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Post by reeves on Mar 20, 2009 8:13:08 GMT -5
Reeves felt just terrible listening to the little kid tell his story, he felt guilty for all those times he wished his parents were dead. He sighed, not knowing exactly what to say. He just smiled sadly and said, "Hard times, High times right?"
"Wow, Czech, sounds far away. I came from Jersey, England bout a month ago, not as far as Czech."
Reeves leaned back, itching an itch on his neck and watching the buggies on the street in the near distance.
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Post by Milo on Mar 20, 2009 15:40:22 GMT -5
Milo shrugged "Or at least hard times, less hard times" Personally he couldn't see what would qualify for high times in his life since almost every day was the same for him with the exception of the weather. He guessed he must have been pretty happy before, when both his parents had been alive, but he couldn't remember too much from back then. After all, he had only been three when his papa had died.
He cracked a small smile when Reeves commented about Czech sounding like it was far away. "Czech ain't a place" he giggled, looking over at the older boy "I'm czech like a German person is german or an italian person is italian. It's like you're from England so you're English 'cept there ain't really a country for czech people. Dere used ta be one but den we got taken ovah by da Austro -hungarian empiah" he said, proud that he remembered such a big word for so long. "But dat was a real long time ago. Moah den a thousan' yeahs. A whole lot moah too."
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Post by reeves on Mar 20, 2009 15:46:49 GMT -5
Reeves smiled back, grinning lopsidedly and laughing as well at his own mistake. "Ohhh...I didn't know that, I never listen when my sister rambles on about geography, it's her favorite subject."
He was surprised that the kid knew so much about his own home land. The kid sure was intelligent for his age.
"I'm glad it was a long time ago, I wouldn't fancy resting in my house and suddenly be attacked by some empire army, being taken over like that," Reeves mused, still lazily leaning against the statue, not worrying about his job.
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Post by Milo on Mar 20, 2009 16:23:01 GMT -5
Milo nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I wouldn't like dat neithah" he paused slightly before continuing " but ya know it still happens in colonies an' stuff. We're doin' it right now in da Phillipenes. I read 'bout it last week" his expression was solomn. He hadn't really understood what the headline had meant when he first read it but he'd asked around and he had come to the conclusion that America was doing almost the same thing that the austro hungarian empire had done to the czechs "da only diff'rence is dat dey're already controlled by da spanish but dey jus' wanna be free an' we're tryin' ta make 'em ours 'sead a' just lettin' 'em control demselves like dey wanna"
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Post by reeves on Mar 20, 2009 16:35:33 GMT -5
Reeves frowned as well, shocked by that news.
"I don't understand why America thinks it needs to control everything. It's an okay country and all, but ain't America big enough and powerful enough already? I don't know how life is like in those colonies, but I completely agree, countries shouldn't be taken over like that. If the world weren't so selfish every body would be living at peace..."
Reeves sighed, thinking it was the same way in New York city, with the society and the poor, when he had been out one day, he had seen a whole apartment building, every single family standing on the sidewalk, their belongings strewn about them, just because either they couldn't pay or they fought against the poor conditions. Reeves knew how that felt, after his parents left, Reeves and Alice planned to just stay on living at the cottage, until some men came and ordered them to leave, wanted to make their land into some kind of fancy jersey links golf course.
It just was no fair the way people took advantage of each other. Reeves sighed before pushing those thoughts in the back of his mind.
"So, I guess you learn a whole lot about the world through selling papers, eh? I don't learn much through delivering packages from Horace Greeley department store, all I've learned is that boss's can be a pain in the rear and that the society is even more arrogant than I would have ever imagined.."
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Post by Specs on Apr 4, 2009 13:36:05 GMT -5
[[Please note: Specs does not have the cleanest vocabulary in the world. It's just in his character. If you are offended by it, please pardon me. -Jace]]
((New Day))
It was well into the spring season, but there was a harsh, chill wind that made Specs wish like hell he had remembered his coat this morning. It looked plenty nice out, almost as nice as if it were July, but as soon as he walked out of the lodging house, the cold bit his neck and face and arms and he swore repeatedly on his walk toward the square. He could go back for his coat, but that would make him look like a pansy. And the circulation bell would ring any moment. He didn't want to be stuck at the back of the line with no selling spot. He'd break the neck of the little bastard who took his usual spot...
Specs leaned with his bank against the statue, arms to either side with his elbows resting atop the base, his feet extended before him in a leisurely position. Coolly he eyes the young women who walked by, and grinned to himself slightly. It should be against the law to be as suave as me, he thought, and chuckled to himself.
"Whaddya laughin' at?" Race asked from a few feet away.
"Nothin'. Just pitying all you boys who aren't blessed with my charm..." Specs grinned broadly as Racetrack rolled his eyes.
"You're about as charmin' as the mud under my boot."
"An' you're about as smart as whatever's under mine..."
"I can tell you what to do with your boot."
"I'll shove it in your ear, ya little fink!"
The bell rang, and Race stalked off, apparently not wishing to further dignify the argument with a reply. Specs shook his head, his small grin still in place, and shook the coins in his fist before sauntering through the gates to the distribution center. There were papes to be sold, morons to be scammed, money to be earned, and women to be wooed. A fine life indeed.
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Post by Specs on Apr 4, 2009 15:30:07 GMT -5
"You ain't charming, but you're smooth and can handle yourself fine in an argument."
Specs looked behind him to see a young blond girl following. She was dressed in boys' clothing, which made her a newsie almost automatically. Normally he would have looked further to gague whether or not she was attractive, but the clothes made him dissent immediately. He never bothered with the girls who wore trousers. Besides, this one looked to be about fifteen--a little young for him, anyway.
But now what? Where in the hell had she come from? "Who the hell are you?" he asked, slightly irritated. She'd come out of nowhere and acted like she knew him, when he had never seen him before in his life. He kept walking, keeping his eyes trained on the gates of the World building ahead.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Apr 5, 2009 16:55:45 GMT -5
"Mon Dieu, Specs!" Brook came around the statue and smacked him with her rolled up paper, causing her hat to tumble from her hair and she grabbed the hat and tucked it right back onto her head, folding her arms. "I waited for over an hour and you never showed up!"
To be honest he looked like he wanted to get away so Brook was making up a story to help him, that was what she was good at. She could make up a story and come up with it on the spot, if acting wasn't such a deplorable profession she'd probably do that some day. She managed a wink off to the side. He would owe her some pie...
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Post by fibs on May 17, 2009 1:08:54 GMT -5
[NEW DAY]
Resting against the knees of Horace Greeley's likeness, Fibs skimmed the newspapers she needed to sell. Of course, Fibs lack of literacy left her only the pictures to devise her headlines from. Still, that was enough. Swinging her legs to and fro, she did her best to contain her normal skittishness.
There was something about sitting still that Fibs had never quite mastered.
A boy--maybe five years old--well-fed and ruddy-cheeked came trotting by the landmark and Fibs decided to try out one of her headlines. Swinging a leg out, she managed to pin the boy between her heel and the stone foundation. Before the boy could protest, as someone being restrained by a strangers foot should, Fibs held up her paper and bellowed...
"CITY BAKER WITH HOMICIDAL TENDENCIES: MYSTERY MEAT OR COVERT CANNIBALISM?" Cocking a brow and pursing her lips, Fibs glanced at her captive like an artist to a critic, "What do you think? Too dramatic? You can be honest--I can take it."
The boy, wide-eyed and quivering-lipped, merely nodded his praise before scrambling away from the long-limbed blonde just as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Grinning brightly, Fibs was satisfied. The headline would sell.
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Post by marko on May 17, 2009 1:45:02 GMT -5
"Think the kid's opinion is a bit biased. You being his captive, he'd tell you whatever you wanna hear." Marko grinned at the irony of his words and even let out a small chuckle.
Back in his earlier days of work, he would stand before a begging victim who would say just about anything and maybe even bribe him to get mercy right before he cracked 'em. He sighed. But those were the good old days. Looking back at the pretty blonde, he smiled.
"Might turn a few heads, but not too many. Maybe switch baker with butcher?"
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Post by fibs on May 23, 2009 21:08:51 GMT -5
"Might turn a few heads, but not too many. Maybe switch baker with butcher?"
Fibs cocked a brow at the stranger before considering his advice. "Well," Fibs pursed her lips before swinging herself down from her perch on the statue, "Butcher is expected, isn't it? A butcher... well, a butcher sounds menacing. Frightening, yes, but a baker? No one would suspect a baker--heightens suspicion and paranoia. Psychopaths are everywhere, not just where we want them to be."
Glancing back down at the print she most certainly could not read, Fibs worried her lip thoughtfully. "Then again... perhaps I should alternate between the two--better yet," She squeaked excitedly, "Baker and butcher in cahoots: gruesome twosome prowling city streets."
Tucking wayward strannds of long, unruly hair behind her ears, Fibs held up one of her papers, "Interested in purchasing one, sir?"
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Post by Dr. Walter House on Jun 11, 2009 13:32:56 GMT -5
((Grr, doncha hate it when people make characters for a week?))
((((((0)))))) NEW DAY ((((((0))))))
Walter House stood by the statue, watching the newsies at the Distrubtion Center, buying papers, arguing with the clerk, arguing with the clerk's helper, arguing with each other. None seemed to notice him. He'd only ever met a few anyway. The blonde Dutch boy who nervously introduced himself as "Dutchy" and then, quickly "Peter", when Lara ((Shiner)) had invited him to lunch one afternoon was the only one he remembered by name. When Lara had gone missing there was a girl by the moniker of Kitty Kat and a older boy by the name of Avalanche. He didn't understand the need for nicknames, or why not even all of the newsies had them. It didn't much matter though.
And still he did not see his niece among the small crowd. A part of him knew she wasn't here. Another part hoped she was furious at him for something he'd forgotten to notice, or some such, and she simply took off again. At least then he might know where to find her. But his neice was clearly not here, just as 'Dutchy' had said.
He had already gone to the police, who assured him they would do all they could. But still he stood here, watching the children, hoping to see his own.
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Aug 18, 2009 21:58:00 GMT -5
((New Day))
Race and Specs both needed to go to the square, so they had set out together as the new rules dictated. Race wasn't happy about it, because he felt as if he was babysitting. He thought the rule created an unnecessary fear...otherwise a lot of kids wouldn't worry about whether they went somewhere alone or not. It was broad daylight, with a good number of people passing by. What kid would get nabbed out in the open like this?
Race knew someone who was getting nabbed, metaphorically. He had agreed to wait by the statue while Specs went down the road to talk to some brunette. Race had little tolerance for Specs' escapades, but would grant him this one, just because it meant he got to be on his own for a short while. He would be fine. If anything happened to him, he would admit that Cowboy was right and beg forgiveness, all of that.
He sat on the base of the statue at Horace's feet, half a cigar between his teeth and yesterday's newspaper in his hand. He was highly dissapointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to go to the tracks lately, with everything that was going on. He planned on making it a point to go before the week was out.
There was a shout behind him, and Racetrack turned quickly to see what was happening. Specs could throw down; he could take care of himself. Who had yelled, and why?
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Post by Pallet O'Shea on Aug 28, 2009 23:07:14 GMT -5
Pallet had been sitting on a bench painting, out in the hot sun for hours while Byron and Shamrock sold papers just up the street within eyesight of her. Byron was pulling double duty, trying to sell papers with Shamrock while also keeping an eye on Pallet who didn't feel much like selling papes today. She had picked a spot across the street from the backend of the statue of Horace Greeley where Byron could see her, and where she had the perfect view of the entire street.
Pallet had just finished her painting of a couple of kids playing across the street, when someone tripped over her paint box. "Oi'm so sorry, sir. Oi thought Oi had moved that out of the way so it wouldn't be tripped over. Are you alright?" Pallet set her painting down on the bench beside her, got up off the bench, and knelt down to pick up all her scattered paints and brushes, and put them back into the mahogany box. She closed up the box, shoved it under the bench, and stood up, coming face to face with a rather thin middle-aged man. He had black hair peeking out from under a tattered old gray bowler hat, and his appearance was disheveled. He had a full beard on his face and his breath smelled strongly of liquor. He scowled and began to shout at Pallet, "You stupid chit! Look what you've done to my best pants! They're filthy!"
Pallet began to bite her lower lip and frantically look around while the man continued to yell at her. She looked towards the direction of Byron but he was in the midst of selling a paper to and elderly couple and too far away to come help her before things got worse. Then, she looked towards the statue. Usually there was a newsie or two lounging around on it; that's the only reason Byron left her where she was. There, was that a newsie she saw by the statue? Yes, it was Racetrack. He has to be able to hear the guy shouting at her. Thank God, he was looking in her direction. She shot him a pleading look, silently asking him for help. She always liked the kid and he seemed to be able to hold his own in tough situations, better than she would be able to...
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Post by Brook LaRue on Oct 15, 2009 23:34:46 GMT -5
((New Day for Luna))
Brook LeRue sat near the base of the statue outside the distribution center, her pretty face contorted into a frown. She'd like she was in a downward spiral but having only mentioned it to Race the desire to go home was growing yet she wasn't to much of a cowards he'd give into it. Her hair was free around her shoulders as she closed her eyes and tried to figure out what to do.
There'd been so much going on, now what? She knew the others were back but she hadn't gone to see Blink yet. She didn't feel right, about anything at that moment. Nothing seemed to be going right, it was all belly up.
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Thanks Jim!
