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Post by Don't Ask on Sept 15, 2009 9:10:22 GMT -5
"Over here, boys," Don't Ask instructed, leading the Yonkers boys around the bend to an area that was protected from view from the guards at the workhouse. The sounds of battle had already started up, which meant they were running out of time for preparation. "Gimme the kiln."
The boy who carried a cast iron box handed it over to the blacksmith, who immediately dropped to his knees and started filtering through his satchel. "If I can get this fire hot enough, it'll only take these irons a couple minutes to get heat up. We don't need 'em to be branding-hot." Don't Ask didn't know much about war-planning, or even all that much about fighting, but fire-starting? The blacksmith was an expert. That was a job he could do in his sleep.
Working with hands so steady it worried him, Don't Ask removed several smooth, flat hot rocks from his sack and lined the bottom of the makeshift kiln with them, then upended the sack, dumping coals on top of them. From his pocket he pulled a small pot of petroleum jelly and several comb-matted cotton swatches. Unscrewing the pot, he used a stick to smear the cotton across the petroleum jelly and dropped them on top of the coals, then followed them with a squirt of clear accelerant from a vial pulled from another pocket.
"Stand back," he instructed warily as he retrieved his flint and held it over the kiln. Taking up a steel knife, he struck the flint a few times before a spark popped up, followed by several more, and then a spray of sparks. At once, the kiln caught fire with a whump!, a thick plume of black smoke puffing up and disappearing as the petroleum and accelerant burned. "Tell me I ain't learnin' anything useful, Ma," he muttered to himself, watching his creation blaze.
Leaning back on his heels to avoid the sudden intense heat, Don't Ask unfurled his burlap bundles, revealing several assorted sets of branding irons and fire pokers, all of which he'd pilfered from his forge. Balling up the burlap and his satchels to prop the iron up, he set them with their business ends in the flames.
"Give 'em a few minutes, we can be part of the second wave, cover the others as they're coming out."
His one certain job done, Don't Ask sat back to stare at the fire, waiting for the first hints of a glow from the cast iron rods, and focused all his energy on fighting the urge to tremble with fear.
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Post by Styx Kennedy on Sept 15, 2009 21:26:34 GMT -5
Styx saw Don’t Ask and some other boys grouped around a fire and rushed over, Snoddy close behind him. “I see you made it! And I’ll assume your mission to Yonkers was a successful one,” He added nodding in greeting to the new boys. Glancing at the fire, he noticed the irons and grinned. “Got one of those beasts for me to use?” Styx found he rather enjoyed the image of him bashing in the heads of Nike’s captors with a red-hot iron.
He drew away from the fire to where Snoddy stood, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Hey, mucker, you know I didn’t have a choice back there. I wasn’t gonna jus’ let the wolves have her, no matter how mad at ‘er I am.” He chewed his tongue and hoped he would understand.
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Post by dutchy on Sept 15, 2009 22:17:12 GMT -5
Dutchy stood in silence behind Don't Ask, watching the fire starting to burn. He only took a step or two back, his eyes watering from the heat. They were playing with fire, the phrase immediately sprang to mind. Both literally and figuratively, he thought. Dutchy never thought himself as a coward, not ever. He was willing to fight. That's why he came. He had friends here being hurt and taken advantage of and he fully intending on helping them anyway he could. But fire... Scarring some one for life. But wasn't that what they deserved?
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Post by Snoddy King on Sept 17, 2009 18:53:33 GMT -5
"Heya, Dutchy," Snoddy greeted quietly, still a little humbled from the look Brook passed to him on the walk up here. He didn't recognize any of the others, so he gave a short nod around the group, hanging back out of their way.
“Hey, mucker, you know I didn’t have a choice back there. I wasn’t gonna jus’ let the wolves have her, no matter how mad at ‘er I am.”
Chewing his lower lip, he nodded solemnly for a moment. "Yeah, I know," he said, finally. "S'okay. We're still good."
He watched the fire burn, staring at the still-dark irons. He wondered if Dutchy intended to take one up, or if he'd brought something else to use. Snoddy looked down at the closed sling he'd made--a burlap sack packed with heavy river stones, tied with a rope for swinging--and frowned. He'd seen so many metal and bladed weapons on the walk up here. So many people seemed to be intent on killing, or at least mortally wounding... Snoddy's handmade weapon was only a stunner, made for dropping an attacker quickly and with minimal force. He'd used weapons like this while he was traveling, to hunt deer and once to fend off a young bear, and knew that he would put a significant hurt on whomever he attacked, maybe break a few bones. But they would live. He'd intended it that way.
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Post by Don't Ask on Sept 17, 2009 20:00:14 GMT -5
“I see you made it! And I’ll assume your mission to Yonkers was a successful one. Got one of those beasts for me to use?”
"Evenin', Styx," Don't Ask said, giving him a tight, ironic smile. "Got enough to go around and then some. You see anyone without a weapon, you send 'em this way, yeah?" Pointing over his shoulder at the gathered Yonkers boys, he made a lazy introduction. "Guys, this is my buddy Styx. He's from Queens. Styx,... these are the Yonkers boys." One by one, he listed their names, the corresponding guy lifting a hand or nodding in acknowledgment. "Cornelius the Wanderer, Frederick Fingers, Baby Barnaby, Mallet, Snuff, Jacky Jordan and Needles." He looked to the tall guy who'd accompanied Styx to the fireside and nodded. "Who's your friend?"
Don't Ask twisted his head around, looking back at Dutchy, who bore a grim expression. Reaching out, he curled a hand around Dutchy's calf comfortingly. "You okay, mijn vriend?"
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Post by dutchy on Sept 18, 2009 23:37:35 GMT -5
Dutchy jumped slightly at the touch, looking to Don't Ask then noticed Snoddy was standing with them now. He nodded to Don't Ask, "Uh, sorry, mijn gedachten dwaalden." He gave a slightly embarrassed smile, then handed his poker off to Don't Ask to heat up and would soon there after permanently damage a few people's faces with hideous scars for the rest of their days. What the hell were they all doing? Waiting to be killed, maybe. Bringing such serious weapons was only asking for equally serious repercussions. What if the cops decided *now* would be a good time to check the warehouse out? How many of them would be shot in "defense" or put away in jails for years? Not all of them were young enough to go to the refuge still. And how many times did you end up there before going to real adult jail. For a long time?
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Post by Styx Kennedy on Sept 22, 2009 22:21:33 GMT -5
"Yeah, I know. S’okay. We're still good."
Styx nodded, glad that Snoddy understood. He didn’t really know Brook that well, but he found it difficult to say no to a damsel in distress. She had been no different. The fact that it was her who had hurt Snoddy so badly made thing more complicated, but it didn’t change Styx reaction at all. It only changed his mind when it came to seducing her later. He wasn’t that low...
"Evening', Styx. Got enough to go around and then some. You see anyone without a weapon; you send 'me this way, yeah?”
“That I can do,” he laughed, rubbing his hands together in excitement. The coming fight had him pumped and he was more than ready to find Nike. They’d been separated for too long and the sickening, hollow feeling in his stomach had him nervous and raring to cause some pain.
Guys, this is my buddy Styx. He's from Queens. Styx,... these are the Yonkers boys: Cornelius the Wanderer, Frederick Fingers, Baby Barnaby, Mallet, Snuff, Jacky Jordan and Needles. Who's your friend?"
Nodding to each in turn, he picked up one of the heated irons, testing the weight of it in his hand. “Ah, this is Snoddy, he’s a Manhattan newsie. Snoddy, Don’t Ask: the Manhattan blacksmith of legend.” He chuckled and winked at DA, knowing he’d get a kick outta that. Swinging the iron bar around he grinned at the boys gathered. “Let’s go kick some peeler ass, yeah?”
(today’s lesson in Irish slang - Peeler (n): policeman)
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Post by Snoddy King on Sept 25, 2009 0:03:31 GMT -5
Snoddy nodded in greeting as Styx introduced him to Don't Ask, and offered his hand for a shake. He'd heard of the blacksmith, mostly in the regard of being Dutchy's new friend.
Speaking of Dutchy, Snoddy looked to him as he and Don't Ask passed their Dutch words back and forth. He was looking distracted, and more than a little pale and distraught. Stepping closer to him, he tugged Dutchy's sleeve and leaned in to mutter, too low for the others to hear, "Hit them around the middle, not the head. And swing it, don't stab. It'll knock 'em down quick, and won't do so much damage."
He stood against his friend, leaning his elbow on Dutchy's shoulder casually, and took heart in the idea that there was at least one other person here not looking forward to what they were about to do.
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Post by Don't Ask on Sept 25, 2009 0:47:07 GMT -5
"Uh, sorry, mijn gedachten dwaalden."
Giving him a tight smile, Don't Ask sighed, leaving his hand against Dutchy's calf reassuringly. "Wij zullen fijn zijn. Dit neuken krankzinnig, maar wij zullen fijn zijn."
“Ah, this is Snoddy, he’s a Manhattan newsie. Snoddy, Don’t Ask: the Manhattan blacksmith of legend.”
Don't Ask smirked at Styx's compliment and reached out to shake Snoddy's offered hand. "Don't listen to him," he said, shaking his head. "He's just tryin' to butter me up to buy him another pizza. Don't think I've let that slide, by the way." His last comment aimed at Styx, he fixed the boy with a mock-glare, shaking a finger at him.
The irons in the fire were beginning to show little flares of redness when the flames licked against them, so Don't Ask pulled one out and spat on the heated end, testing the heat. The spittle sizzled when it struck the metal. They weren't hot enough to brand cattle safely, but they'd get this job done.
"They're ready," he said gravely, pulling irons out of the kiln and distributing them around the group. "Be careful, they'll burn you, too. Watch out for the kickback when you swing 'em, so they don't bounce back and hit you in the face or somethin'."
One of the Yonkers boys, the one Don't Ask had named as Fingers, inspected his iron, tapping his finger against the point, then hissing when it scorched him. Snuff smacked him in the back of the head.
"It's hot, dipshit," Don't Ask sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why can't you pay attention like everyone else, huh?"
Rising off his knees again, he took up his own iron. The grass was still green, and they were far enough away from any overhanging trees, he felt safe leaving the kiln burning unattended. If this fight went on for any length, they may need to return to reheat their weapons--and clean the blood and seared flesh from them.
Taking a deep breath, he looked in the direction of the sounds of the fight, his mouth set in a grim line. "Ready, boys?"
((Today's Dutch lesson: "We'll be fine. This is fucking insane, but we'll be fine."))
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Post by dutchy on Oct 3, 2009 20:40:59 GMT -5
"Hit them around the middle, not the head. And swing it, don't stab. It'll knock 'em down quick, and won't do so much damage."
Dutchy looked over to Snoddy as he leaned against him. Dutchy gave him a fleeting, but grateful smile and looked down at Don't Ask, then quickly to the hot pokers. Snoddy was leaning on him, Don't Ask was holding his calf... Dutchy suddenly felt flustered and crowded, and wondered if this was how Don't Ask felt at the meeting a few days ago. Which had lead to going to the roof...
Dutchy gave another smile to Snoddy and swung his clenched fist at Snoddy's middle, smoothing taking a step away from the two of them and out of their contact. Why was Dutchy feeling so uncomfortable with their touch? Well, Snoddy's was a normal one anyway. Dutchy wasn't one to shy away from it. He'd sling and arm over anyone's shoulder in brotherly affection. But a touch on the leg? Even if Don't Ask was kneeling down and concerned... it was strange. And Dutchy felt guilty for thinking so.
Don't Ask stood just after Dutchy made his move away to shake Snoddy's hand, so it had probably gone unnoticed.
Dutchy took the hot poker from Don't Ask, gripping it high enough with one hand, lower with the other, to feel the heat of the further end. The middle. It would hurt like hell. Dutchy looked out to the fight, attempting to see anyone that needed help. Everyone needed help, somehow. But the good guys were holding their own pretty damn well.
"Ready, boys?"
Dutchy took a deep breath. Into the fray. Into the unknown. This fight was huge. Bigger than fights they'd gotten into because of the strike, he was sure. The girls and little kids had been gone for so long. How many of them were still alive? He'd barely had the change to talk to Sweets about it and Jack was keeping a tight lip. Maybe discovering any of the girls or kids dead would be too much for any of them. How many of the newsies now would make it out alive? This could be it.
He looked to Snoddy, Styx, and then Don't Ask. He felt his chest tighten slight, let go of the bottom of the poker and pushed his glasses up his nose, pressing them tightly to the bridge.
"See ya on the other side, fellas."
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Post by Don't Ask on Oct 9, 2009 21:17:37 GMT -5
Don't Ask surveyed their miniature army, each member now armed with a glowing iron (except the Australian, who'd brought his own weapon). Wat in de hellevuur were they doing? Hot branding irons were formidable tools, but were decidedly short range. Against rifles?! What kind of good could that possibly do?! He looked toward the friends he used to have in Yonkers, the seven of them looking to him as their unappointed leader. He knew these boys. Some of them had mothers, siblings... families, dammit! How many of them would be going home tonight disfigured? How many wouldn't be going home at all?
Dutchy, Styx and the Australian guy were in just as much danger, of course, but they were each here for their own reasons. They all came on their own volition, all had someone to recover and bring home. The boys from Yonkers didn't know anyone here, only showed up out of loyalty to Don't Ask--or at least out of loyalty to Cornelius, as much a leader as Yonkers could be bothered to have, who still felt some significant measure of loyalty to his old friend. If anything happened to them, it would be because Don't Ask had begged for their help. They never would have shown up, never would be up for these kinds of possible injuries if Don't Ask hadn't pleaded for them to join the march and help protect his new friends.
Using your old friends as a meat shield for your new friends? There had to be a special level of hell for that kind of strategy. Reserved for the likes of Don't Ask and General Benedict Arnold.
A heavy knot tangling in his gut, Don't Ask balanced his iron expertly in one hand, clapping Dutchy lightly on the shoulder with the other. "Nice workin' with ya, Doctor Livingstone," he said somberly, passing Dutchy a wink.
He looked to the Yonkers boys again, who all stared back. Locking eyes with Cornelius the Wanderer, the boy Don't Ask grew up alongside, the boy who'd taught him how to swim and how to skip rocks, the boy who'd had a terrible crush on Don't Ask when he was just a tomboyish girl in Yonkers years ago, Don't Ask nodded reluctantly. Cornelius met his nod and raised his iron, leading the Yonkers boys in a charge.
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