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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 22, 2008 18:47:42 GMT -5
Brooklyn? Definetly not. Coney Island? No. The Sheepshead Bay Races? Without a doubt. Racetrack Higgins would brave Spot Conlon and all the other Brooklyn goons to get to Coney Island, and even then, brave the screaming kids, preening parents and the occasional overweight mother asking him if his mother knew where he was. All to get to the Sheepshead Bay Races with fifty-some cents in his pocket and one pape left over, folded over to the racing column.
He looked at the odds, taking in the numbers and doing calculations that had very little to do with math. Ask him his times tables, and Racetrack couldn't tell you a thing. Ask him the odds and how they got the numbers, he could tell you in nothing flat. Using what the pape told him as well as his tips for the day (The third would be a clean race, no fixing; and in the fifth, "Sunny Days" would have a good chance of winning, if you know what I mean), he walked up to his usual, shady-looking bookie.
"Whaddya hear, Higgins?" Felix the bookie said with a curt nod. Racetrack returned the nod and dug into his pocket for the pennies. When they clattered on the sill of the booth, Felix wrinkled his nose. "You ain't worth for nothin' if you ain't worth your pennies, Higgins..."
"I'll write a personal check next time, Felix," Race snarled, his voice tainted with sarcasm. "Gimme number 8 in the third and number 2 in the fifth."
"Win, place, what?" Felix returned. "Jeez, Higgins, I've thought ya would know better to tell me all that..."
Race glared at him. "An' I thought youd've known better by now. I always bet place." He slid the pennies across the unpolished wood surface. "Let's have it, Felix..."
Felix scowled and scrawled on a card, handing it to Racetrack and taking the pennies. "Beat it, kid..."
Race took the advice, and held the card firmly as he made his way towards the front of the stands. Since he didn't mind standing, he could usually get right up to the rail and see the action. The first race would be starting soon. Race looked with a zealous eye on the starting gate. He had a glow to his expression that was only evident when he was winning a game of poker or at the tracks.
His moment was shattered by someone ramming into him hard, causing him to knock into the rail. His hat fell off his head and onto the track below. With disgust and contempt he turned to whoever had knocked him over. "You'll pay for that, ya bum..." he snarled, rounding on the person with a scowl, a fist raised threatingly.
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 4:26:54 GMT -5
((Hope you don't mind me intruding  )) To keep children busy with stories while their parents were watching the Races was one of her money makers. Fabel, being extremely intelligent, yet un-able to read, had been slowly making her fortune all these years with her story telling. She had no way of knowing just how long this road would take her, but until it ended she wouldn't worry about the future. Why come all the way to Brooklyn, just to tell stories? She always tried to cover her bases and be everywhere. The more people that learned about her, the more they would show up to those places, the more they would pay to hear her stories. She had come to Brooklyn a few time to tell her tales, but she had only come to the race track on Coney Island once. She remembered the people had left their children all in one place to play jacks and hopscotch, but then she had offered to watch over them and they had agreed. They had come back later to find their children all sitting around her quietly, captivated. She had been payed good money. Fabel was done for the day, her mind being tired from all the thinking she had to do in her tale telling, so she decided to take the rest of this fine day off - and to let it work into her benefit. She wandered absentmindedly to the rail, where she could see the beautiful animals running. There was a lot of pushing and shoving, and one very large man who seemed to have no neck, slammed his walrus sized rumpus into Fabel so hard, that she was litterally bounced into another human. "You'll pay for that, ya bum..."Fabel, who had bounced off of the walrus and into this person was unsteadily still trying to regain her balance. "I-I am terribly sorry!" she gasped, a bit shocked at the fist that the boy had up. He wouldn't really hit her...Would he? |
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 10:43:27 GMT -5
Racetrack rounded on the person who had rammed into him, expecting to see some guy who maybe had a little too much of the beer, or else some kid who was getting a sick kick. But he didn't expect a lady. "I-I am terribly sorry!" she said, and she looked at the fist he held up. Embarassed, Race lowered his fist quickly and went to take his cap off...but then remembered it was on the tracks.
"Gosh...I'm sorry, miss..." he said earnestly. He hated yelling at girls. And he always seemed to get pushed around when he was near the rails of the stands, ending up yelling at whoever rammed into him without looking at who it was. "I wasn't expectin' a lady..."
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 11:04:58 GMT -5
"Gosh...I'm sorry, miss..."
The lad looked utterly perplexed at his threatening of Fabel, but instead of perplexing him further, she simply smiled. Fabel always seemed to look at things on a brighter side, and in a new light. She was a genuinely happy, sweet person.
"Well, if you hadn't been there, I may have just gone over the railing, and seriously injured myself." she stated firmly. There was truth in what she said, for if he had in fact not been there, she may have fallen well over and been hurt.
"I wasn't expectin' a lady..."
Fabel raised her eyebrows in utter surprise. She never really though of herself as a lady...No Female newsie did. They were toughened into thinking themselves as "One of the guys" and rarelt kept any feminism at all. Though she was wearing her normal brown dress, her curly hair was unkempt and pulled into an unruly bun.
She laughed lightly and replied, "I am merely a story teller who lives with newsies. It's not exactly what you would call a lady.."
She considered introducing herself, but thought it best to wait a bit, for he could very well still be angry with her.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 11:14:03 GMT -5
"Well, if you hadn't been there, I may have just gone over the railing, and seriously injured myself."
Unconsciously, Race rubbed his stomach where the bar had hit it. Glad to be of service. For once he was glad he wasn't much taller than he was. Otherwise he might have flipped over the bar, or else it would have been a bit of a lower blow... He pushed the thought away. "Glad for that, then," he said. "But I shoulda looked before I started yellin'. I wouldn't've even thoughta hittin' ya otherwise."
"I am merely a story teller who lives with newsies. It's not exactly what you would call a lady.."
Race looked at her. She was a newsie? This was something new. Almost every girl newsie he knew preferred wearing boys' clothes to dresses. Personally that kind of thing made Race sick some of the time, especially when the really weak, dainty girls did it because they thought it mde them look tougher. Most girls could pull it off. Others just needed to buy a skirt...
"I wouldn't'a guessed you was a newsie..." he said. "Where's your turf?" She might have been one of Houdini's kids, but it was a hard guess, most of the time. Odds were, though, she wasn't a Brooklyner. Sometimes it was hard to place, but Brooklyn? You knew that right away.
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 11:27:25 GMT -5
"Glad for that, then," he said. "But I shoulda looked before I started yellin'. I wouldn't've even thoughta hittin' ya otherwise."
Noticing how he ran his hand over his stomach, she saw that it was right in line with the bar.
"It must have hurt...I'm sorry." she smiled apologetically. She wasn't a very strong girl, but she had been toughened over the years from the constant beatings and shuns that she received from her family.
"I wouldn't'a guessed you was a newsie..." he said. "Where's your turf?"
"Harlem." she answered immediately. "What about you? Beg my pardon if I am mistaken, but you look much like a newsie." she added smiling, and gesturing at his attire. She could understand how he must have mistook her for something other than a newsie, for she did keep herself tidier then they did. She loved being with the newsies and never wanted to leave them. They accepted her for who she was, and didn't think twice about her bad omen when it was discovered.
"So, which horse do you like best?" she asked hesitantly, unsure as to whether or not she was bothering him. She looked out onto the track and the first horse to catch her eye was the only dappled grey running. It was rare to see white or light colored thoroughbreds, and Fabel immediately fancied the horse. When she saw the number on its silks, her face fell. 13.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 11:38:46 GMT -5
"Harlem. What about you? Beg my pardon if I am mistaken, but you look much like a newsie."
"That's swell," Race said when she mentioned Harlem. He didn't know too many Harlemers, and had always thought it was a good thing to have friends outside of Manhattan just in case you got into a bit of trouble outside your own turf. "Me? Manhattan. I'm one of Jack's boys. And don't sweat it. Newsies is easy to spot. Just look for the street rats disturbin' the peace." He grinned at his own joke.
"So, which horse do you like best?"
"Well I don't got my money on this race, but I'd say number 4." Race nodded to the sleek, strong-looking chestnut at the starting gate. "They call him California Glory. Strong starter, he is, but the day he crosses the finish line first, I'll eat my hat. If I had my hat..." He looked disdainfully at his hat on the dirt track on the other side of the rail. He said almost to himself, "If that race starts before I get it, I ain't gettin' it back in one piece." But then again, if he hopped over to get it and the race started, he wouldn't be back in one piece.
He put his feet on the lower bar and leaned over, reaching for it as far as he could without stumbling. At this point he regretted being short again: he was just a few inches away from grabbing it. He cussed mildly, and then glanced at the lady apologetically.
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 13:12:40 GMT -5
((Heh...I’m assuming that the railing is about a persons height above the track…))
"Me? Manhattan. I'm one of Jack's boys. And don't sweat it. Newsies is easy to spot. Just look for the street rats disturbin' the peace."
Fabel laughed. It was completely true, though in her case she was too meek when it came to disturbing the peace, but when it came to Stories...
"Well I don't got my money on this race, but I'd say number 4." "They call him California Glory. Strong starter, he is, but the day he crosses the finish line first, I'll eat my hat. If I had my hat..." "If that race starts before I get it, I ain't gettin' it back in one piece."
Her gaze followed his to the Cabbie hat that had settled on the track. Instead of thinking about what damage it could do to the hat if the race started soon, she thought of how badly a horse or rider could be injured if they tripped over it. Thoroughbreds scare easily, and seeing an unusual scary object in their path...Well, it could cause an uproar on the track.
Fabel thought about pulling him back from underneath the railing, but stopped herself when he cursed and came back on his own. He obviously couldn’t reach it with the short stocky body of his. Fabel thought to her own slim and slender body. She cleared her throat and gently pushed him aside. She looked for a moment down the track to make sure that it was still clear, and then slid easily through the railing, landing down into the track. She quickly grabbed the hat, and then threw it up to the boy. Now she faced a problem of getting back up in the few seconds before the horses would be upon her.
She panicked for a brief second, and then jumped, grabbing onto the bottom part of the railing, and tried to pull her own body weight up. She wasn’t so physically fit, but she also didn’t have much body weight either. She had herself hanging onto the railing in a slightly sticky predicament. She doubted the boy would help her – he had his hat and would more than likely just disappear into the crowd to a new spot on the rail.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 14:52:42 GMT -5
The girl cleared her throat and moved Racetrack aside. He obliged, and watched her slip through the rails and drop onto the track. Race watched as she grabbed his hat and tossed it up to him. He caught it in midair and slapped it onto his head triumphantly. "Thanks a million!" he exclaimed.
He was ready to give her a wave goodbye and find a place closer to the starting gate to stand, when he noticed she couldn't pull herself back up. The rail came up to Racetrack's midsecton (lower on the average person) and continued down to the platform he stood on. There was a considerable drop from there to the tracks, and the girl ws having a hard time pulling herself back up to the platform.
He saw a quick blink of fear in her eye, and suddenly there was the bleat of a whistle. announcing the race was about to start. With the girl still on the track, Race gasped and bent over the top of the rail again, reaching out his hands out to the girl. "Come on!" he cried. "Grab on!" A frenzied glance to the starting gate followed another cry: "Hurry up!"
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 15:06:36 GMT -5
((Aaw, such a gentleman! ))
"Come on!" he cried. "Grab on!" A frenzied glance to the starting gate followed another cry: "Hurry up!"
Fabel heard the whistle, and she soon heard the gunshot that signaled the horses off. She could hear the muffled thuds of the horses as they grew closer and closer.
With one swift movement, Fabel let go of the rail and grabbed onto his hands, where she was swiftly pulled up and over the rail again. It wasn't very difficult, as she was malnourished and quite small. She toppled exhaustedly onto the ground and took a few shaky breaths. She mentally reminded herself never to help anyone again.
As the horses passed, Fabel narrowed her eyes at the one in the lead. Number 13. 13 was the one that would have seriously injured or killed her if the boy hadn't helped her up.
After regaining her composer, she swallowed hard and managed a smile. "My name is Fabel." she said softly, yet still audible over the noise of the crowd.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 15:43:26 GMT -5
((Of course he is. She saved his hat. )) The gunshot sounded, and a cheer rose as the starting gates opened and the horses started barrelling down the track. Race's eyes widened in fear. "Come on!" he yelled. The girl took his hands in a swift motion, and the added weight to his upper half caused Racetrack to press against the rail. Quickly he heaved her up and over the rail, staggering backward into the crowd. He held onto her arms until he was sure she was steady on the platform, and then released her, breathing hard. She was very light, he thought, and even shorter than he was. She was very slim, and as a result had easily been able to get through the bars onto the track. Luckily, that also made her easy for Racetrack to pull back up. He reached up and tugged at the brim of his cap, catching his breath again. He glanced at the floor of the platform, and stooped down to pick up the race card he had dropped. Someone had stepped on it and bent it at the corners, but at least no one had taken it. "My name is Fabel," she told him with a smile. Race grinned back. Saving a hat and, subsequently, someone's skin, was a call for an introduction, if anything was. "I'm Racetrack," he returned. "Racetrack Higgins." |
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Post by Fabel on Feb 23, 2008 16:01:49 GMT -5
"I'm Racetrack," he returned. "Racetrack Higgins."
Fabel raised an eyebrow, amused. "I can only imagine how you obtained your name?" she said glancing around at their surroundings. Race Track and Fabel were both peculiar names and pointedly obvious in there doings.
She was glad she had slipped through the railing and almost died. It had gained her a friend. Dubious and Flabbergasting as that sounds, it was in a sense true.
The walrus man and a few of his fellow primates,amphibians and mammals were obviously drunk, and had begun laughing and chortling at the duo's escape from the horses. They began to get rowdy with each other, which was a ghastly sight - as whenever one would punch another, their hands would almost disappear into the blubber. The walrus man somehow managed to move his large self over to where Fabel was sitting, causing her to jump up lest she get squished.
"Alo Wittul missy! Owz bouts yous'e kin entatain me tanight? I ain't married!" he bellowed, his breath wreaking of the odorous beer he had recently engulfed. His very pudgy arm wrapped around her middle, and she tried to struggle out but to no success. Fabel made a face and replied, "No thank you sir, as I am Married and it would be entirely indecent." she replied haughtily.
Of course she wasn't married, but she had to come up with some excuse. There was no way she would go home with the big oaf, just so he could use her as his own personal toy.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 23, 2008 16:58:50 GMT -5
"I can only imagine how you obtained your name?"
Race laughed and nodded. "You bet. This here track's where I spend all my free time. Either this one or the one in Queens, but this one I've come to for years." He could recall the first time he came, with an older newsie named Bertram who had since become and adult and moved up in the world. Race immeidietly loved betting and the chance and anything to do with the races. Conditions permitting, he had come to this track almost every day since. To Fabel he said, "Why do they call you that? Fabel?"
His attention was captured by the race, where the horse with number 8 on its silks was taking the lead. The final lap had just started when Race's attention was taken by a voice from behind him: "Owz bouts yous'e kin entatain me tanight? I ain't married!"
At first he was hardly concerned. A lot of the men at the tracks got rowdy and some of them crude (which was the only reason Race would prefer the Belmont Park Track instead). But when he heard Fabel's voice - "No thank you sir, as I am Married and it would be entirely indecent." - he whirled around from the rail to see an impossibly fat man with an arm around Fabel's waist, restraining her.
If Fabel was married, Race thought, her husband better get over here quick. If not he would have to take on the three hundred pounds of drunken stupor by himself, which, for a short kid with not a lot of muscle power, wasn't exactly happening to easily.
But something would have to be done, and soon. Race saw Fable struggle against the fat man's hold on her. Without thinking, and defending in the only way he knew how, Race hurried over and socked the fat man in the nose. "The hell's'a mattr with you?!" he yelled at the man. "Get ya fat can offa her!"
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Post by Fabel on Feb 24, 2008 1:42:14 GMT -5
"The hell's'a mattr with you?!" he yelled at the man. "Get ya fat can offa her!"
The walrus grunted at the impact in his nose. His grip loosened a moment, but he quickly regained it. "Oo're you?" the giant walrus asked, pointing a pudgy, accusing finger at Race Track. He was swaying now from the intoxication, and Fabel was quite afraid he might fall on her.
Fabel thought quickly, "He's my husband you big oaf!" she yelled, pretending to be very much enraged at the walrus. "And he is a martial arts expert and dietitian, so if you don't let go of me - He will hurt you, or worse have you up in court." she added defensively, and crossed her arms. She really hoped Race Track would catch on and build onto her "Lie", for if he didn't she may very well become the walrus's playmate for the evening.
His slightly reddened eyes seemed sunken into his flesh, which rolled on every part of his giant body. He really did resemble a walrus, she thought. Fabel tried to wiggle loose from his grasp which had eased a fraction at her remark to the Mammal. But as she did so, his grip tightened. She felt like she was in a body brace. If he squeezed much harder, her tiny frame may very well snap in half.
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Post by Anthony Higgins on Feb 24, 2008 10:07:27 GMT -5
"He's my husband you big oaf! And he is a martial arts expert and dietitian, so if you don't let go of me - He will hurt you, or worse have you up in court."
If Racetrack had been any more out of the loop, he would have been caught off guard by Fabel's sudden outburst. He thought quickly that she must have been lying about having a husband, obviously. He was starting to figure out why they called her Fabel. Racetrack couldn't tell an entertaining story, but he could lie through his teeth and not break a sweart.
He saw the fat man begin to sway in his stupor. Racetrack drew back a fist and socked him hard in the nose again (anywhere else, he feared, wouldn't have much impact). "Get your hands off my wife, ya bum!" he exclaimed. The lie sounded ridiculous to his ears, and he wondered if he sounded convincing.
He pulled at the fat man's arm, hoping to loosen his hold enough so Fabel could pull herself out. He grunted with exertion, making the fat man's friends point and laugh. Race glared at them. "Whattya lookin' at, ya morons?" he exclaimed. "Stupid boozin' bums..."
He had no idea what to do at this point, save for continually punching the fat man or trying to slacken his hold. If neither worked, he didn't know how he could help Fabel...
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))