Chapter Text
The sunny days of, well, summer made the streets of Brooklyn warm and bright. So warm and bright, in fact, the breeze from the docks nearby was a great equalizer, fluttering a woman's parasol lace or a man's coattails as they trotted down the sidewalks. The only solace from a total sunburn was the minuscule chance of a tree casting shade or an alley.
That's where I found myself. Sitting at the entrance of an alley, sipping water from a flask I'd stolen from some fat cat and cleaned the alcohol out of. It wasn't the freshest tasting thing in the world, but god forbid I beg Jacobi's for ice water for the 50th time this month. I'd look simply pathetic, as Race would say.
I'm not a newsie. Couldn't be further from the obvious, I had no papers, no lung capacity to scream at the top of my lungs at 6:30AM, and certainly no high level of charisma. Was I fine with that? Yes, I was. Did that permit me to mess around with some of the kids working? Yes.
My closest friend at the Manhattan Lodging is Racetrack. We met as little kids and have been chummy ever since. He even lets me into his cigar stash on a really good day. But today, Jack dragged him away, screwing our chances of going to the track for betting. Said something about , "learning to save ya cash."
So here I am. Waaaaaayyyy outside my territory, but I don't give a damn what the newsies here think. And in-front of me are 3 soda bottles. One purple, green, and orange. Not great, no. As a girl living off the streets, however, I gotta take what I got, and what I got were 3 sodas and a sales pitch.
I spotted a wooden crate not too far from where I was set up at the entrance to the alleyway. Taking it into to arms, I painfully dragged the wood to my location. I stood on top of it. I take back what I said before; if you know a newsie long enough, you kinda inherit their tendency to yell bullshit at people.
"POTIONS! GET YOUR GENUINE BONA-FIDE POTIONS FROM THE WEST MOUNTAINS, THE BUBBLING STREAMS OF EUROPE, AND THE GARDEN OF EDEN!!"
And just like that, my stage was set. Every Tuesday or so, I'd snag some fresh sodas from Jacobi's, peel the labels off, and scribble new ones on. Turns out, that's all it takes to be called the "Brooklyn Witch" by a couple of 11 year olds.
"How many are there??" One little boy asked.
"What do they do??" Another girl in a pink dress stared.
"How can we trust you're not lying?!" Another girl with dark hair and a teddy bear yelled.
I laughed, "Ladies! Gents! Calm yourselves!"
Gesturing to the 3 beverages, I explained with a smile straight from the sun, "There's only 3 potions. The violet is called 'Elixir of Frost.' See, the ingredients of this come from the Andes Mountains: freshly fallen snow, evergreen grasses, gaseous mushrooms, and artificial sweeteners.
"The children 'oooh'd and 'ahhh'd at my talk of magic, "The elixir gives the one who consumes it unimaginable luck and pleasure. I've heard of billionaires being born on the day they consume this drink as a poor man. Going for a low 20$ of cash?" Wiping a fake tear from my eyes, I smirk to myself as the little boy runs to his mother, begging for 20$ of cash, which was a lot. However, so was an annoying child.
I was handed 20$ bills immediately after the story. It just so happened that my hat was on the ground, appearing to have coins tossed into it by onlooking adults and their children. Hell, I even saw a couple newsies stop by for a listen.
The little girl with the teddy asks me with a quiver in her voice, "What's the green one?"I smirk, showing off the bottle to the audience, "This, my dear, is a "Potion of Beauty." Made from the ancient water of European streams, sparkling mermaid scales, and the skin of a dragonfly wing, the concoction provides beauty and charm to the consumer. I can assure you it lasts forever, so be careful when you start getting compliments for your hair! It's a bit more exclusive, so I can start at 40$"
I tapped the girl's nose and she giggled, waddling to her father, who handed her money to give. Alright. Last one, I think, Just gotta sell it.
I glance around again. There were about 10-20 people crowding around my alleyway. I, however, felt like a preacher to millions. I noticed one boy in the audience, my feet hitting the pavement as I sauntered up to him. Quickly, I whispered, "Play along."
The boy was led willingly next to the crate, his hand in mine as I dragged him along, waving the orange soda- potion in my free hand, "And for my final concoction, I have... 'The Bottled Pollen of Attraction!!!' Tell me, young man, have you ever been in love?"
I hear a couple of cat-calls and whoops from the boys he was standing with, but he was unfazed, looking directly at me. "No I have not. Why, ya wanna set me up?" His lips curled to a smirk as I climbed back onto the crate, one hand on his shoulder.
"Why would I, my handsome friend, when this potion could do it for you?! A dash of tiger lily pollen mixed with the juices of ripe oranges from the Garden of Eden, mixed with the sweet nectar of honeybees," I list off the ingredients with quiet emphasis, "gives the consumer and instant attraction towards the first person they see!"
"Really?" He asks with sarcasm in his tone, "Well then, why don't you try it out?" His question prompted gasps from the audience, especially his friends. I, for one, could not care less.
However, I had to admit that an attractive boy my age was the perfect subject for my sales pitch, no matter how cheeky the outcome.
"Ah! And there's the questions, girls and boys! 'Do these potions really work??' 'How long do the effects stay??' 'How long will I have this boy kissing up to me???'" I groaned dramatically, gaining a couple of laughs from the older audience as well as a few whistles from the newsboys. "Well, to answer most of those questions, they do work! And the effects can be reversed through..."
I patted around my clothes for a moment, grabbing the flask from my back pocket, prompting gasps from parents. "No, adults, it isn't alcohol. Gosh, how old do you people think I am??? It's just water!"
Arousing laughter from the audience game me my boost. I popped open the soda bottle and handed the flask of water to the boy, who was still looking up at me. "Water reverses any and all effects of my potions. And, my friend," I moved to sit off the side of the crate, matching the boy in height as I spoke to him, "You wouldn't mind if I use you as a... subject of affections, would you?"
Fireworks from the newsies. They cheered, teasing their friend as he looked at me with a new kind of sparkle in his eyes. "Lay it on me," he replied.
And with that, I lifted the soda bottle above my mouth (god forbid some father sues me for getting his kid sick) and poured a small amount into my mouth, swallowing the orange drink with a smile.Looking over at the boy next to me, I felt the need to really sell the act, so I stared for a moment. He had a newsboy cap and a bag of papers, but that was obvious. He had black suspenders hanging on his broad shoulders, the striped shirt almost glowing in the warm light of day. His eyes were dark. I couldn't tell what color they were, but brown was my best guess. His skin has a sort of tan to it, most likely from days of lugging around papers for patrons. His hair... the few pieces that stuck out from his cap were black and curly in a way. He twisted a black and silver cane in his hands. He had a handsome look about him. That was simply all I could describe before he snapped his fingers in my face.
"Hey, vendor? Youse still there?" He asked, his smile starting to peek through as he observed my perfect act of staring.
Lay it on thick, girl.
I fluttered my lashes at him, "I-I apologize for staring, I just... your eyes are... lovely..." My tone had a mix of eagerness to explain why I had stared and a sense of awe at his rough, but rugged features. I moved a hand to his arm, looking at the muscle, then at him. "I... I'm sorry for this!"
I moved and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was quick, but I felt myself linger for the sake of selling the act. I quickly whispered, "Give me the flask."
I didn't know if he heard what I said, due to the screams of congratulation and whooping from his friends mixed with coos of adults finding my adoration for a stranger quite adorable. He smirked, handing me the flask and watched as I drank and stood on the crate, bowing as my audience applauded.
I patted the boy's shoulder, shooing him back to his friends. His eyes lingered on me as his friends dragged him off, a sensation of bewilderment making him shiver.
Unfortunately, no one bought the soda. Probably because no one had 80$ on them. Hey, a girl can dream.
~
It was now late. The stars in the sky sparkled like glitter on women's day gowns as I walked along the streets, counting some pickpocketed coins and trinkets and candy I stole after the whole potion ordeal.
Twirling a jackknife in my palm I walked quietly, listening to the thump of the old leather on my skin mixed with the sound of the evening wind. Glancing up at the buildings, I paused. This wasn't Manhattan.
Well, if it's not Manhattan, where the fuck am I? I'd thought that I'd reach the bridge by now! I started to quicken my steps, turning one way and another, almost running down the streets. I didn't really care how I looked anyway, there were only so many people on the streets of wherever the hell I was at... what time even was it??
As I was jogging on the paved roads, I turned the corner with a brick building and caught a glimpse of something following me.
Fuck no, I thought, beginning to speed up. Breathing heavily, I crossed the empty roads and ducked around another corner. Leaning my back against the brick of an apartment complex, I glanced about my surroundings. The streets were completely dark, save for alleyways that were pitch black. As my eyes began to adjust, I could begin to see the boxes and discarded furniture in one. I bolted over to the alley, curling into a ball behind a box. The sound of leather against cobble across the road was not a welcome sound. Peeking over the crates I saw something even more unwelcome: a man. He was holding a lit pipe to his lips, taking a smoke every few seconds and glancing about. His hair was blonde and he was deathly pale. His suit didn't fit him; I could tell by the way his coat was flowing with the wind. He had a cane in his right hand, which was when I noticed the limp in his leg. Good, I thought, easier to take out.
His eyes darted around, presumably not yet adjusted to the darkness. He also looked old. Super old. Like maybe 60. Ew.
I felt something drop to the stony grounds, like a pin falling in a church. I looked down to see a lolly pop that I snagged from some 7 year old that thought it was a bright idea to give me a kick to the back of my leg. Seeing the small treat sitting there gave me an idea. So, I grabbed the candy and threw it down the street he was looking away from. He immediately turned to check out the sound and followed down the other side of the street. When he turned the corner, I let out a sigh, feeling my heart return to a calm pace.
A hand grabbed my arm.
Jolting from my seating position, I attempted to run from whoever was holding me, but the loud bark of a dog in my ear made me stop and look back. In terror, I realized my assailant was one of the men I pickpocketed earlier today. Of course I had to get too confident and snag a wallet. I winced as he twisted my arm back.
"Where's the money, kid." He snarled, the dog growled behind him.
I shook my head, playing dumb, "I- I don't know what you're talking about-"
I could taste blood in my mouth as he slammed my body against the wall, causing my jaw to crush the inside of my cheek like a bear trap. I felt myself choke on the metallic flavor, spitting up the mass onto the wall. The sound of screams were muffled by his hand over my mouth. "Hand it over. Or we're gonna have problems."
I felt tears cloud my vision. The brick stained partly with the blood I coughed up didn't make me feel any better. I felt a slow throbbing in my head, way worse than any headache I've gotten. "Not gonna talk? Butch?"
As if waiting its entire life for this moment, the dog sprinted forward. The man dropped my arm and stepped to the side. I yelped, throwing my hands about trying to block an attack. A sharp pain went through my leg, and I screamed. Looking down, I watched as the dog clamped its jaws onto my ankle and bit down. The man, vexed by the severity of the screaming, pulled the dog away. I watched as blood fell from two fresh holes in my skin. My breathing had quickened again, eyes darting around wondering what I was supposed to do now.
"You fucking psycho! I don't have your money!" I shouted, my hand covering the wound. Every time I pressed down there was a shot of agony through my body. I couldn't cry, not now. One hand braced the brick wall, the other trying to halt any further blood flow. Pushing myself up from the ground felt like spikes in my leg. What little vision I had was blurry, but manageable. "Get away from me!"
He laughed, a disgusting and horrible sound, "Gonna cry? Pretty weak for a petty thief." He reached for my waist, and I tensed, feeling genuine fear for the first time in years. I was almost grateful that he had only grabbed the stack of bills from my pocket. The grin on his face was manic as he counted the money, a sly string in his voice, "More like an experienced criminal... What am I gonna do with you now..." He looked like a murderer, and he probably would be after he finished with me. Was this it? This is how I go out? A thief? I could only watch as he raised a fist in the air and-
I shut my eyes as the man groaned, his back hitting the pavement with a thump. I was still waiting for the killing blow when I opened my eyes to a familiar striped shirt boy with a newsie cap. He turned towards me, his eyes widening at the sight. I don't know why he got so ticked off in that moment, but seeing someone all bloody and bruised must've been the match to a flame. He turned back to the man and sent a boot kick to his back, causing a yelp of pain. The dog had run off, and I would've done the same if my leg wasn't bleeding out. Looking at the boy, something terrifying crawled through me. His eyes weren't smug and laughing at me like they were this morning. They were filled with fury. Anger. Hate. His knuckles were red from punching the man's face. His careful grin was no longer present, only a fueled snarl. "Drop the cash, bastard, or do I has t' bring the dog back and order 'im on youse?"
The man looked terrified. The boy holding him looked no more than 17 years old and here he was, at his mercy with a hand on his throat. He laughed weakly, trying to maintain control. "What are you gonna do, newsie," he spat, the name like a slur on his tongue, "Call your boys? They all probably sleeping in their beds. Don't you got a bedtime?"
That was the boy's breaking point. With a rousing cry, he socked the man in the jaw, throwing his upper body against the brick. He stood there for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath, watching for any sort of similar action in the man. When there was a hint of life, he rolled his eyes. He suddenly grabbed the man by the back of his neck and held him against the wall. If looks could kill, the man would be in the 7th circle of hell. "Touch 'er again, and I'se will hunt youse and ya kind down and soak each and every one o' you. Am I clear, Paul?" His voice rasped against the man's ear, muttering each threat with unwavering certainty. The man nodded quickly, now completely overcome by fear as he tasted blood and brick in his mouth. The boy wasn't satisfied. "Say it louder, will ya? I'se couldn't 'ear youse too well."
The man's voice was a pitch higher now, begging for forgiveness, "I'll never hurt anyone again, Conlon, I swear! I won't! I promise! On my life!" There were tears in his eyes, and I watched as the boy dropped him and allowed the man to skitter away, calling for his dog.
The boy who saved me watched after the man's sluggish run, making sure he was gone before turning to me. I watched as the fury in his features softened to genuine worry before my eyes. He knelt down to observe the wounds on my leg and the sides of my face. After a minute of observation, he muttered, "Can ya walk?" Before I could answer, my eyes shut and I fell into a comfortable sleep.
I felt my heart beating slowly in my chest as I felt my fingers clench against fabric. I didn't want to open my eyes yet, feeling so comfortable where I was sitting. There was something draped over me, maybe the cardboard from the boxes from the... the...
I shot up, realizing that I was no longer in the alleyway before I had hands lower me back onto the bed. My heart was pounding as voices spoke around me. Hyperventilating, I felt hands on my shoulders, on my head, on my hand. I flinched away from all of them, covering my ears to block out the sound. Where am I? Why am I not dead? Am I dead? Am I alive? What's going on? I can't- They're still- Who-
"Boys." A commanding voice made the loud noises stop. Some words were said, but the hands over my ears wouldn't allow the sounds to process into words. I was still freaking out, heart pounding in my chest.
It wasn't until I realized all the people in the room were gone, save for one in a familiar striped shirt. He sat on a stool against the wall, waiting for something with his arms crossed and watching me. I slowly felt my heart relax as I lowered my hands from my ears. My chest rose and fell as I finally observed the room I was in.
It wasn't an alley (thank god,) but it was a small room with dark maroon wallpaper and dark wooden half walls. There was a window on one wall that had its curtains drawn, but sunlight still peaked through a bit (Was it morning? I thought.) On the adjacent wall with a door in one corner sat a cabinet and counter with small bottles and such. I was sitting in what looked to be a makeshift hospital bed, or something that I thought would look like a makeshift hospital bed, with a small side table with water and bandages strewn over it. And in another corner was the boy, the boy that saved my life.
If he saved my life, then why did he look so angry?
He looked at my hands that were picking at my own nails in my lap, then back up at me. "Youse alright?"
The question brought back the memory of the bite on my leg, which I responded to by hastily pulling the cloth off of my legs to check. My ankle was wrapped in fresh gauze and looked a lot less swollen than I thought. "Buttons cleaned youse up," The boy spoke up, pulling me out of my thoughts. When I gave him a look of confusion, he reiterated, "One of my newsies. Turns out he's not only a tailor's son, but a medisial one at that."
His accent was thick. Like, I could barely get what he was saying. Without any prior thought, I dumbly replied, "... what?" I'm glad he didn't take it in a rude way, because whatever I said made him laugh a bit. "Don't worry, kid. Youse in good hands now."
I nodded dazedly, glancing back at my leg. "Where... am I?"
"The Brooklyn Newsie Lodging House. I'se been the leader for quite a while, but we also gots Mr Kory, who owns the joint." He started talking casually, as if I wasn't mauled and bitten by a dog less than...
"How did I get here? What time is it, and what happened to that guy?" I interrupted his speech, which looked to tick him off a bit. Understandably so, I thought, I'd hate to be interrupted. He glanced at the window, his jaw tightening a bit at the mention of the events previous to my awakening.
Looking back at me, He began, "I carried youse back 'ere. We's tried to stop the bleeding but you had already lost a lotta blood. Buttons showed up, whipped out some fancy medisial tools, and stitched up your leg and cheek. You were still asleep, so if I'm correct... it should be close to noon by now."
"Medicinal." I corrected him, mentally punching myself afterwards. Do I have to be an asshole right now?? "Sorry, got lost in thought," I kissed my teeth in embarrassment.
He looked at me for a moment, a small laugh escaping him. "Youse really gonna smart-ass me? Right after I'se kicked some guy's ass?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to be rude I just- its instinct, I'm sorry, I'm so-" I paused my repeated apologies when I noticed him laughing. He sighed and moved the stool closer to the bed, getting a good look at how I cringed into myself. "I'm messin' with you, kid. Youse completely fine." Taking another look at my face I finally noticed the odd sensation in my cheek. Lifting my fingers up to it made me realize it was stitched. Running the pads of my fingers over the threading made me ask, "How bad was I?"
The boy's eyes lost their spark of humor for a moment, going over each wound like a menu, "Youse got scratches up the side of ya face, the dog bite, more scratching on ya legs, ya hands, a pretty big dent in the head... and... a hole in ya cheek." The last part came quickly out of his mouth, like he didn't want to say it over fear of it happening again. My eyes widened at the news. "How did I... I bit it. I got slammed against the wall and my mouth..." I paused, hands shaking against the sewed gash in my cheek, "How the hell is there not a hole in my mouth...?"
The boy shrugged, almost guilty, "I couldn't tell ya. Buttons ordered everyone to get outta the room when he saw it." The way his eyes darkened at the word 'ordered' made me uneasy. The boy, sensing my fear, leaned in, "Hey, it's ok. Youse ok now."
I nodded slowly, almost completely sure that I was dreaming at this point. I looked at my leg, asking with hollowness in my tone, "Can I walk?" Before he could answer, I swung my legs off the opposite side of the bed and tried to stand. A sharp spasm up my leg caused me to falter, holding myself up by my hands on the bed. The boy caught the discomforted sound I made, pulling me by my arm back onto the bed. "Nope. Youse not moving until we get ya a crutch or something."
I sighed, unaware of how he looked down at his cane, twisting it in his hand for a moment before placing it on the bed next to me. Looking at it I shook my head with a small smile, "Is that..." He nodded, pushing it an inch closer with his finger. I shook my head, "No, it's yours, your cane, I'm fine."
He shook his head, "It's decorative, y'know? I don't actually need it."
I then shook my head back at him, "I don't-"
The cane was placed across my lap, his hand on the opposite end of it with a small smile. "Spot Conlon." He held his hand out to me.
Glancing down at it, I noted the callouses and cuts on his hand from the fight, and possibly from previous battles. Taking my hand, suddenly realizing it was bandaged around the palm, I shook his gently, saying my name with a sense of wonder.