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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Jun 7, 2008 0:06:38 GMT -5
Flick, whoosh, thud. Flick, whoosh, thud. Flick, whoosh, thud. Flick, Whoosh, CRASH . Uh oh. Chloe scampered away quickly, before the owner of that expensive looking building with the broken window came and looked out, to see who had destroyed their property. She could here police whistles. Whoops, time to go! Dashing off towards central park was the smartest thing she could think of. What kind of policeman wanted to be wandering the park at night? That was the time when all the "Bad People" wandered around making trouble. She wasn't a "Bad person", she was merely a trouble maker.
She stopped, panting as she leaned against the short wall that separated her from the park. Sure she could use the entrance, but then the police would know right where to find her. So over the wall she went. She was quite surprised when her feet came into contact with something, and then the rest of her body as gravity took over and pulled her down. Oh lord, it was a human!
Her knee's buckled beneath her now that she was unstable atop a human, and she fell, quite literally off of them. She had been on the poor person almost in a piggy back manner. She was now falling once more to the ground that she thought she would hit first and had been ready for. Instead, she got a human blocking her way towards escape. She landed with a nice little thud onto her back, and then she heard it. Those stupid whistles that scared the pants off of little "Bad kids".
Before the person could say anything, Chloe hissed, "Shut up!" and flattened herself against the wall. She yanked the back of the shirt of the person and pulled them back with her. Any shadows that they made would be seen. Hoping the police would just pass by. Who wanted to be in Central Park looking for a street rat at 10 PM anyways? Not a policeman, for sure. They were too lazy for that.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Jun 7, 2008 8:56:28 GMT -5
By ten o'clock at night, Racetrack was almost always back at the lodging house, waiting for a turn in the washroom or perhaps already at his bunk if he had somehow managed to elbow his way to the front of the line. Granted, sleep didn't usually come until about eleven or so, because someone was always making noise or laughing, and to make it worse there were the hissed cries of "Put a lid on it!" and "Shut ya trap!" that only added to the noise. Still, he would rather be in his bunk than here at the moment.
Today was a cataclysmic disaster for most of the Manhattan newsies. When the printing press of the New York World got jammed, the papers came out completely ruined, and not only that, one poor kid lost a finger trying to clear the jam. Things were shut down for a while, which meant no morning edition and no money for the newsies. Once the afternoon rolled around, every kid in Manhattan who sold papers, including those who went to school during the day, needed to sell the evening edition. It resulted in a mad dash to buy papers: a dash that a lot of the boys at the lodging house weren't in time to get. Racetrack was included, and for the first time in about eight months he didn't visit the tracks that night.
By a stroke of luck, however, he found that some incompetent newsie had dumped their excess papers in an alley. There were only thirty of them ("What a damn failure, havin' thirty left over. Moron."), but only twenty short of his usual fifty was nothing to complain about. And he figured that he could have two bits to buy his papers tomorrow with five cents left over for food.
If he sold all of them.
He made up his mind to finish selling, no matter how long it took. It would be hard, but he needed the money. And he was getting money that not a lot of the others were getting a chance to get. He wasn't about to complain. He stuck it out, going around Central Park mostly, and the hours snailed by. By the time dark rolled around, he had ten papers left. Things slowed down considerably, and when the time was ten o'clock by Racetrack's pocket watch, there were still five papers left in his hand. That was his food for the night, and he was already beginning to feel hunger pains. There was practically no one in the park at the moment, and in despair Race went to the far wall.
Bitterly he struck a match against the stone wall and lit his cigar. He didn't know how the hell he could sell the rest of his papers before too late. Things just hadn't been going his way, and he was embittered. He stood near the wall, smoking idly, when suddenly there were sounds on the other side of the wall behind him. He thought nothing of it, until someone fell on him. Racetrack cried out, dropped his cigar in the grass, and ducked his head to try and get the person off. They fell to the ground, and the flustered and angry newsboy exclaimed, "Now what in the hell do ya think yer--"
"Shut up!"
Race felt the back of his shirt being grabbed, and he was tugged downward next to the person, an unfamiliar girl, who was crouching against the wall. He scrambled to a sitting position. "What the hell are you doin'?" he hissed, not bothering to be quiet. "I oughta..." He was silenced at the sound of police whistles. She was on the lam. He remained quiet, waiting for them to pass. It was likely that if they found her, whatever she did wrong, they would find something wrong with a street rat in Central Park this late at night. He was no snitch, either. So he kept his mouth shut, all the while wondering what had just happened, and why the world seemed to be out to get him today.
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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Jun 7, 2008 9:13:55 GMT -5
"What the hell are you doin'?" "I oughta..."
Even though he didn't continue, Chloe didn't want to take any chances. She slapped her hand against his mouth, holding it there. The police walked around a bit, shuffling some things around, but then, as predicted, gave up and did not come into the park. Chloe relaxed as they all began leaving. Once they had all gone, she turned to her companion; "What the hell was I doing?!" she repeated his question shrilly, "What the hell were you doing?!" she yelled angrily, accusingly jabbing him in the chest with her finger.
He had, after all, been the one who had gotten in her way. It wasn't her fault that he had been in the exact spot that she would be jumping over the wall at. What had he been doing anyway? Smoking? Why was that the first thing that popped into her head? The smell...Yes, she smelled smoke. She glanced around.
A few feet in front of them, a couple of newspapers were on the ground. A cigar was on top of them, and was now burning a little hole in the papers where it lay innocently. A small spiral of smoke was curling into the air. Chloe jumped up from her spot on the wall where she had been crouched with a tight hold on someone...She had no idea who...? She hopped over to the now burning papers and began to stomp them out.
"You idiot!" she yelled at the...Boy. Yes, the voice had belonged to a boys. "Putting a cigar on a pile of papers?!" she exclaimed, gesturing animatedly down at the smoldering spot that was now under her shoe. "Cigars require fire. Fire burns paper. Do you get it?" she asked wildly. "What were you trying to do? Build a bonfire? SOS for help?" she exclaimed sarcastically.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Jun 7, 2008 9:32:28 GMT -5
Although Racetrack had resolved to be silent, apparently the girl had no way of knowing that. She flattened a hand against his mouth, and Race let out a muffled syllable, indicating indigence. But he kept quiet until the sounds of the policemen faded away, and then pushed the girl's hand off of him. He hadn't expected what happened next: she all but exploded at him.
"What the hell was I doing?! What the hell were you doing?!"
Was she serious? He'd kept his mouth shut for her, and this was his thanks? A cross look quickly made its way across Race's features. "I was mindin' my own goddamn business! It was you who decided to jump a damn wall!" She was acting like it was his fault. The way he saw it, he was definitely the victim here. He was the one jumped on, pulled to the ground and silenced so this dame wouldn't get caught.
"You idiot! Putting a cigar on a pile of papers?!"
Race turned, and saw with horror that his dropped cigar landed on his papers, which were beginning so burn. He cursed loudly and pulled the papers toward him, the girl having stomped out the conflagration already. Still, they were mostly ruined, which deleted his chances of getting anything to eat until tomorrow morning. He looked at the girl and said with sharp, heavy sarcasm, "Oh, yeah, I figured my papes was the perfect place for it, ya know, so it ain't on the ground." He cut short his sarcasm. "Ya moron, I was smokin' it; why the hell would I put it on my papes?"
"Cigars require fire. Fire burns paper. Do you get it? What were you trying to do? Build a bonfire? SOS for help?"
Furious, Racetrack retorted, "I wouldn've dropped my damn cigar if I hadn't been tackled! What the hell was goin' on, anyways? Whadja do, on the lam from the coppers, eh? Boy, are you lucky I kept my trap shut. Right now I'm wishin' I'dve squealed." Her lack of appreciation infuriated him, and it was clear she thought she was smarter than him. Race hated people like that, and knew that he was too deep into this to walk away now. But would she...?
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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Jun 7, 2008 9:53:45 GMT -5
"I was mindin' my own goddamn business! It was you who decided to jump a damn wall!"
True. But, no. Not true. At all. She scoffed, "Oh please. What kind of Newsie sells this late? And in Central Park no less?" she asked rolling her blue eyes. She had completely avoided, no, not avoided, more like passed over, his statement of her jumping over the wall. Why mention it? It wouldn't help her argument, not at all.
"Oh, yeah, I figured my papes was the perfect place for it, ya know, so it ain't on the ground." "Ya moron, I was smokin' it; why the hell would I put it on my papes?"
"How should I know? Your the mastermind behind this stupidity, not me!" she retorted angrily. "--And how the hell were you smoking it if it was on the ground, huh? Sounds like something a liar would do." she added, emphasizing the word Liar.
"I wouldn've dropped my damn cigar if I hadn't been tackled!
"Clumsy as well as in the way...Boy you sure are talented." she stated, her words dripping with bittersweet sarcasm. "A talented piece of shit!" she added, scowling at him.
"What the hell was goin' on, anyways? Whadja do, on the lam from the coppers, eh?"
"Well, I didn't go hindering someone's jump and start a fire now, did I?" she asked, smirking and narrowing her eyes threateningly.
"Boy, are you lucky I kept my trap shut. Right now I'm wishin' I'dve squealed."
"Squealed...Ha...Like a little pig." she chided tauntingly as she moved closer. "They would have taken you too, and you know it." she retorted, throwing in her sassy attitude. Who was he? "Who the hell are you, anyways? And what were you doing in my way?" she asked narrowing her eyes, and glaring at him.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Jun 7, 2008 11:26:46 GMT -5
"Oh please. What kind of Newsie sells this late? And in Central Park no less?"
Race scowled. "That's my business," he said. "Why should I tell you?" She didn't need to know anything. He knew why he was out selling late, and that was enough. He wasn't about to spill his guts to satisfy the sarcastic inquiries of some sassy girl. He didn't like sass...cheek, he could take, and he could throw insults as fast as the next fellow, but sass was just obnoxious. It was just girls thinking they were smart, that's all. It didn't impress him.
"How should I know? Your the mastermind behind this stupidity, not me!--And how the hell were you smoking it if it was on the ground, huh? Sounds like something a liar would do."
"Now what the hell does that have to do with me bein' a liar?" Racetrack exclaimed. "And don't be a goddamn bonehead, it wasn't always on the damn ground and you know it!" If there was one thing he hated more than sass, it was stupidity. That and ignorance. It seemed as if all three were packed into this one girl, which gave Racetrack reason to be pretty steamed.
"Clumsy as well as in the way...Boy you sure are talented. A talented piece of shit!"
Without hesitation, Racetrack retorted, "You ain't one to talk about talent. Who decided to jump a wall and run into somebody who was mindin' his own damn business? Talk about clumsy..." She was more in the wrong than he was, and all she was trying to do was make him look like an idiot so she could look like a smartass. Well, Race could play that game.
"Well, I didn't go hindering someone's jump and start a fire now, did I?"
"How in the hell was I 'sposed to know you was gonna jump over the damn wall?" She was acting like this was all his fault. And what about the damn fire? It was his papers that were ruined by it; what made her think he decided to start a fire? "And don't go actin' like I woulda made a damn forest fire or somethin', a'right? The papes burn quick, they woulda flared up and been out in a jiffy." He had enough friends who liked to burn things to see what papers looked like burning.
"Squealed...Ha...Like a little pig. They would have taken you too, and you know it."
Well, she had him there. And Race knew it. But he couldn't let her know that. "Yeah, I know it. Which is why I kept my mouth shut. An' I'd like to get a thanks or somethin', cause I did it for you about as much as I did for me. But now I'm wishin' I've let 'em take ya."
"Who the hell are you, anyways? And what were you doing in my way?"
"In your way?" Race cried, his temper boiling over. "Now you listen to me. I don't know who you think you are, but you're the one who vaulted over a goddamn wall and onto my back! So don't try to make yourself sound right by sayin' I was in the way, cause I wasn't in nobody's way, got that? I was near a wall and about as out of the way as I could get for a normal person! So pull the stick out of your ass!"
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Post by Chloe Hawkins on Jun 7, 2008 11:59:56 GMT -5
Chloe waited patiently for the stupid boy to finish his ranting and raving. She just gave him a look of indignation for every one of his retorts. She had to admit, he had a bit of what she liked to call, "Jokerism" in him...Which was what she was made of, and it made her curious to see just how this might turn out.
"Now you listen to me. I don't know who you think you are, but you're the one who vaulted over a goddamn wall and onto my back! So don't try to make yourself sound right by sayin' I was in the way, cause I wasn't in nobody's way, got that? I was near a wall and about as out of the way as I could get for a normal person! So pull the stick out of your ass!"
Chloe raised one eyebrow, slowly. Then, she burst into hysterical laughter. She laughed on and on until her sides hurt. She found this to be so unbearably funny, that she didn't even know why it had happened. Every part of her ached now from her laughter, but she didn't care. She was thoroughly enjoying the moment. She had just figured something out. Chance had mentioned his best friends to her, and one of them he had described with these words: "Loud, rude, wise cracking, smoking, newsie." Damn. He fit the bid pretty well! Maybe...Just maybe, he could be that one. They were in Manhattan, after all.
"Do you know Chance?" she asked, still giggling slightly from her revelation. She completely forgot about the argument they were having. She had been so wrapped up in her fighting the damn boy that she hadn't noticed the long scratches on her back. She felt the sticky blood dripping lightly down her back, but payed no mind to it. That was what she got for flinging herself over a wall and onto a person, then eventually onto the ground.
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