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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Jun 24, 2008 13:30:52 GMT -5
"Well, aside from walking head-first into poorly placed buildings, I, uh, I'm actually looking around for jobs."
For a moment, Racetrack's brow furrowed. Hawkeye was a news-girl; she had a job, didn't she? But then it occurred to him that she was talking about a real job...something with regular hours and regular wages. Having gained understanding, he raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yeah?" he said, unable to think of much else to say.
"I mean, I'm not going to quit selling papers right away, but the kid-on-the-streets routine only works for so long, y'know?"
"Oh, yeah," Race said affirmatively. "I getcha." A lot of his other friends, namely Mush, had been in a fluster over what they were going to do when they got too old to sell papers. Racetrack found himself not worrying about it too much, but he realized that he was the same age as those who were considering. "I guess I should be thinkin' too, eh?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"D'you have any idea what you're going to do after this? Personally speaking, I haven't the slightest."
He hadn't even thought about it. His life had been fun and fancy-free since he was nine years old, and he didn't often think seriously about things like that. On some level he thought that his days of being a newsboy were endless...but in reality, they were actually numbered. He gave a shrug. "Never thought much about it, Hawkeye..." he said honestly. "I figure I'll take what comes my way?" Thing was, what would come his way? Not much...
"Hey, I bet you could work at a betting booth at the races if you wanted to. You'd definitely know what you were doing and you've got the right name for it. Ever thought about that?"
Race grinned in a way that mirrored Hawkeye. He never thought about it, but he figured it would be a good idea. No one he knew was more savvy about horse racing than him. He bit his lip and nodded slowly, as if in consideration. "Ya know, could be. I'll be keepin' that in mind..." He looked at Hawkeye again. "What about you, though? Whaddya wanna do?"
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Post by hawkeye on Jun 25, 2008 19:34:49 GMT -5
"I guess I should be thinkin' too, eh?"
Hawkeye grinned. "Well, if we're being completely honest, I never really thought about it until Mabel brought it up. She's another newsie- kind of new. 'S odd, though, innit? Er- looking for a job, I mean- not Mabel. I always thought getting a "real job" was an adult thing." She shrugged, frowning slightly. "I supposed after a while you end up growing up, don't you?"
Not that growing up was something that sounded appealing, but Hawkeye was smart enough to know that trying to avoid it wouldn't be in her best interest. She couldn't imagine selling newspapers for the rest of her life. Well, she could- it just wasn't a particularly up-lifting thing to imagine.
"What about you, though? Whaddya wanna do?"
"Ah, jeeze." Hawkeye leaned against the side of the wall next to her. "I don't know. I'd like to travel, but I'd never be able to get a job like that." She scuffed her foot on the ground. "I like New York and all, but there's only so much to see here. You can't explore the whole world in your backyard, can you?" She smiled and glanced around the street. "I'd come back, though, in the end. Unless I found another place that was like New York." Her smile broke into a grin. "But I don't think there's any place that's quite like this."
Hawkeye paused for a moment, then said, "There's no way I'd ever get enough money to really go anywhere, though. Even if I did, I don't really have any means of transportation." She shrugged. This wasn't shocking; Hawkeye was perfectly aware that actually getting to see anything outside of New York was something that would only happen if she saw a picture of another place- she wasn't going anywhere.
"I don't really know what I'd want to do for a living, though." She mused, swinging the conversation back to Racetrack's original question. "I mean, I know there's plenty of jobs out there." She laughed. "I'm just never able to think of them when I need to."
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Jun 25, 2008 20:50:31 GMT -5
"Well, if we're being completely honest, I never really thought about it until Mabel brought it up. She's another newsie- kind of new. 'S odd, though, innit? Er- looking for a job, I mean- not Mabel. I always thought getting a "real job" was an adult thing."
Race nodded. He had heard of Mabel Fitzpatrick (he was fairly sure that was her name) but had only seen her in passing and hadn't talked to her at all. He laughed a little at Hawkeye's little joke and replied, "I never even thought of getting a real job. I always thought that sellin' papes was a real job..." Racetrack figured that he worked as hard as any businessman for about a fourth of the pay (less!), so selling papers was a real job. But you couldn't really support yourself in the real world with a profit of about...
Well, after setting aside money for his papers for the next day, five cents for food and betting twenty cents on the races, it left him with nothing. That was a way for a kid to live and thrive...not an adult. And admittedly, now that Race thought about it, he didn't have too long left until he was an adult.
"I supposed after a while you end up growing up, don't you?"
"No kiddin'," he said with a solemn nod. It was a sobering thought: that eventually, you had to grow up, and you couldn't go around selling papers, carrying the banner, for your whole life. It was almost as if, as a newsboy, you were some kind of Lost Boy in a Never-Land that was not always perfect, but it was all you knew and you grew to love it. And then someone comes out of the blue and says Pardon me, so sorry, but you have to go to the real world now.
"Ah, jeeze. I don't know. I'd like to travel, but I'd never be able to get a job like that."
"Eh!" Race scoffed. "I guess we ain't got too many options. You ever been to school?" He sure hadn't. His grandmother had taught him to read and write, and he knew enough arithmetic to count his papers and add and subtract his earnings, but otherwise he was wholly uneducated. Usually, children went to school until eighth grade, but if they were lucky and smart enough they kept going. If a newsie had been educated at all, odds were they had stopped at about fourteen years old.
"I like New York and all, but there's only so much to see here. You can't explore the whole world in your backyard, can you?"
Here, Racetrack disagreed. "Don't know what you're jawin' about, Hawkeye," he said with a grin. "I don't know 'bout you, but I know I ain't seen half of New York yet." He knew that there was more in just New York City than he could explore for the rest of his life: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx, plus the places within and in between. Race fumbled with the brim of his cap and said jauntily, "I'll betcha any amount of money I could show you some part of New York you ain't never seen yet. I'd bet anyone that..."
"I'd come back, though, in the end. Unless I found another place that was like New York. But I don't think there's any place that's quite like this."
"Got that right," he said with a smirk. Born and raised in Manhattan, Racetrack had a great deal of New York pride. Life hadn't always been rosy, considering his meager lifestyle and the eternal give-and-take of the city streets, but he wouldn't even consider living anywhere else. Anywhere else in the world would be boring to live. Where else could you walk around like you owned the streets, gamble and bet and cheat and not get caught because everyone else was doing it too, and never see the same strangers twice? Where else did something new happen every day, whether or not the newspapermen wanted to report on it? Nowhere. To Racetrack, New York City was the greatest place on earth.
"There's no way I'd ever get enough money to really go anywhere, though. Even if I did, I don't really have any means of transportation."
He shrugged. "Hop a train?" he suggested. "A lot of fellas do it. They go down to the freights and get in a boxcar before the train starts and jump off 'fore it stops. You can get anywhere that way." Race was thinking of a newsboy who had left the lodging house several years ago, called Howie. Howie had stopped selling at eighteen, and word was he had hopped a car. Then a few months later, rumors started coming in: Snoddy announced he'd gotten a letter from Howie (the two had been like brothers) and that he was somewhere near the Mississippi River, fishing for money.
Most of the boys, including eleven-year-old Racetrack, had been in awe. To them, the world outside New York was a complete mystery, and while few of them even knew where Mississippi was, they knew of the mighty river and thought of all the great things Howie must have been doing and seeing. Now, Race knew that the life of a fisherman was nothing and almost worse than being a newsboy, but at the time it had seemed like one of the most impressive things he'd ever heard.
"I don't really know what I'd want to do for a living, though. I mean, I know there's plenty of jobs out there. I'm just never able to think of them when I need to."
Race thought for a brief moment, before his face brightened instantly. He snapped his fingers to emphasize a point. "I got it!" he exclaimed. "Ya wanna travel, eh? You could be one of them--whaddyacallems--travel companions!" He had read about travel companions in classified ads in the newspapers. "Yeah! Aw, that's perfect! All these old geezers or some plutes with a tad...they'se payin' people to go places with them and help 'em out!. You'd be jim-dandy, Hawkeye..."
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Post by hawkeye on Jun 25, 2008 23:02:53 GMT -5
"I never even thought of getting a real job. I always thought that sellin' papes was a real job..."
Hawkeye shrugged, "Well, it's certainly a job. I don't know about you, but I know I sure ain't making enough to spend the rest of my life selling 'em." She smiled slightly. "Not with these headlines, anyway."
"You ever been to school?"
Hawkeye rolled her eyes. "I took a sewing class when I was younger, that's about the extent of my schooling." From the look on her face, it was apparent that sewing class wasn't a fantastic experience for Hawkeye. "I always pricked myself with that damned needle..." she grumbled. "What about you?"
"I don't know 'bout you, but I know I ain't seen half of New York yet."
She grinned, but shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Race." She turned against the wall, so her back rested against it. "New York's just one place. And I've seen a good amount of it," she added. "But there's..." she paused, trying to think of a number. When she failed to come up with one, she said, "A lot of other places out there and they're all different." She shrugged and pushed off of the wall and walked to the curb of the street. "Can't see all of that from here, right?" She stepped onto the curb and walked along it, her arms spread out to help her keep her balance.
"I'll betcha any amount of money I could show you some part of New York you ain't never seen yet. I'd bet anyone that..."
Hawkeye looked away from the curb for a moment to glance at Race. "Think so, huh?" She returned her gaze to her feet. "I guess you might be able to." Her lips curved into a smirk; she'd never intentionally be mean to him, but she liked to tease Race sometimes- he could take a joke.
"Hop a train?" he suggested. "A lot of fellas do it. They go down to the freights and get in a boxcar before the train starts and jump off 'fore it stops. You can get anywhere that way."
She nodded, "I suppose so. 'S not the most glamorous form of travel, but it's a way to get places." She grinned. "Of course, I'm sure I'd be the idiot who'd manage to get caught while jumping off." Not as if the train would be able to stop or turn around to go after her, but Hawkeye wasn't sure that taking risks for the rest of her life, or for however long she traveled for (if at all), was exactly what she wanted to do. That, and she wasn't spectacularly graceful and would probably end up breaking her arm if she jumped out of a moving train; it would be her luck.
"Ya wanna travel, eh? You could be one of them--whaddyacallems--travel companions!" He had read about travel companions in classified ads in the newspapers. "Yeah! Aw, that's perfect! All these old geezers or some plutes with a tad...they'se payin' people to go places with them and help 'em out!. You'd be jim-dandy, Hawkeye..."
She laughed. "Really? You think so?" She grinned; it wasn't a bad idea. She'd be able to go places and get paid- how hard could it be to help out an elderly man? ...Wait...she bit her lip. "'S that really appropriate, though?" She hopped off of the curb. "I mean, a woman traveling around with a man she's not married to...? If he were my grandfather or something, I'm sure that'd be fine, but I don't even know who my grandfather is, so I don't think traveling with him will work out." She smiled slightly, "'S a nice thought, though, innit?"
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Post by fitz on Apr 24, 2009 17:09:14 GMT -5
[[New Day]]
Fitz had been wandering, as he usually did when he had nothing else to do. He liked the feeling of walking without any set destination. It left him a lot of freedom, and he never knew where he would end up. Today he found himself in Manhattan, and the sun was beginning to sink over the high horizon of the tall buildings. One thing Fitz didn't particularly like about New York was that you could almost never see the sunset--in Ireland there was always a perfect view.
He passed a cart peddling fruit, and suddenly realized how hungry he was. He was never one to think about food all the time, even for someone who could scarcely make a living, and he was never conscious of hunger unless reminded of it. But then his thoughts went to his empty pockets, and he sighed. He supposed he could wait until tomorrow afternoon to eat...
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Post by bunky on Apr 24, 2009 17:14:40 GMT -5
Piper walked down the street with a handful of money she just made from selling her papers. She felt good selling all of them, which was rare for her because her usual customers would be consumed by other newsies who didn't know the right rules of territory. Maybe they were desperate, which was why she didn't pry, well not yet as least.
She walked down towards a fruit cart and gave the vender two pennies.
"Two apples please." Piper asked aloud in her Manhattan and Scottish mixed accent. She smiled at the vendor, who was always nice to her and made her feel good about herself as a newsie, living on end's meat. She waited for him to prepare her apples when she spotted a newsie right next to her.....
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Post by fitz on Apr 24, 2009 20:34:56 GMT -5
Fitz looked on with a bit of disinterest as a red-haired girl bought a pair of apples. He pressed his mouth in a thin line. He didn't know where the girl had gotten the money. Could he assume it was from selling newspapers? He didn't understand how, somehow, some newsies were more successful than others. The headlines, the streets and the customers were all the same, but somehow, some people sold more. Fitz would admit, he was a failure as a newsie. He never yelled loud enough, or was charming enough. He was lucky if he could sell twenty or thirty a day, which left him with virtually nothing to spend on food.
He thought of taking one of the girl's apples.
Then thought better of it. He was no thief.
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Post by bunky on Apr 24, 2009 21:12:45 GMT -5
Piper saw out of the corner of her eye the newsie boy eyeing her apples as she was handed them by the vendor. She knew how tough it was out in the real world, trying to get a good amount of money to afford some food every once in awhile. She could see the thing line being pressed with his mouth and she smirked, holding out one of her apples to him and cocked her head to the side.
"You can have it if you want." Piper said to him simply, thinking he must be hungry to look at the apples as if they were the last bits of food on the planet.
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Post by fitz on Apr 25, 2009 15:09:39 GMT -5
"You can have it if you want."
Fitz was startled. He studied the girl's face, looking for a trace of mocking or dishonesty. Finding none that were visible, he reached tentatively for the apple, before drawing his hand back again. "I cannot," he said, his accent a peculiar and coarse-sounding mixture of Polish and Irish. "I will have no way to repay you, which, on my honor, I must."
He didn't know the girl's name, and he didn't know where he could find her when he had the money he owed her, and he was too polite to ask immediately. Perhaps she would offer the information herself? He had no way of knowing. Was decorum worth losing the only food he would have all day? Well, rather. Fitz would not take charity. If he was going to take anything from this girl, he would be in her debt, and if he never crossed paths with her again, he could not stand to owe her something.
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Post by bunky on Apr 25, 2009 15:17:09 GMT -5
Piper saw him about to take the apple and then drawing back. Maybe he was timid from taking something from her that she payed for, but still she could tell a starved boy from a mile away. SHe smiled and placed one of the apples in her pocket.
"You're from Poland? I can tell from your accent." Piper said aloud in a smile as she eyed him. She was used to hearing manhattan accents, but hearing his reminded her of her home back in scotland, foreign and new.
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Post by dutchy on Jan 10, 2010 16:07:52 GMT -5
### NEW DAY ###
Selling had been pretty awful today. Dutchy stood near the fruit cart, debating on whether he should even spend his money on something sweet or not, never mind what he might actually choose. With the glasses Kloppman had loaned him, he could see well enough to not get completely lost around the city, but already he had mixed up the genders of at least three customers.
He had plenty of papers left, too many, and while the bag he was carrying them in helped, with his busted hand it was still too difficult handing over papers and exchanging money. His right hand was wrapped up, a stab wound from the famous fight the cause of it. Some people were taking pity on him, which he hated, and some people avoided him entirely.
He really shouldn't get anything, but try to finish off these papers. His hand was throbbing though, so he thought he deserved a bit of a break, anyway. He stuck his left hand in his pocket, feeling the coins held in there, still trying to make up his mind.
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Jan 11, 2010 18:39:06 GMT -5
Daisy was eying some of the fruit, her customary basket tucked under her arm as she debated between the apples she so often gravitated towards and the blueberries that looked somewhat fresh for this time of year. Tilting her head to the side, she considered the options and wondered what Jerry and Jensen might think about a blueberry pie as something different. Thoughtfully she reached into her basket and pulled out the small pouch where she carried her coins, prepared to make the purchase. It was then she spotted the boy, looking the fruit over just as carefully as she was, though squinting a little and seemingly musing the same query...if for different reasons, Daisy didn't think the newsie likely to be preparing pie.
His hand was bandaged, no doubt a lingering wound from the warehouse fight, she'd seen many like it the few times she'd helped out in between her shifts at McGinty's. Wounds for people like the newsies were complex and interesting developments, Daisy had learned. They were a proud bunch, strong and loyal with a willingness and want to stand on their own two feet, sometimes the pity with which others looked down their nose at them with was too much to take.
But Daisy found that a smile was rarely turned away, so she put on her brightest and took a step closer, watching him as he watched the fruit. "They have lovely apples here."
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Post by dutchy on Jan 17, 2010 13:46:07 GMT -5
It took a moment for Dutchy to realize this pretty girl was talking to him. Half on account of the glasses, half on account of simply not believing it. He looked over to her, staring a little, then perhaps comically looking behind him, but people were busy in their own paths behind him, no one stopping to talk to the girl. She must have been talking to him.
"Oh," was all that came out before looking back to her, "Do they?"
He felt a bit of a fool, but couldn't think of anything else to say.
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Jan 18, 2010 19:06:21 GMT -5
"Aye, that they do," Daisy said with a nod, tilting her head a little as he squinted at her. She wondered if perhaps his glasses weren't working quite right but she dared not ask. Instead she picked up an apple and held it out to him, smile still curving across her lips. "I use them to make my pies all the time. Was thinking about getting some today but I think I'm going to try the blueberries this time around."
She studied him for a moment, her eyes dropping to his hand and then back up to his face. "Warehouse?" She asked softly, concern furrowing her brow for a moment before her face settled into a smaller smile. "I'm Daisy."
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Post by dutchy on Jan 19, 2010 13:46:09 GMT -5
Dutchy took the apple with his good hand, making his vision impairment all that more obvious by over reaching and touching her hand by mistake. He blushed a little, but smelled at the apple and figuring that fruit was as good as any and as his stomach was growling a bit, he shifted it to his bad hand, cradling it against his chest. He reached in his pocket, pulling out the correct amount of change and giving it to the person in charge of the cart.
"Warehouse... Yeah, a few of my friends got taken. Plenty of us got beaten in the fight." He held out his good hand to her, "Name's Dutchy."
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