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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Sept 6, 2008 10:58:29 GMT -5
What girl doesn’t enjoy being appreciated by the Male population every now and then? Chloe enjoyed it. Tonight she was going to be a princess. Or at least, as close to a princess as a poor performer can get. She had just recently been able to afford a simple, yet still semi fancy dress, and intended to flaunt it for the first time.
Chloe smiled as she pulled on the brown, fitting dress with the pale blue and lilac stitching encircling the edges. It was such a pretty dress, she felt privileged to finally be able to afford and wear it. Chloe left her hair down, allowing it to encircle itself in a curly flutter around her mid back. She scrubbed her face with soap and water, removing all traces of dirt, and then dried it.
She looked pretty, and she knew it. She walked out into the brisk autumn evening, and headed towards the busy streets of Manhattan. Mainly – Broadway. People stared as they passed, and she smiled at them as she passed them by. What she really wanted was to hear the approval of her best friends; the Newsies.
She hoped she would run into one of them on her walk, and knowing them, they would certainly speak their minds about how she looked. She needed their approval and support – it wasn’t often that she got that. She was always joking around with them, and they were always being crude and humorous with her – they never actually complimented each other though. Today, that’s what she intended to get. A compliment.
As she walked up the street, she could vaguely make out a few familiar voices over the din of bustling buggies and pedestrians. Newsies. She walked faster, a smile planting itself onto her very clean face, and when she got to them, she didn’t stop. She kept walking. She wanted to find out if they would recognize her, and if they did, then if they would compliment her. As she passed, she heard a cat call, and then a slapping sound.
She turned around to see…
((dun dun dun!))
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Post by Vice Ingram on Sept 6, 2008 12:56:10 GMT -5
Vice hadn't been planning on this trek into Manhattan. In fact, he was a bit irritated at himself for wasting most of the day roaming around Harlem trying to make a decision. He wasn't normally the wishy-washy type, and it irked him that he still hadn't made up his mind, even after blowing all of yesterday's pay on cigars, thinking the sweet, rough smoke might spark some of his old punch. But the cigars had been less than satisfactory, the smoke stale, and Vice had found himself nowhere nearer a decision than he'd been two days ago. Now the sun was setting, and Vice still carried a somewhat thick stack of newspapers under his arm. After having no more success selling them in the Bronx than he had in Harlem, he was tempted to give up for the day until he remembered the stale cigar smoke and cringed, knowing that this loss of money would set him even further behind. So, heaving a sigh, he'd set off for Manhattan. But honestly, who was going to buy a newspaper this late in the day?
Really, he was in no hurry. His feet ached, but it didn't bother him. What really bothered him was the question still nagging at the back of his mind. He'd been living in the Bronx for somewhere close to four years now, selling newspapers and earning what little he could just to fight the clenching hunger he often faced. But he was tough. He had done it, had survived. And with the bitter shell he had built around him over those three years, he had been able to block out most of the memories of his life before. Until last week. Last week, he had caught a glimpse of his sister, Molly, her face streaked with dirt, hair in matted braids. At first he hadn't been sure it was her, but after a moment of studying the girl's manner, he knew that it was. The Molly he had known would never have allowed herself to appear in such a way, and Vice realized that much must have changed for his family during his four years of absence. Although the thought of going back, facing the father that he would never claim, was unbearable, knowing his sister was starving was unthinkable. And Vice had to make a decision: find Molly and face the past he had worked so hard to erase, or fend for himself, ignoring any obligation to flesh and blood.
Vice had reached Manhattan. As always, the city was still bustling, and the excitement of it pulsed through his veins, making him feel stronger. He let his blond bangs fall into his eyes and thrust one hand into the pocket of his trousers, the other gripping the papers. Turning the corner onto Broadway, he let his eyes scan the crowds. Damn. A cluster of newsies were rallied on the opposite corner, and he could hear their jovial laughter and raucous voices even from where he stood. Looked like he was just going to have to eat these papes today. He felt the irritation rising again, and surveyed his surroundings. That's when a figure caught his eye. Not a newsie, and definitely not an ordinary street rat girl. Vice smirked. He hadn't anything better to do, and he took in the curve of her body, the way her dress clung to her hips. Straightening his cap, he let out a whoop, flung the rest of his papers against a nearby wall, and strode toward her. This was going to be fun.
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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Sept 8, 2008 10:28:44 GMT -5
Chloe stopped walking. She turned around to see… Someone she had never seen before. She had no idea who he was, though it was fairly obvious he was a newsie, yet he was walking towards her. She put on a quizzical expression, raising an eyebrow at him as he strolled nearer.
He had shockingly light hair, and a lean, very tall figure. He looked young. Not quite a man, yet still a child. Chloe could see by the frown lines around his mouth and on his forehead that he had a troubled past, but what newsie could honestly say he had never had a troubling past?
Chloe smirked at his expression of amusement, realizing instantly what he must be thinking. A; he thinks she is a young and rich lady that he can mess around with, B; He thinks she is a common woman who can give him a lucky night, or C; He doesn't think she is pretty at all, but just wants to come and give her some grief.
Chloe figured it may just be a bit of all three.
She pursed her lips as he took in her figure, not even once looking at her face, and fought the urge to hit him. What an indecent little pervert! Though, she was the one flaunting it. But thats not the point! He was the one looking. She didn't know him. It was meant for her friends to appreciate - not the first random hooligan to set eyes on her.
"Normally when you want to talk to someone, you look them in the eye - not the ass." Chloe said, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow as her smirk planted itself once again onto her face. A Lady would never use such language or such obscenity, but then - Chloe wasn't much of a lady, was she?
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Post by Vice Ingram on Sept 8, 2008 18:22:10 GMT -5
It was his lucky day. Sure, he'd had to eat his papes, but it had been a couple of weeks since Vice had seen someone who looked this good. He shoved a hand through his tousled blond locks as he slowed his pace and ran his tongue across his straight white teeth. He knew he was circling her, knew that she wasn't a bit happy about that, and could also see now that despite the finery of her dress, she was nothing more than a common girl. She certainly wouldn't be one of the fancy young women he sometimes ran into, more than willing to give him his bit of fun for the night...but still. Vice's greedy eyes moved up the girl's body, took in the curly hair cascading down her back, and finally came to rest on her face. She was staring at him with an indignant expression from behind her blue eyes, and Vice didn't bother to conceal his amusement as his lips parted into a wide grin. He knew he was good-looking. What he wondered, though, was what it would take for this girl to give him what he wanted. She seemed the type to be difficult.
"Normally when you want to talk to someone, you look them in the eye - not the ass."
Well, well. She was going to be difficult, then. Vice threw back his head and let out a laugh. Two could play this game, he thought, and it was only a matter of time before one side would win out. He intended to win.
Still smirking, he looked her over once more, "And who said I wanted to talk to you?" He raised his eyebrows in mock seriousness, running a strong hand nonchalantly along his arm. He sauntered toward her, never letting his eyes leave her face, as if to prove her wrong. He would admit it. There was something striking about her face, now that he looked. But the appeal of her body overshadowed whatever her face held, and he found it slightly funny that she took offense to his interest when she had chosen to flaunt herself. He flashed her a half smile as he stepped even closer, so that he now had to look down at her. Their bodies were almost touching.
"And besides," he continued, drawing out the words, stretching the compliment, "I like your eyes. But I like your ass better."
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