Lookin' fer trouble, are yah?

[oceansand588]

It had been a while since she had been back in Brooklyn. No, in reality, it had only been three days, but a lot can change in three days. Shane was headed to the docks, looking for the one and only Spot Conlon. If he wasn't there... well, she'd just wait. She knew if she waited long enough, he would find her, and worst come to worse, she could sleep out on the docks without anyone noticing.

She had not eaten all day, having spent her last ten pennies on the knife that was stashed in her trouser pocket. The docks were up ahead, and each step she took drew her closer. She wasn't sure what kind of, welcome, she would get. She knew of some of the current Brooklyn newsies by face, but seeing as she had never actually interacted with them, she wasn't likely to be recognized.Shane stopped walking and took in her surroundings. Up ahead were the docks; she thought she could hear some faint music floating from the docks. There were boys on the docks, jumping off to join those swimming in the river.

Shane had reached the docks now, and already some boys were eying her. As to be expected, some of the stares she was getting were not simply curiosity, but were also directed towards her body. Shane shook her head and sighed. She reached up and adjusted her cap, pulling it down over one eye. Then, taking a breath, she sauntered down the dock, giving the impression she knew where she was going and belonged there. Sure enough, most of the boys quit staring after a minute and went back to whatever it was they were doing before. Shane smiled, and sat down on the edge of the dock, partially concealed by a stack of crates. She took off her shoes and dangled her feet over the edge, staring at the water. She knew she'd have to learn how to swim sometime, but she just hoped that until then, no one pushed her into the water unexpectedly.

[spotconlon]

Spot Conlon sat at his usual place on the docks: the rigging used for the taller ships, with the rest of the newsies walking and jumping into the water under him. He watched them with a mild interest, his eyes carrying a slight glare within them. Spot had always felt that he could best control his newsies by going in over their heads. He may not have been the biggest, but he could fight better than any newsie in New York. And most importantly, he commanded respect, even from the tough-skinned kids that Brooklyn seemed to produce like a factory. That was what mattered, and Spot would rather keep it that way.

As time passed, Spot jumped down from the rigging long enough to break up a fight that had broken out among a few his boys. Spot only had to walk over, and the brawl froze. The two boys, bent into fighting stances, straightened up quickly, and under Spot's death glare went their separate ways. Once the crowd had disseminated Spot leaned against a docking post near the water. Did he have to do everything around here?

A minute later a few of his newsboys approached him. They were his friends, these boys...they were either his age or slightly older, loyal and dedicated, not to mention hard-as-nails. They all had stupid grins on their faces, and Spot closed his eyes for a moment to keep from rolling them. And they wondered why he was leader...

One of the boys, a tall and lean Irish boy named Marlon, gave Spot a slight nudge with his elbow. "Ay, Spot," he said with his Irish twang, "Ya seen what's made 'er way over here?" Marlon nodded toward the opposite side of the dock and up a ways. Spot followed his gaze, but all he could see was the back of another newsboy: skinny, really, almost girlie. But he had enough of those walking around. They were weeded out in short order by some other kids. Why should he concern himself with him? "So? What about him?" Spot said with a shrug.

Decker, a large bot cut with muscle, spoke up. "She's a girl, Spot. An' she's just goin' around here like no one's business. And she ain't just any girl, boy...what a face on her!" Decker glanced at her again, smirking. Spot rolled his eyes openly now. He hated how even his toughest boys could get so worked up about one girl. It was clear that if he didn't do something about it, the girl was sticking around, which he couldn't have. Spot couldn't care less about the kids who sold papes in Brooklyn, the scabs. But only his kids could be at the docks. Otherwise they got soaked, and fast. If you were a smart Brooklyn newsie, you got with Spot's kids. If you couldn't get with Spot's kids...you were better off selling in Queens or somewhere softer.

Spot grumbled, "I gotta do everythin' around here, don' I?" and broke past Marlon and Decker toward the girl. She was dangling her feet over the edge of the docks, and was attracting more stares that Spot thought she should be. He stood next to her, his eyes hard and arms crossed. "Whaddya think ya doin'?" he demanded coldly.

[oceansand588]

Shane sighed. She had not realized how tired, how exhausted she was until she had sat down on the edge of the dock. Now the realization was hitting her like a ton of bricks. She stared into the water, and for once, she did not make any move to disturb her own reflection. She really wished she knew how to swim. She was tempted to jump in anyway. Hopefully it would wake her up a bit, but she thought the better of it. She couldn't see her face quite clearly, as it was shadowed under her cap. She made a face, pursing her lips and scowling, her eyebrows drawn. She removed her cap and brushed her hair out of her face. It was getting to long. She needed to cut it again.
Shane sighed for a second time, and adjusted her position so she was sitting father back on the dock, her legs pressed against the rough wood. "Alright," she murmured to herself, "enough... thinking about me." She pulled knife out of her pocket and scooted back to the edge of the dock, dangling her legs over the water once more. She opened the blade are inspected it. She vaguely wondered if it would ever hold her weight if it was embedded deeply in something, like the wood of the dock. But, again, she thought the better of it. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

"Whaddya think ya doin'?"

Shane jerked, and looked up. Spot Conlon stood next to her, his eyes hard and arms crossed. She let out a hiss of pain, and glanced down at her palm. A faint white line stretched from the left side of her thumb, to the center of her palm, at which point the cut was a bit deeper. But now the line was red, and blood was seeping out of the cut. Shane swore under her breath. Spot Conlon would have to wait a moment. She needed a piece of cloth or something to put around her palm, but unfortunately, did not have anything.

Shane looked back up at him, and bit her tongue, refraining from replying with one of the many possible, and more amusing responses to Spot Conlon's question. After all, 'whaddya think ya doin'?' was an open-ended question. Shane paused, then said calmly, "Well, yer honor, I'se believe I was sitting. An' I'm still sitting. An' now I'se not sure if there's something I'm supposed to be doing."

[spotconlon]

"Well, yer honor, I'se believe I was sitting. An' I'm still sitting. An' now I'se not sure if there's something I'm supposed to be doing."

Spot rolled his eyes. He was tired of dealing with people who though they were smart because they could mouth off to him. Little did they know that few people could mouth off to Spot and get away with it. It was clear that she didn't quite know what she was doing around here. But by what she did say, Spot could see she had the right idea. At least she knew not not assume and not to pretend to be tougher than she was. Because she should know he could out-tough anyone, anytime.

Marlon and Decker hadn't been inaccurate: this girl, whoever she was, wasn't too bad looking. Spot wasn't one to get all worked up over a girl, but he also had a lesser reputation for enjoying the occasional fling now and again. But usually, there was no romanticism attached. So although this girl wasn't half bad looking, he wasn't phased by her. "I'm thinkin' ya better stand up to talk t'me, girl..." he said, deciding not to play the gentleman.

He waited for her to oblige before continuing. "Now get somethin' straight. These docks are for my kids. I call the shots. An' anyone who I don't say has roam of these docks is a scab." There were two groups of newsies in Brooklyn. The first were "Spot's kids," the hard-as-nails newsies who hung around the docks. It consisted of a lot of boys, and the occasional girl, if they could handle being around such a vile crowd. The other group were the other newsies who sold in Brooklyn, kids who Spot didn't give permission to go around the docks. And they got soaked, because any kid who wasn't Spot's kid was a scab.

He continued to the girl, "I don't care if ya sell in Brooklyn. You'se a scab if I don't know ya and if I don't like ya. So if you don't think you can handle this crowd, ya better get outta here now, or else you're gonna get soaked. And don't even think you can fight my boys."

[oceansand588]

Shane looked up at Spot tiredly, and sighed when he rolled his eyes at her comment. Even though it had not been her intention, it seemed he was not impressed with her slight sarcasm. Better cut the crap altogether, she thought. Guess I'll have t'keep me mouth in check 'till I'm safely in with the Brookies.

"I'm thinkin' ya better stand up to talk t'me, girl..."

She nodded, and reached out to one of the posts on the dock, using it to pull herself up. She had to blink a couple times before her vision cleared. Standing up had made her feel dizzy, whether from hunger, or thirst, or tiredness. She didn't feel that good, but she wasn't going to let herself collapse. Collapsing in front of Spot Conlon would not make a good impression. She tensed slightly, noticing that he seemed to give her a once-over. She had not been entirely oblivious to the stares that she had received in spite of her efforts to go unnoticed, when she had arrived at the docks. Shane had simply done her best to ignore any attention she recieved over the years. Commitment was an issue for her. Of course, there had never been an occasion in which she was confronted with the issue, but she had thought about a lot of stuff when she was alone on the streets at night, lying awake, knife clutched in her hand. "Alright, I'se standing, but not well mind you. Don't mind me if I fall down. An' that's not t'be disrespectful or anythin'." She said mildly.

"Now get somethin' straight. These docks are for my kids. I call the shots. An' anyone who I don't say has roam of these docks is a scab... I don't care if ya sell in Brooklyn. You'se a scab if I don't know ya and if I don't like ya."

A'least he's not speaking about me specifically, Shane thought. She raised her eyebrows. "I don't got anything t'sell yet. And, well, seein' as we've nevah met, you'se don't actually know me, so I guess that'd make me a scab. But I don't know 'bout the second part, whether or not y'like me, so I'll leave it t'ya t'make the final judgment on whether I'm really a scab."

"So if you don't think you can handle this crowd, ya better get outta here now, or else you're gonna get soaked."

She nodded to signal that she understood. She expected this ultimatum, however, she was surprised he was being so straight forward. It was a good thing though. He was giving her an opportunity to back down, or to join the ranks. Although in regards to the latter, she didn't think that would be the end of it if she expressed her desire to join. "I think I can handle it. I'se born an' raised in Brooklyn, though that prolly doesn't make that much of a difference t'you, an' I'se know what I'd be gettin m'self into." She took a breath and said. "I'm here because I wanna become a Brooklyn newsie."

"And don't even think you can fight my boys."

Shane shrugged and offered him a half-hearted smirk. "The thought never crossed me mind. Besides, I'd be too tired t'do much more than be smart with 'em, an' it's not in me nature t'pick fights I'd likely lose... usually." She grinned.

[spotconlon]

"Alright, I'se standing, but not well mind you. Don't mind me if I fall down. An' that's not t'be disrespectful or anythin'."

Spot didn't comment. He had to admit, he looked a little unstable, like she was about to fall over or something. Maybe he was one of those dames who had fainting spells or something. He'd heard about that somewhere, at some point he couldn't recall. He hoped she wouldn't fall in the water. That would cause a spectacle, and he wasn't keen on many of those around his turf. They were distracting and took up too much time that could have been used to do something else.

"I don't got anything t'sell yet. And, well, seein' as we've nevah met, you'se don't actually know me, so I guess that'd make me a scab. But I don't know 'bout the second part, whether or not y'like me, so I'll leave it t'ya t'make the final judgment on whether I'm really a scab."

She was talking too much. Spot didn't take well to people who thought if they talked enough, they could cover everything and get in good with anyone. That wasn't how it worked, and her talking wouldn't impress him. She had a mouth on her, that was for sure. There was only the question if she would be problematic with it. "Too many words, kid," he told her frankly. He leaned against the docking pole and pulled his slingshot from his waistband. It was something to do. He wasn't all that interested in this conversation to begin with. "So what do they call you, eh?"

"I think I can handle it. I'se born an' raised in Brooklyn, though that prolly doesn't make that much of a difference t'you, an' I'se know what I'd be gettin m'self into. I'm here because I wanna become a Brooklyn newsie."

Spot looked at her, and sized her up. She wasn't very big, but few girls were. And at least she didn't have a look to her he didn't like. The fact that she was born and raised Brooklyn was a plus, and he could almost see it in her. There was a certain look to Brooklyn kids that Spot had become a master of detecting. Over the years, some kids began to just look like Brooklyn. "You know what yer gettin' y'self into, eh?" he echoed. "You think you can eat, sleep and sell papes with the toughest gang of newsies around? Think they'll accept ya, be friends and have a grand time? Or you think they'll soak ya on sight just cause they can?" He glared sharply at her, staring her down. He was trying intimidation. If she couldn't take that, there was no way she was going to last as one of his kids.

"The thought never crossed me mind. Besides, I'd be too tired t'do much more than be smart with 'em, an' it's not in me nature t'pick fights I'd likely lose... usually."

So she knew she was smart. That was good. Spot was actually considering. She was Brooklyn-born, and so far she hadn't slipped up too bad, aside from her slight mouth. And she wasn't no wanna-be-tough-girl, either. He knew that right away. He would see how she got along before he decided anything, though. First impressions, he knew, could be decieving...

[oceansand588]

Spot didn't comment on her ability to stand, opting instead to give her a look like he expected her to fall over any second. Shane rolled her eyes, and reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "I'm not really gonna drop dead or faint so you can stop lookin' at me like that," she said with a sigh. Her words earlier had been a precaution. But she was feeling better now that she was standing, and had rested for a few minutes.

"Too many words, kid,"

Too many words. That wasn't the first time someone had said that to her, or something else along the same lines. She bit her lip and smiled. "Yeah, so I've been told." She knew she talked too much on occasion, but she was used being told to pipe down when she did ramble on.

"So what do they call you, eh?"

Shane paused, thinking back to the time before she and Madden were separated. Madden had always called her by her middle name, Reilly, but a few weeks after they left Brooklyn, he began calling her by a different name. He had given her a nickname. "Tracer," she replied. She wasn't going to enlighten him on the origins of her nickname. After all, that had not been his question. He'd merely asked how she was addressed. If he did ask her, then he'd tell her, but until then, he could wonder.

She watched Conlon seemed to size her up, before he replied, "You know what yer gettin' y'self into, eh? You think you can eat, sleep and sell papes with the toughest gang of newsies around? Think they'll accept ya, be friends and have a grand time? Or you think they'll soak ya on sight just cause they can?" Shane was feeling oddly calm, and empty, in a way. It scared her, and He was likely to misinterpret it as a sign of impudence or in the back of her mind, she registered exhaustion. She fought back a smile, figuring that a smile would not go down too well. insolence. After a moment, she realized that he was probably testing her. Better speak up then, she thought. She opened her mouth, about to reply, "It's what I'se said, ain't it?", but held back. "Yeah, I know. An' I think I can do it, but the one thing I won't be doing is sleepin' with any of them."