Pity the Child ;Mike;

[Adam Trumper]

Adam ran his hand down his face, it was raining, it was muggy, and he was exhausted. He hasn't been able to sleep well at all, ever since the incident six months ago. Every night he would have nightmares. Every night he would awaken in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Every night he would play his guitar until he fell asleep again.

Maybe, just maybe tonight he could relive his past once. Just one more time. His body cried out to him, Once more. He bit his lip, trying to make the struggle stop. His head pounded as he folded his arms across his chest, shivering even though it was burning outside. He swallowed, trying to forget. He just wanted to forget.

His mind wandered back to Chicago six months ago. When he walked in and saw Rose's limp, lifeless body on the floor. A cup in hand, and a small bag on the floor. He could still remember the emotions he felt to this day. As if it was yesterday. He could remember the feeling of terror, as he went over to her and shook her. She had to be asleep, this had to of been a trick. It must've been, she couldn't of been dead. Death happened to sick people. Death by drugs only happened to bad people. Rose wasn't a bad person, she was almost perfect.

No, she wasn't perfect. She would get mad at him for the slightest things when her drugs were wearing off. She would throw things at him, yell at him, hit him, and other things. But when she did have her drugs, she was almost perfect. She would be smiley and bubbly.

His heart ached, just thinking about her made him feel depressed. He had to get out of here. Just one more time, he would revisit his glory days just one more time. No, one more time was what he said before she died. And that one more time led to consequences. But its just once more. Once more never hurt anyone. No, he would be hurting himself. He would be hurting himself more, and he would end up like Rose.

He had to get out of here. He stumbled out onto the streets. Breathing heavily, it made it near impossible to walk. He felt weighed down with every step. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had a sad air about him, he was depressed and he longed for a friend. He longed for someone to make him feel better. He longed for love, even though he didn't want to admit it. He made himself think that he didn't need anybody, but truth was, he needed to love again. He needed friends again.

His knees gave out, thinking too much could almost make a person sick. And that's what he was doing, he was making himself sick. He was shaking violently, being too stubborn to have the cries come out. Crying was for sissies, and Adam wasn't a sissy. He wrapped his arms around him as hot tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away from his stubbled chin hastily as he heard footsteps approach him.

[Mike D. Greaser]

A humid breeze ran by, kissing Mike's cheeks. Glancing up, Mike realized it was going to rain. The sky was dark and cloudy and the air smelled like rain. That smell was always inviting to Mike. It was musty and almost creepy. Rain was creepy. Mike liked creepy. But right now, Mike didn't enjoy creepy. He wanted a break from creepy.

For the past few weeks, Mike has done nothing but be creepy. He flirted, harassed, betrayed, and all around was bad. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed every moment of it. But right now, late at night, Mike wanted something our of the normal. He had his routine, what he did everyday. Now he wanted something different. Mike almost hungered for male companionship. All the time he'd been here, Mike only talked to girls. They were the only ones that really gave him a chance. He hasn't talked to guys, except Cole, in what seemed like forever. He just wanted to talk about guy things.

As if on cue, the sky opened up and the heavens cried. More than cried, sobbed. Mike ducked for cover and watched it rain. Lighting up a cigarette, Mike sat and enjoyed the rain. Then, he heard footsteps and a man ran by. He recognized him. They lived in the same apartment. His legs gave out and he collapsed. Was he drunk? Mike's curiosity got the better of him and he rushed to the man's side.

"You okay?" Mike glanced to his hand and realized his cigarette was out. He cursed and tossed it aside.

[Adam Trumper]

Adam tried to keep his shaking and shivering down to a minimum. He couldn't help himself, he was sick in the mind. He could never be the same unless he forgot. How could he forget the most important thing that has ever happened to him? He took deep breaths, trying to relax his mind.

It wasn't working.

He leaned his head against the cool, wet brick. Somehow that could relax him. He continued to shake, but it wasn't as violent as it was before. The wall was relaxing him in a strange way. He closed his eyes, he was exhausted and his body called out for sleep. It needed it, but he wasn't able to allow himself to fall asleep. He brought his knees up to his check and he hugged himself.

"You okay?"

His eyes sprung open, as he looked at the face of who just talked to him. He recognized him. He lived in the same apartment building as he did. They would stop and say hi once in a while. What was his name? Luke? Mitchell? No..Mike. That was his name. Adam nodded slightly, "Not really, but I'll live." He glanced over to Mike's hand as he threw the cigarette away. A smoke sounded good right now. He looked back up at Mike, "You have any more of those?" He asked, longingly.

[Mike D. Greaser]

"Not really, but I'll live. You have any more of those?"

Some people would continue to question him, prodding him to tell them why he was upset. But Mike found that annoying. If they didn't want to talk about it, then they didn't have to. It was their choice. Besides, they would tell Mike eventually; he had that effect on people.

When he asked for a cigarette, Mike nodded. "I got one, but not sure how good they'll be. The bloody rain ruined my last one..." Sticking his hand out, Mike let the cool droplets of water caress his skin. If only it would stop...

{*grabs knife and kills post* Wow, okay sorry about that...}

[Adam Trumper]

Adam loosened his grip around his legs and stretched them out in front of them. He leaned his head against the brick wall again, and looked at Mike. Maybe talking to someone would distract him from his thoughts. He needed a distraction terribly. It was hard having to live with his thoughts and the guilt. "You want to sit down?" He asked.

"I got one, but not sure how good they'll be. The bloody rain ruined my last one..."

He took the cigarette from Mike, "Thanks." He pulled a thing of matches out of his pocket. He always kept some with him in case he needed to smoke. He shielded it from the rain and lit the cigarette, taking a drag. "I have an uncanny ability to be able to light a cigarette when needed." He said, sarcastically.

((Mine wasn't great. Don't feel TOO bad. ))

[Mike D. Greaser]

"You want to sit down?"

Mike shrugged and nodded, trying to not look to eager. Truthfully, Mike had been longing for some male companionship. He needed to talk about masculine things; things that only a male would understand. And this man next to him wasn't a newsies, he could tell. He even seemed older than Mike, maybe by a few years. Mike sat down next to him and made himself comfortable, preparing for a long talk.

"Thanks."

Mike nodded and watched as he pulled at a match. Mike hoped the matches wouldn't be ruined by the rain, but thankfully they were sitting under the protection of the roof above them. Slowly, Mike's eyes wander the streets about them. It was pouring now. This created a musty smell that tingled Mike's nose.

"I have an uncanny ability to be able to light a cigarette when needed."

Mike chuckled and turned his attention back to the man next to him. "I can't say I'm not jealous of that ability." Mike studied him for a moment. He looked to be Mike's age, maybe a few years older. Mike couldn't tell what he did for a living; he wasn't very good at reading people in that way. "I'm Mike, by the way."


{Oh, well thank you...}

[Adam Trumper]

Adam smiled in response to Mike sitting down. Its been a long time since he had talked to a guy his age, or a few years younger. The people who usually talked to him in New York were girls, and he didn't like that. He had to push them away, and almost beg them to leave him alone. Girls couldn't take a hint as well as guys could. You could just look at a guy and they would leave you alone, but girls wanted to cuddle and wouldn't leave you alone.

That was a very good reason why he didn't want to fall in love again. He didn't miss the tantrums and the perkiness. He did miss their knowledge to know when something was wrong. And how they would help him when something was wrong. Those where a few of the perks he would miss. He was determined not to give his heart away, like he did with Rose. It would only end up broken and stepped on. It was a dance these girls played, a love-hate relationship.

"I can't say I'm not jealous of that ability."

Adam smirked, "It took me a few years to get it down, but I've got it now. And thank God for that." He said, taking a drag of the cigarette. He blew out the smoke, and adjusted himself against the wall to get more comfortable. Even though he was almost soaked, he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

"I'm Mike, by the way."

Haha, Adam was right. Mike was his name. "I'm Adam," He said. "Don't we live in the same apartment building? You look familiar." He said. Then again, everybody looked like everybody in New York. Only a few people stood out, and they were usually the ones you knew.

"So Mike," He said, trying to get the conversation to go along. "What do you do for a living?"

[Mike D. Greaser]

"It took me a few years to get it down, but I've got it now. And thank God for that."

Mike chuckled and let his head fall back against the wall. The rain falling against the pavement, the moon, and the smell of the air all soothed Mike. He suddenly felt sleepy. He really thought he could sleep here, even with his clothing soaked and his body cold. There was no doubt that Mike would be sick tomorrow. He had been out here for an hour at the most already and could already feel small symptoms of a cold. But he didn't want to leave, not yet.

"I'm Adam," He said. "Don't we live in the same apartment building? You look familiar."

Mike smiled and nodded. "Yes, we do." Mike remembered them passing each other every so often on the stairs, both to busy to stop and chat for a moment. But now that they were sitting next to each other, they both stopped their crazy lives to just talk. Mike was glad that Adam lived in the same apartment building. His landlord thought badly of him and maybe with another rowdy male in the house, he would back off.

"So Mike," He said, trying to get the conversation to go along. "What do you do for a living?"

Mike chuckled. What did he do for a living? Seek revenge on those bloody newsies? Yeah, that was pretty much it. But that wasn't the job that earned him money. That job was at the Logan's farm. "I'm a farm hand." He didn't mind the work, but he didn't enjoy it either. For one thing, there was an annoying girl who got on his last nerves that worked with him. There was also the hard work, which didn't bother Mike to much. But it paid the RENT. (Haha, just had to do that)

"What about you?" Mike inquired.

[Adam Trumper]

Adam shivered, it was getting cold outside; colder than it usually would be for July. He took another long drag from the cigarette, flicking off some of the ashes. He breathed out the smoke, loving how relaxed he could feel afterwards. He glanced over at Mike, wondering if he was as cold as Adam was. They could go to his apartment and have a cup of coffee, that is if he had any. "Hey, do you want to go to my apartment and get a drink? Its getting cold out here." He said, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground.

"Yes, we do."

He knew he saw Mike somewhere before. Turns out they did live in the same building. They never talked though, they would just exchange a simple 'hello' or an 'excuse me'. Nothing major, but now it was nice to talk to someone who lived in the same ratty area that Adam lived in. Oh well, at least it was a roof over his head. It was better than the abandoned building he did live in, at least now he didn't just have his guitar.

"I'm a farm hand. What about you?"

A farm hand? Mike didn't look like the type of guy who would work as a farm hand. He looked more...shady than that. He nodded, "I'm a musician, I play my guitar on the streets." He enjoyed playing his guitar. Because even after everything that happened he was still trying to find the something that would set him apart from the world. Something that would bring him back to his glory days One song, he had the world at his feet. Glory, in the eyes of a young girl. He thought, it was so true to him. In Chicago everyone loved him at the places he would play at, and Rose thought he was amazing. If only things could go back to the way they were...

Time flies, and then no need to endure anymore. Time dies...

[Mike D. Greaser]

"Hey, do you want to go to my apartment and get a drink? Its getting cold out here."

Opening his eyes, Mike glanced at Adam. "That sounds nice..." He replied absently. A warm drink and a warm house sounded nice. True, the apartments aren't the nicest in the world, but they were somewhat warm and anything would be better than out here. Mike's body began to ache from the walk and the wet clothes against his sore muscles. Mike nodded and pushed himself off the wall, trying not to groan in the process.

"I'm a musician, I play my guitar on the streets."

Mike nodded. That made sense. If he was a musician that played at a performance hall, he wouldn't be living in a dump like he was now. You were always cold and the water wasn't the cleanest. Half the time, Mike could hardly pay his rent. He was barely making it now, and he guessed the same for Adam.

And we're hungry and frozen. Some life that we've chosen. How we gonna pay last year's rent

Mike had been living poor for some time. He use to be well off, when he parents were alive and they lived in England. But now, here in New York, Mike was poor, like so many others. He wondered how long Adam had been poor. Was he born into poverty? Was he always like this? Did he have a family? What was his past?

The past is now another land, far beyond my reach. Invaded by insidious. Foreign bodies, foreign speech. Where timeless joys of childhood Lie broken on the beach

Mike realized how little he knew about the people around him. He didn't even know who lived in his apartment building. That would probably be helpful to him. Mike shook his head and chuckled to himself. He didn't even know his landlord's name.


{Two points! Yeah me!}

[Adam Trumper]

"That sounds nice..."

Adam got up from where he was sitting, praying that he didn't fall over. He didn't, and he would be eternally grateful for that. He glanced over at Mike, "I'm assuming you know the way?" He said, dryly as he walked past him, limping a bit. His foot fell asleep and he was trying to get it to wake back up.

He led the way to his apartment, hoping Mike was following. He glanced behind him, good, he was. Adam was too lonely to pass up the chance to have some sort of a conversation. There was a piece of paper on his door, an eviction notice. He rolled his eyes, pulled it off and crumpled it up, sticking it in his pocket. And now this deadline, eviction or pay...rent. His landlord didn't like him that much, mainly because there would be some complaints from people with ears that only heard trouble. That, and he could barely afford to pay his rent.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. His apartment was very messy, in fact the last time he cleaned it was when he moved in. He looked over at Mike, "I'm going to change into some dry clothes. I'll be right back." He went into his room, which was a more disaster area than the bedroom. He peeled off his wet shirt, and opened a drawer to his dresser. He fished through the unfolded clothes until he found something that wasn't wrinkled or dirty. He put it on but didn't button it, he would do that later. He opened another drawer and found another pair of pants. He took off his wet ones and put on the dry ones. Before he shut the drawer something caught his eye; a picture. He got on his knees and got the picture out. It was a picture of him and Rose.

He could feel tears forming in his eyes as he studied the black and white photograph. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it didn't work. So many memories where held in that picture. Memory, all alone in the moonlight. I can smile at the old days. The picture was taken a while back ago, he still had short hair. And Rose was as beautiful as ever. He brushed over her face with his calloused thumb, choking back a sob. He never got to touch her ever again. Touch me, its so easy to leave me, all alone with the memory of my days in the sun. He wished he could be as happy as he was in the picture. He wished things could go back to the way they were, minus the drug addiction. He held the picture to his chest, feeling the cool paper rub against his bare skin, and cried silently.

Suddenly, he remembered Mike was in the other room. He put the picture back in its drawer after one more longing look at it. He stood up as he buttoned his shirt, and wiped his eyes. He walked out of his room with a smile. "Sorry that took so long, I haven't done my laundry so it was hard to find something clean to wear." He lied.

((Wow, that turned out longer than I expected..))

[Mike D. Greaser]

"I'm assuming you know the way?"

Mike nodded and followed him. As they walked, Mike noticed that the rain had died down. His eyes wondered the streets, with a glint of sadness in them. New York was a dull place. Anyone could see that. But now, in the dull light of the street lamps, it looked gloomy and eerie. New York, New York! It's a helluva town! Mike sighed and shook his head.

When they arrived at the apartment, Mike noticed the eviction notice. That tiny piece of paper could cause anyone in this apartment building a lifetime of trouble. How we gonna pay, last year's rent? Mike had seen that piece of paper on his door so many times. And he'd done the same thing Adam was doing right now, crumbled it up and and stuck it in his pocket. His landlord could wait a few more weeks.

"I'm going to change into some dry clothes. I'll be right back."

They walked in and Mike smirked immediately. His apartment looked very familiar. In fact, it was a double of Mike's. Very messy and somewhat smelly. It was the apartment of a young man living on his own. Mike chuckled and shook his head. They needed girlfriends. "Okay.." He responded absently.

"Sorry that took so long, I haven't done my laundry so it was hard to find something clean to wear."

It took a little longer than Mike thought it would, but he didn't care. He stayed were he was, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. When he came back in, Mike smiled, matching his expression. Mike was pretty sure they were both happy about being inside again. Although, Mike still was in his wet clothing. Maybe later he would run to his apartment and grab a few things.

"That's fine. I never do my laundry..." Mike laughed.


{Two points}

[Adam Trumper]

In the rain, the pavement shines like silver Adam thought as they walked to his apartment, he smiled sadly. Rain reminded him of Rose, she loved the rain. In fact, when it would rain she would run outside, pulling Adam with her to dance in the rain. He didn't care, he loved to watch her twirl around and have her beg him to dance with her. He would watch and laugh, saying that he couldn't dance. She would pout and he would come up to her and kiss her tenderly. Her smile afterwards would make his day, she would continue to twirl and laugh until she started shivering. Adam would pick her up, holding her close to him and take her inside. He would start a fire, and they would cuddle until they both fell asleep.

"Okay.."

He bit his lip, "Sorry about the mess." He said with a small laugh. He never cleaned, when he lived in Chicago, Rose cleaned. He would just come back everyday to a somewhat nice meal and a somewhat clean home. Now, he couldn't cook to save his life and cleaning was a drag. He just decided to leave it be, he never had company anyway.

"That's fine. I never do my laundry..."

Adam smiled, hoping his eyes weren't puffy and swollen from crying earlier. "I do sometimes, but things have been...busy." He said, trying to say something without making it seem obvious that he was hiding something. He didn't want anybody to know about his past, that was his business.

He walked over to his couch, as he changed the subject. "So Mike, tell me about yourself." He said. Hopefully this wouldn't back fire on him, and he would have to lie about his past. He could just skip the whole drug issue thing, he could just talk about Chicago.

((I'm not having a good lyric day. Darn it. ))

[Mike D. Greaser]

"Sorry about the mess."

Mike chuckled and shook his head. "No problem. You should see my place..." The last time he had even attempted to clean his apartment was a few weeks ago when he had a meeting. Even then, Mike's cleaning consisted of grabbing random pieces of clothing and trash and shoving them into his closet. Those things were still in there.... Mike chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was a disaster in his house, and Adam's was the same. He really didn't care.

"I do sometimes, but things have been...busy."

Mike's eyes flicked to Adam's. He sounded hesitant, and Mike thought he was lying. Mike wanted to call his bluff, but didn't want to make Adam upset. Besides, Mike didn't even know if Adam was lying, it was just a feeling. When Mike was a newsie, he was trained to lie and tell when others were lying. But now, using this ability on someone older than himself, Mike suddenly doubted it. "Oh, same here..." Mike sighed and shook his head, looking away.

"So Mike, tell me about yourself."

Mike grinned and sank down in the seat beside the couch, exhausted. "I'm a farm hand, as you already know. I live on my own, like you. My parents... died a few years ago," Mike explained, choosing to leave the part about his parents being murdered out. Mike didn't want to complicate things with that story. Mike also choose not to tell Adam about the newsies. Here with Adam, an adult, Mike felt childish in his ways. His grudge to the newsies, his plan for revenge. All of it seemed childish with Adam. But Mike wasn't about to doubt, not now.

[Adam Trumper]

"No problem. You should see my place..."

Adam smiled, "Its probably better than mine." He said, jokingly. He knew if his mother saw his apartment she would probably die in shock, and then come down and scold him on his condition of his apartment. His smile soon faded, he hasn't talked to his mother in years. He moved out when he was eighteen, and Rose moved in. When he became involved with her, he never talked to his family. He didn't want them to find out about his drug use, they probably wouldn't love him anymore. He probably broke his mother's heart when he didn't keep in touch, he was always close to his mother. He wished he was younger, so he could sit on his mother's lap and cry, and she would stroke his head and shush him, telling him everything would be okay. But now, everything was not okay. Nothing could mend him.

"Oh, same here..."

"Its a, uh lot harder living in New York then I thought." He said, even though it wasn't. The hardest thing for him was staying clean, he faced temptation every day. Sometimes even more often than that, it was hard to see people just like him a while back buy the vices that put him where he was now. He wanted to help them, but he knew better than to get in between them and their drugs. He tried that with Rose, and obviously it didn't end well.

"I'm a farm hand, as you already know. I live on my own, like you. My parents... died a few years ago,"

Adam nodded, feeling bad about Mike's parents. Maybe him and Mike did have more in common than he thought. "I understand that, I um, lost someone very close to me just recently." He paused, taking a shaky breath, hoping he didn't burst into tears all of a sudden. "Its just really hard for me." He said, closing his eyes. "I bet you're taking it better than I am." He said with a small, sad smile.