Obsession (Open)

[fiorenzo]

((Smarty Jones, tomboy extraordinaire. She's basically trying to cope with the fact that despite being raised as a boy, and her trousers being an emotional guard against everything, she is indeed more feminine than she thought she was.))

What is this strange obsession
That's tearing me apart?

She didn't even know where she was anymore. And that was a damn good thing, because she wanted to get good and lost and she didn't want anyone to be able to find her. No one. She was fairly sure that if she saw someone she knew, she wouldn't hesitate in giving them a blow below the belt, and once he was down, she would kick him and keep walking. She wouldn't care if she liked the kid or not; if he even said one syllable to her, he was going down. A thought crossed her mind: the one thought that she did not want to think, ever. Her fists clenched and she cried out in frustration. God damn him! As if she could leave the thoughts behind if she was fast enough, she broke into a run. Her dirty, calloused feet pounded the rough cobblestones, and she ran as fast as she could, until there was a piercing stitch in her side and she gasped for breath.

Some strange, deranged expression
Of what's in my heart?

She staggered to a halt and leaned against a stone wall in a wide alleyway, taking deep breaths and clutching at her side. At length she straightened again and looked around her. There was no one around here, only a door to a shady-looking pub that she had no interest in going in. She didn't take stock in alcohol. Her head was spinning already. Hah. What did she need drink for, when she had this--whatever it was? She knew what the hell it was but she didn't want to admit it, because that would be hell for her and the other one involved. She swore and clasped a hand over her thudding heart. The thought came across her mind again, and she stopped it before it could become too in depth. But she allowed herself to wonder about it. Think about the thought. This was impossible. She was a girl in looks and body; but she was a boy in everything else. At least, so she thought. But now it was clear that she was a girl in the sense that she couldn't help...she couldn't help looking at him and her stomach dropped to her knees, and she wanted to go over to him and grab his hand in hers...

Am I the girl that I appear to be?
Or am I someone I don't know?

Damn it. Damn it all. Even if she admitted everything to herself, which she wouldn't, he would never feel the same way. Not that she felt anything for him, the rat. But she knew that he saw her as more of a boy than she saw herself, especially now. She couldn't imagine him treating her like a girl. It would be like her brothers treating her like a girl. She didn't know what she would do if he did, to tell the truth. She knew she was a girl. She just never knew that she had to think like one like this. Couldn't she just not think like this at all? It would make things a hundred times easier if she didn't have to concern herself with things like this, and she had been doing so well until that fink came along and smiled at her. After that everything went downhill.

Will what I fear to be...be so?

[Felicia Barrientos]

Why she'd even decided to come to Brooklyn today, Felicia didn't know. Nothing in this wretched city amused her, nothing even sparked her interest save for the distasteful, scurvy lowlifes of Midtown, and their leader Mike. She kicked angrily at a rock. There he was again. Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike. It wasn't as if he'd spoken a word to her, or even so much as acknowledged her as a male, let alone the female she really was. This was the part she hadn't counted on, the longing. It wasn't so much that she resented her femininity, but the fact that this man she'd never even spoken to could cause her to resent hiding it. That was the problem.

She hadn't wanted to come here. Not at all. She had begged and begged to stay until her father had dragged her aboard that fateful ship that had killed her mother and brought the rest of them to this hideous place. And now...now she was nothing. Nothing but another face in the sea of weary people. No one knew her name, her face, her age, her identity, but she found that she preferred it that way. She had no one, needed no one.

She'd wanted a family, to marry, settle down, and have children as her mother had done. Felicia snorted bitterly as she looked down at her dirty, nailbitten hands. Who would have thought that this wretch of a person could once have been a charming, coquettish young girl, the longing of every young man in her town. And they had all been so beautiful, so dark and handsome, so wonderful. Oh, she could have had any one of them! The thought made her smile...just for a moment. But now here she was, cold, alone, and dressed as a man. The irony of her pathetic situation seemed almost comical.

The boys of New York were not dark, and they were not handsome. The boys of New York did not laugh gaily, did not dance smoothly, and did not speak romantically. The boys of New York were rough, dirty, and foul-mouthed, and Felicia didn't want a single one of them. Not a single one. Oh, she was trying to fool herself now. Yes, she did want one, just one, the most unattainable she'd met yet. Felicia narrowed her eyes. She wouldn't think about that now, not yet. She'd think about it tomorrow...when she could deal with the implications.

She rounded the corner with one long stride, altering her pace as some ridiculous way to clear her mind. And then she stopped suddenly, stopped just in time. Someone else was standing in the alleyway.

[fiorenzo]

Smarty sighed deeply, running a hand through her matted hair. Her breathing had slowed now, and she no longer had the urge to run, but the hellfire still rushed through her veins, making her focused, alert, and determined. She knew that she could not go on with these feelings of passion muddling her brain. It was harmful. It could only hurt everything that she had built over the years. She hated the vulnerabilities that came with being female. Everyone was expected to shelter her, and she was expected to sit down and be silent and drink weak tea and talk about idle matters while the men had all the fun and took all the risks and made their own lives. Girls were expected to stand aside and watch life pass them by. Boys were able to go out and seize the day. It was no wonder that Millie Ashby had worked so hard to become Smarty Jones...

And now, this boy threatened everything that she had worked for. Admitting her feelings would confirm that she was nothing more than a girl, no matter how hard she tried to become a boy, so that she could have the freedom that she could never have as a female in New York. She would have to admit to herself that everything was for naught, because she still felt attracted to him in a way that she had never felt about anyone in her sixteen years. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She would drive the affectionate feelings from her mind, even if she had to punch the boy in the face the next time she saw him.

She was startled out of her thoughts by someone rounding the corner. Smarty gasped and immediately put herself on the defensive. She was still mad enough to hit anyone that came into her path. Who was this skinny-assed boy, looking like he was in some big hurry? If it was a Brooklyn kid, Smarty would waste no time in pummeling him. If he was from somewhere else, she would let him pass. In times like these, she didn't want to start anything with the other boroughs. She realized suddenly, though, that this was no boy...

"Ale," she said with a sigh, relaxing visibly. She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped toward her friend. She and Ale had become friends when they'd met one day unexpectedly. They had in common the fact that they were two girls trying to hide away behind boy's clothing. They were both pretending to be male, but for different reasons, and with different stakes. Smarty knew that Ale might be killed, or worse, if it was discovered she was a female in Midtown. She said to her now, "I'm sort of glad it's you. Odds are I would have pummeled anyone else that came around this corner. I'm so angry right now, I could spit..."

Smarty's last remark earned her a strange glance from a passer-by, which the Brooklyn girl returned coolly. She was not bothered by stares. Let them stare, she thought, they're only wasting their own energy.