For Brooklyn 2
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Twenty: Da new leadah
Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)
Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.
I am using the character of Prince from a good friend of mine. So that means i dont own. I only use with express permission -grin- thank you.
A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-
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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.
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Queens was torn. Under the care of good ol' Karlof, the once strong borough was now nothing but weak and tormented kids under the care of the gang Karlof had hand picked and put it charge.
The lodging house was a mess, any sales going straight into the leader's pocket. The newsies were starving and resorted to stealing to get either money or food. The result of that was that many of the honest Queen's kids were sent straight into the refuge, picked up off the streets by cops.
Most of them caught in the act.
The ones left had no choice but to follow Karlof, most of them branded by his hand. He owned them, you see. They were his property. His and only his. No one had the guts to stand up to him or his gang.
When Spot killed Karlof, it wasn't the end of all their troubles. It was merely the start of some new ones. Without a leader, the gang fought over the newly opened position, kicking the other's around and damaging the city like never before.
Until one day, they had enough.
No one knew who threw the first punch, whether it be newsie or gang, but in seconds it had erupted into a massive fight, fists flying, blood splattering, an all out brawl for the sake and honor of a once proud borough.
Now it was simply a matter of who gave out first.
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And in Manhattan, it was a bleaker then usual day.
The rain had started sometime during the early morning hours, and hadn't slowed down at all as the day progressed. The streets were flooded, and not even newsies -were there any one to sell to - would travel around at this part in the game.
Thus it had become a free day, in which most of the newsies either relaxed or partook in one of the many gambling games going on around in the common room. There wasn't really anything else to do, unless you wanted to head off in the rain.
Not many were planning on doing that anytime soon, however.
"Raise ya, Race." Blink tapped his fingers on the table, eyebrow raised slightly as he looked over at his shorter partner. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to play poker, especially with Race, but he was here now.
Had to make the best of it.
"...Im out." Race muttered, throwing his cards down as he slid his chair back from the table. A hush spread across those at the table and the surrounding area, and Blink's already raised eyebrow shot to his hairline.
"Race? Are you-"
"Im fine." The gambler snapped, a bit harsher then he had intended to. "I just...don't feel like playin...thats all."
That might not seem a big deal to those who didn't know Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins, but to his friends, it was as if saying the apocalypse had come. David gently set his book down, marking his spot carefully.
"Something's bothering you, Race, why don't you just-"
The door opened and yet another newsie was cut off mid sentence. The wind blew harsh in the door, sending rain water scattering across the floor. It was someone small framed, huddling in a soaked jacket, and a damp and dripping newsie cap.
"Who're you?" Jack asked as he got to his feet, taking a few steps toward the newcomer.
Shutting the door behind them, green eyes peered at Jack from under the hat, and lips turned up into a half-smirk. "Me? Im da new leadah of Queens. Nice ta meet cha."
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Blaize hit the ground hard, coughing. All around him, the Queens newsies were falling, trying and failing to keep back the bigger, stronger, tougher gang Karlof had put together before he died.
Karlof. Even the mere mention of that man sent anger straight to his brain. Jerking hard on the leg of the man that had knocked him down, the British boy pulled himself to his feet even as his opponent fell with a yelp.
Used. Abused. He had come to expect the harsh treatment Karlof dished out. But he would be bloody well darned if he received it after the other was gone. Shouting out encouragement to the others, he stumbled to his feet.
"I gotta do something.." He whispered to himself, staring around with calculating eyes. Scrambling across the ground, and past the fighting, he bounded up the stairs of the lodging house, busting through the door to Karlof's private room.
It had to be here...It just HAD to be. Pulling clothes out of drawers, he tore up the room in search of what he hoped might end this fighting, once and for all. Sometimes...Drastic measures had to be taken.
Spying what he was after in the bottom of a drawer, he closed his hand around the cold metal of the revolver and lifted it. He could see his eyes reflected back at him, broken, shattered. His life had been torn to shreds...and all because of Karlof.
That more then anything gave him the courage to do what he had to do.
Sliding back down the banister, he came out on the porch and searched, eyes finally picking out his target. The so called 'leader' of the gang. Taking a deep breath, he sighted down the barrel. He wouldn't even know what hit him...standing there, looking oh so cocky.
A hand shot out suddenly, before he had even managed to put enough pressure on the trigger to fire, pushing the gun down. "No ya don't. Ya dun need a dead man on ya record."
Blaize turned, shocked, mouth open in a sort of snapped reply. But he didn't get to say anything, because the eyes that stared up at him from under the hat froze him solid. He had met Spot Conlon, once upon a time, and those same unyielding, unwavering, determined eyes were looking back at him.
Except this time, they weren't silver-blue.
They were green.
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Jack shut the door behind him, realizing that maybe some of his newsies would not appreciate the sudden meeting Ace and Jack wanted -behind closed doors - with this new...leader of Queens. Poking his head back out, he called Mush and David to the door, knowing they would keep the others from eavesdropping.
Ace gestured toward the chair. "If you came from Queens, you have to be tired...do you want something hot to drink?" He was aiming for civil, considering they hadn't a clue about this new leader.
Maybe he was all right and they had nothing to worry about.
Maybe.
"What do you want?" Jack asked, somewhat coldly. "If it's to apologize, you're wasting your time. I have no desire to make amends with anything that comes out of Queens."
"Jack!" Ace cried, shocked. Sure, Jack had a reason to be angry, but...He was a leader, and to make another leader angry was not good leadership skills. That could send them all into another war, and they didn't need that.
Not now. Not so soon.
But the other only chuckled. "I don't blame ya. Nuttin good has been comin outta Queens for a while now." He reached up and pulled off his hat, "But im not Karlof." The tone of the voice changed then, suddenly. Became less deep, more natural to the body frame.
"Da name's Prince."
Jack said the only thing that came to mind as he stared at the shoulder length brown hair that fell from the hat as soon as the new leader pulled it free. "You're a GIRL!"
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Guess what? Thats the END! -snorts- and im not joking. I decided to end this here, and start FB3 -sigh- yes, three, as soon as possible. Here's the summary:
Summary: While Red is off following Spot, the home front takes center stage as Queens enters into what could be its first civil war. With Brooklyn practically helpless and the Bronx totally undefended, can Manhattan help, or will old grudges get in the way? And will Red ever find Spot? (Sequel to FB and FB2)
But that doesn't mean you wont get heavy doses of your favorite characters!
whatcha think? Drop me a review and let me know!