “What I said before, about the ‘Mother of Exiles’?  It’s in there.”  He nodded at the poem.  “Emma Lazarus wrote it to raise money for the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty, but it’s about more than that.  It’s about welcoming and…”  He caught himself and chuckled.  “Well, you’ll see.”

She hoped she would.  Even so, it was nice that he thought she’d understand—especially today, when she felt she understood so little.  Nodding, she tucked the paper away carefully. 

“You’re welcome back any time,” he said, then added hopefully, “Do widzenia.”

“Dovidenia,” she replied, and caught his triumphant grin before he closed the door.

When she stepped down from the curb at the corner Tumbler fell in beside her.  He didn’t say anything so neither did she; but she noticed that his eyes were red, and his face somewhat cleaner than before, as if it had been halfheartedly scrubbed.  The silence between them continued all the way to her building, where he slumped against the railing along the stoop.  He ran a toe over the edge of a step, and still refused to look at her.  Yet he had stopped; he could have kept walking, could have left without waiting for her.  There was hope there yet. 

“Thank you for taking me,” she ventured.  “It was nice of you to help me.”  The words were not enough, not strong enough or exact enough.  His response was a shrug, the gesture nigh impossible to read.  Hands fisted in her skirt, she fought off a wave of weariness and frustration and despair to try again.  “Would you stay and have dinner with us?  Please?” 

“You want me hangin’ around?” he spat, so bitterly that she stepped backward.  “Sure ya don’t just want Skitts instead?” 

“I want you both around,” she said, quiet and steady, “for as long as you want to be.”  There was no reason for him to feel left out or lonely, and she would do whatever she could to make sure he didn’t.  “Mama will be happy if you eat with us.  And Tatko—he will be happy, and I will be very happy.”  She raised one hand to her heart; at last he peeked up. 

He pursed his lips, apparently weighing his options.   When she realized she had no idea what his options were, her earlier fear threatened to rise again; the hand over her heart clenched into a fist and she felt stronger in moving, in doing.

At length he met her gaze.  “I guess I could,” he allowed, cocking his head.  His eyes seemed brighter now.  “If it’d make ya that happy.”

“But what about you?”  Her fist tightened; her heart squeezed.  “Would it make you happy, too?”

Finally he smiled, a tiny, fledgling thing.  “Yeah.”  

“Then come on,” she said, and up they went, to her mother’s hearty stew and her father’s thoughtful attention and the feeling of threads pulling tighter, a patchwork coming together. 

 Dzień dobry / Dobrý deň = Hello (“good day” if you want to be super literal) Czy rozumiesz po polsku? = You understand Polish? Trochu = a bit Do widzenia / Dovidenia = Goodbye