A/N: Just something I've been working on. Based on a variety of songs, which I will list at the end of the story. See if you can guess them until then. I'm probably going to quote a couple.

Caution!
This first chapter has very strong adult themes, actually, it's all in that first paragraph. Skip it if you don't like that stuff. It shouldn't affect your reading experience, I don't think.

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It's My City

by RedRogue

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Newsies mostly fall into two categories: orphans, or runaways. Very rarely, you'll have a scattered few that have families they are helping support. I was a runaway, myself, so that means I used to have a family.

I was born into a well-off one too, with a father and two brothers. I had nice clothes and things, and was treated like a doll-- daddy's little girl. I was his favorite, and I figured it was because I looked so much like my dead mother, with the harsh, mocking green eyes, and caramel hair. I had a meaner face, though, so I wasn't really considered pretty. Just intimidating. My brothers looked more like my father, but unlike my father, they were bullies. Whose brothers weren't? All in all, they were the only taint in my sunny life.

Then, when I was eight, my father died, and everything changed. My brothers and I were sent to live to our only known relative: Our uncle 'Weasel' as everyone called him, who worked at a newspaper office for and with the scum of New York. There, my expensive clothing was replaced with work clothes, my soft, baby-fatted figure replaced with hard muscle, my porcelain skin replaced with ugly calluses. I grew used to being dirty all the time. My brothers made a name for themselves as thugs for Uncle Weasel, beating up newsie kids at any excuse. When I aged a bit into a teen, I joined them. It was easy to get extra cash from them, convenient to keep them in line with force.

I spent a lot of time in the streets, hating my creepy uncle. He made me nervous, always rubbing my legs when I sat close, stroking my hair and face all the time, until it slowly progressed into the touching of other, more private places. I didn't even realize it was wrong. I just knew I hated it.

I remember the day it became too much. He stripped down that day as well, and in the dark, I felt him come on me. I don't know what came over me, but a sudden bravery swept through me, and I began to wriggle in any place I could, fighting it with everything in me. But accident, I kicked him where it hurt. He groaned and fell off, in which I took the opportunity to grab what little things I had and run.

I ran as far as I could. I slept in the streets gladly, for the first time feeling a sense of true freedom. That's when my bold, leaderly complex came over me, and I vowed never to let anyone use me like that again.

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I remembered when I first met Conlon. He wasn't a leader then, just a small section was considered his. Those docks. He liked those docks. Even when he finally did become leader he stuck around those ports.

But his reputation was already spreading. I'd heard his name thrown around like a brick, boasting of pain and destruction. I was no timid newsie myself, but even I had enough sense to figure he was not a man to mess with. Some of my fellow girl newsies had come and gone from his lands, always suffering heartache. "He was a jackass," some would complain. Others would say: "he's a saint." One thing I quickly learned: for all those who loved him, he never loved any of them. I vowed never to fall into that trap, no matter what. I didn't need a stupid thing like love anyway. I was independent, and I liked it.

But it was easier said than done, for I had never even seen the boy before. It was easy to say "that'll never happen to me" when all he was, was a name.

But then I met him. I had beaten up two of his fellow Brooklynites bloody when they had tried to get fresh with me. I had surely broken the arm of one of them, and the balls of the other.

More than anything, I hated it when boys exerted themselves over women—but especially when it was sexual, as if that was all we were good for. Not to even mention it brought back bad memories. It was something that made me boil over every time. I was immediately taken to stand trial in front of their manager.

"So you're the tough little snipe that woiked over Mickey an' Fingers."

He stepped of his high tower like it he was climbing off a pedestal to grace me with his presence. When he got a good look at me, he seemed a little surprised.

"I was expectin' a boy."

They all say that. They all respect me until they meet me and find out I'm a girl. Then all bets are off. I hate that.

"I was expectin' somebody taller," I shot back. "Not a short stack that carries a big stick to compensate."

He wasn't expecting me to come back. Not to him. No one came back at him. He turned around slowly, looking at me in a new light. He stuck an authoritive cane under my chin.

"Well, now," he said mockingly, a grin dancing dangerously on the edges of his lips. "Ain't you a bundle a' sunshine?"

Sunshine. It was a name that stuck, a sarcastic nickname for my shrewish attitude. He was usually the only one who called me Sunshine, while everyone else soon shortened it to 'Sunny'. No, he insisted on the full name that he had given me.

I hated that too.

Oh, how vast was my hate for him. There was hardly a thing about him that I didn't hate: I hated the God complex he flaunted around so easily… I hated those cold, gray eyes that didn't know how not to glare… I hated how easily he could make people fear him… I hated how he was so small yet packed such a hard punch… I hated the way he was so skinny he had to wear pants too short for him just so they would fit around his lean waist… I hated those steel-toed boots that could break legs with a single kick… I hated the way he rolled up his sleeves, I hated that slingshot, I hated that cane, I hated him.

Until I fell in love with him.

To this day, I don't know how it happened. One day, I was ringing his neck, the next, I was kissing it. That's also what they all say. No one ever sees him coming.

For a while, it was bliss. I watched him as he rose to power, and I, in turn, began to make a name for myself in my own town, a lot done by his example. Only a select few knew of our little affair, which is how we both wanted it. It was a strange relationship, the best parts were without words. I was stubborn and so was he, and we fought like no other, with words and with our fists.

But I kept coming back. He always took me back. Then there were no more words on the matter. It was just how it was. I didn't even realize I was in love with him, really. It seemed more business than pleasure. There were many times I would stand in his drafty doorway, deliberating if it was too late to go home, to just leave him behind. I didn't want to need him. I didn't want to be under his control like everything else was.

"Youse comin' to bed, or what?" he would ask in his cold way. I hated how everything that came out of his mouth was like a command. If there was one thing I hated, it was being bossed around. But I hated sleeping without him more.

Until that fateful day, that horrible day, when my friend Penny-Annie came to me with a sorrowful face, and pity in her eyes. I suspected what was on the tip of her tongue before she even spoke it. But somehow, hearing it uttered was so much worse.

"I saw Spot with another woman."

Now, I was not the kind of person who cried. Leaders do not cry. You had to be tough out in that world, and I was as tough as the lot of them. But this surprisingly jarred me closer to tears than anything else ever had, or ever would. I didn't realize how much he meant to me until the threat of him leaving my life was upon me.

For two days, I refused to sell, until I wrapped my head around the fact. I came to the decision that I wasn't going to take this lying down. I wasn't going to lose face, I wasn't going to sit back and let him crush me. I'd beat him to it.

I had a friend, nicknamed River, who had a longtime eye on me. A little bold flirting was all it took. When Spot came back to my place that night, he found me in bed with the blond, and it was done. Spot walked right out of my life without argument or even a smidgen of distress, and that was that.

A year later, the Territory Wars started. The 'workin' boys of New York' were always territorial, but until then, they had always respected each other's lands. I think it was the Bronx that first started breaking the rules. They conquered East Side as their own, and it started an outrage. Some fought for peace, some fought for a piece of land for themselves. But that time in life was chaos. Kids were taken to the Refuge by the truckloads. Hospitals had more kids than soldiers.

My friends began to grow in numbers, until I had a piece of land I could call my rule. Around those parts, I became as notorious as the King himself. I was not only scarred and badass on the outside, I was on the inside as well.

For a while, we were part of those who fought for peace, but when the easy opportunities arose, we couldn't help but spread out our name. At times we got worked over until we could barely stand. Others, we were the ones doing the harsh beatings.

But then the battle for Queens started. Being a girl, for once in my life, came in handy. My hard fists and clever tactics took them all by surprise. They didn't expect it, coming from a girl, and all. By the end of the second year, the whole of Queens… was mine.

I was proud of all I had accomplished, even though others had said it was impossible. I had climbed the status chain until I had finally set myself up as leader. I was the 'Queen of Queens' as they would say. It was good land, and everyone knew it. It wasn't as big as Brooklyn, or nearly as honest as Manhattan, but it was a rich town, and one of the most profitable selling grounds.

And Spot wanted it.

I remember that day on the Bridge. My men and his men marched right up to each other, equally furious at each other's actions in this war. My men were just as impressive as his, just as mean. Lately, their tensions had doubled. I have to admit, this was mostly my influence for my own feelings towards Brooklyn, and more specifically, their leader.

When I saw him, my left eyebrow raised and I frowned in distaste. I found the exact same look on his face as well, as we looked each other over. We both put on the façade that this nothing had ever happened between us before.

Oh, I hated Conlon. I began to doubt there had ever been a time when I hadn't hated him. He was such a fake, a bully, a jackass… Everything about him offended me. I was insulted by his mere presence. He didn't seem to be able to stand me, either.

"Where's your leader?" he demanded in a bold, commanding tone that came natural to him.

"You're lookin' at her."

Immediately his large, menacing boys, who just a second ago had looked so serious, exploded into laughter. Even the ever-composed Spot Conlon broke an amused smirk. I folded my arms indignantly, feeling my temper rise. I was not one to stand for disrespect, and especially not from Conlon.

"You're the new leader?" he scoffed. "You gotta be kidding me. This ain't no ballet, woman. This is war."

"No joke?" I spat back. "Excuse me while I hang up my tutu. You'd better start talkin' somethin' that grabs my interest, Conlon, or I'm walkin'."

He stepped up close to me, and I let my fist curl into a firm ball, ready for anything.

"Alright, here's a deal for you, Sunshine: why don't I just take your cute little ass home," --he slapped my butt as he said this-- "Nail you a few times, and we'll call it even, huh?"

Infuriated, I immediately flicked his hand off my rear end and slugged him a good one in the jaw. Even more angry now, Spot instinctively grabbed his cane and came at me with fuming rage, having to be held back by his own men. My boys had to do the same for me, since I was quite ready to commit murder where I stood.

"You asked for it, bitch!" Spot shouted at me. "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're a girl!"

"You just go ahead and try it, you dumbass! You think I'm afraid of you?"

"You'd better be!" Spot warned me as my men dragged me off with much difficulty. "You and your stupid city are goin' to HELL!" he shouted as we were pulled apart. "You hear me? To HELL!"

It didn't take me long to learn that Conlon does not hand out his promises lightly. He was right. I should have been afraid. When you were on his bad side, Spot fought dirty. And when he knew intimate things about you, you knew you were in for it. Spot didn't use brawn. He used brains. He knew where the killing blow was with me. In the heart. My rule over Queens survived. My soul did not.

They say 'all's fair in love and war'. That's true for one of them. The other is very, very much a lie.

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Next chapter in Spot's point of view. This was an idea I just ran with today. Please tell me what you think. If you think it's bogus, I'll leave it alone after next chapter. If not, I'll keep going. Please review.
Signed,
--RedRogue