|
|
Post by Birdie Schaffer on Oct 6, 2009 3:16:19 GMT -5
"I've known Spot a hell of a lot longer than you've been around Brooklyn," she quipped and her forehead set against his neck as she closed her eyes and fell silent for awhile. She might have fallen asleep or worse as she dropped off, bleeding a little still though most of it had caked onto her forehead.
It was true though, Bridie had known Spot for ages. Since before her father had died actually, before she'd lost her life in a quick swoop. She'd known Spot Conlon. But that didn't mean much, she wasn't afraid of Spot, hell she respected him because of their relationship but she tended to forget he was the great Spot Conlon of Brooklyn most of the time.
|
|
|
|
Post by Joe on Oct 6, 2009 3:37:05 GMT -5
"I'm not tryin ta deny it. Youah an important key piece in the game." Joe swore under his breath when he saw her drop off. "Bird, ya know i cant stand the wrath of Conlon if ya werent ta open doese pretty eyes of youahs." Standing up he ground out his cigarette and gently slapped her cheeks. "I swear doll you are moah trouble den yoah worth. now open those eyes foah me love. I'll even ask nicely. ya dont wanna miss that. Come on soph open those beauties." his jaw tensed and he shook her a bit.
|
|
|
|
Post by Birdie Schaffer on Oct 6, 2009 3:44:17 GMT -5
She didn't stir at first, even with all the shaking and the tapping. Her head was like a rag doll back and forth before she groaned a little bit and her lips tried to form words before she managed to get them out. It took some time and her eyes only opened to slits, still trying to find words. A part of her had a feeling she was dying, maybe that was the price she paid for always knowing. If she died she'd get to be with her parents, that would be-- nice. But then again, Decker wouldn't be to happy if she didn't stay. Joe either from the sound of his voice, and Spot... she had a lot of reasons not to die and they ran threw mind.
"You need to stop lyin," she murmured, though her mouth felt like cotton. "I can't even remember your real name anymore.."
|
|
|
|
Post by Joe on Oct 6, 2009 3:52:42 GMT -5
Joe bit out a laugh in relief but he knew she wasnt out of the woods.
"Well i think this was a nice visit to Denmark but i think its time we visit the nice doctor man dont ya. Just keep those beauties trained on me love, keep talking." He lifted her determinedly into his arms again and made his way back out of the lodging house.
"Didnt know you even knew it love. What name do i look like to ya?" He wanted to keep her talking. If he told her his name she'd fall off again and he didnt know if he could get her back a second time.
|
|
|
|
Post by Birdie Schaffer on Oct 6, 2009 3:55:56 GMT -5
She grunted and would have fought tooth and nail, like most of Brooklyn she'd march into battle bleeding to death rather then see a doctor but she winced and her head fell back. "I knew it," she muttered as her head tilted to the side a bit and then back against his shoulder. "While ago-- didn' tell no one cause... you wouldn't like that none.." oh she was at least honest. She vaguely remembered that he wasn't doing so well either but she let him carry her around like a doll. She wasn't that large.
"Can't think... to remember.."
|
|
|
|
Post by river on Jan 1, 2010 23:57:11 GMT -5
(*New Day*)
The weather was horrific: a brisk, icy wind that took to the skin like worn-out sandpaper; temperatures in the upper 30s (according to the thermometer hanging outside the general store), and thick fog rolling in off the water. It was not a night to be searching for shelter but a night to curl up in bed, if one had the good fortune to have decent shelter, and be grateful for such luck. Shane, however, had had neither good fortune nor luck until the moment she finally turned onto Poplar Street in Brooklyn and spotted her destination at last.
Newboys Lodging House
61 Poplar Street
Brooklyn, NY
After crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Shane had wandered listlessly, guided by a vague notion of where the lodging house was located. Chilled to the bone and silently cursing all that had led her to such miserable conditions, Shane hurried her gait, anxious to get out of the cold, and hopeful that there would be a spare bunk available. She stumbled up to the door and knocked, hoping against all odds that someone was up and about and would open the door for her.
|
|
|
|
Post by Specs on Jan 2, 2010 1:34:59 GMT -5
Specs knew where the best booze was to be found.
He knew a lot about the booze of New York--the cheap stuff, the swanky stuff, the places that would sell to him without question and the places that would only sell after a few suspicious glances, the places where he had to pay like an honest man and the places where he had to steal and/or seduce his way to a bottle or four. With a fair amount of money in his pocket that he didn't feel like spending on anything else, he decided that it was a night for the good stuff, especially since all it took was a couple swigs of it to make a man immune to the cold. The back door of McGinty's was almost always manned by a fellow who would sell a bottle of hard whiskey for twenty cents each plus a nickel tip.
It was night when Specs made his way back toward the bridge, a bulging paper bag cradled under his arm. He always stopped by the Brooklyn lodging house to see if he could spot a few stray Brooklyn dolls lurking around. Not that Specs would get play with any of the Brooklyn girls he knew--not even in his dreams; most of them were more like men anyway--but he enjoyed messing with them so long as it didn't escalate to the point where the fists came out flying.
As he walked, he glanced over at the front door to the lodging house to see an unfamiliar sight--a figure standing at the door, knocking timidly. Timidly! No one ever knocked at the lodging house; either they walked in or they were trying to sell something. Whoever it was, they must be half frozen. Specs glanced at the spirits under his arm and shrugged. Ahh, the hell with it. Might as well spread the wealth a little.
He approached the figure and tapped it on the shoulder. "How's it, fella?" he said. "They won't let you in if you knock, y'know. Gotta barge in and face 'em head on," he smirked and indicated the paper bag. "You wanna swig? I got the good stuff here, guaranteed to warm your blood a little..."
|
|
|
|
Post by river on Jan 3, 2010 15:02:07 GMT -5
Shane bounced lightly on the balls of her feet and rubbed her hands together to generate a meager warmth. "Damn it!" She cursed under her breath when, after several minutes, she had no indication that anyone was up and about inside. Had she been a little more reckless, she might have pulled a bobby-pin out of her hair and tried to pick the lock. Surely it was locked?
"They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave it unlocked, would they?" Shane wondered, gazing critically at the brass handle. A tap on her shoulder startled her, followed by a voice, bringing her out of her freezing reverie.
"How's it, fella? They won't let you in if you knock, y'know. Gotta barge in and face 'em head on."
Her pulse leaped, muscles tensed, and she slipped her right hand into a pocket on her tweed coat, fingering the pocketknife within; she turned around and came face to face with a tall, bespectacled boy. In the dim light streaming through the frosty windows of the lodging house, she was unable to get a real good look at him. It was unnecessary to correct his mistake regarding her gender; she was blessed with a feminine figure--although life on the streets had prompted her to reevaluate the notion of such a "blessing"--so once she turned around he would realize his error. "Ta," she began, without realizing her slip-up (years of practice had enabled her to speak without the lilt of her Irish heritage; when she was tired, it reemerged in her speech), "It's a perfectly sane idea to just barge in the Brooklyn lodging house in the middle of the night." Emboldened by frustration, she continued, "Besides, as any door--property of one territorial Irish dog, let alone a resident of Brooklyn--would be at this god-forsaken hour, this one," Shane jerked a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to the haughty, unforgiving wood behind her, "... is locked."
"You wanna swig? I got the good stuff here, guaranteed to warm your blood a little..."
"Good stuff? Huh-oh, alcohol." Shane thought tiredly. In all honesty, Shane couldn't stand the taste of alcohol. In her opinion, the bitter taste was horrid, and the period of euphoria brought about by the drink was not worth the merciless aftereffects. She had only been drunk once in her life and that was more than enough for her. However, in a bone-chilled, tired state she was willing to ignore her better sense of judgment for at least one swig, as he put it, of something that would warm her up at least a little. Gesturing to the paper bag, Shane nodded, "Since you're offerin', I wouldn't mind a lil' swig." She big her lip and looked at him, wanting to see his reaction upon realizing she was a girl. In her mind she was thinking quickly, colored by a hint of anxiety, "Is he gonna take back the stuff? Oh god, I hope he doesn't take me anywhere. I'm not up to defending myself tonight."
|
|
|
|
Post by Specs on Feb 4, 2010 22:20:25 GMT -5
Specs was moved to pause for a moment. That was no guy's voice. "Boy, you sure did fool me, sweetheart..." he said with a slight grin. "So long as you don't open your mouth you could trick anybody in this city..." Specs considered himself an expert as far as girls were concerned. The way they walked, talked, smelled, looked, anything. This girl was pretty good at what she did--not many girls could pull off dressing up as a boy, but Specs allowed for the fact that he was in Brooklyn. Brooklyn girls were experts at being Brooklyn boys.
"But like I said," he absently took a swallow of his drink, "you can't knock at a place like this. Ain't nobody gonna answer the door." He handed the bottle to her again. "Wanna little? This is the good shit, too, I don't go for no cheap stuff when it comes to my liquor." He offered her a charming grin. He felt more like getting drunk off his ass than womanizing tonight, but the habit was so ingrained in him that he flirted without realizing.
|
|
|
|
Post by river on Feb 5, 2010 22:26:21 GMT -5
"Boy, you sure did fool me, sweetheart... So long as you don't open your mouth you could trick anybody in this city..."
Shane looked at him blankly. There really was not a decent response to a statement like that. It was not really a compliment, and yet it was not critical or insulting either. It was just... an awkward comment. "Ta," she said, "Whatever."
"But like I said," he absently took a swallow of his drink, "you can't knock at a place like this. Ain't nobody gonna answer the door."
Was he hard of hearing? He had the gall to point out the obvious, ignore her rebuttal, and then repeat the obvious and remark on her somewhat-masculinity? Shane did actually care if he mistook her for a bloke, nor did it bother her that he was punch drunk. But unless he had a key to get in, knew a password, or some other means of getting inside then he was just wasting her time. And time, Shane knew, was one thing that she could control, even when all other aspects of her life seemed to be up in the air. With a frown and a growing sense of irritation, Shane replied, louder, "Well then... what do you suggest? Ya up t'breaking the glass or pickin' the lock for me?" After a moment of hesitation, and a desire to see his reaction to a barb directed at the infamous Spot Conlon, Shane reiterated her earlier comment. "This door, as any door--property of one territorial Irish dog, let alone a resident of Brooklyn--would be at this god-forsaken hour, this one," Shane jerked a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to the haughty, unforgiving wood behind her, "... is locked."
At the proffered bottle, Shane shook her head disdainfully. She wasn't too keen on taking anything of this stranger--who knew what was in the liquid?
|
|
|
|
Post by Specs on Feb 5, 2010 22:53:53 GMT -5
"Ta. Whatever."
Specs raised an eyebrow at the strange girl. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was trying to prove something, or else hide something. He didn't know much about head shrinking or anything, but he knew enough about female newsies (boy did he ever) to know that there was always a motive behind what they did. Girls were easy to figure out that way. "Alright, doll, alright..." He took another sip and was disappointed to find the initial burn of the alcohol was starting to wear off. Oh, to afford something other than cheap wine...
"Well then... what do you suggest? Ya up t'breaking the glass or pickin' the lock for me? This door, as any door--property of one territorial Irish dog, let alone a resident of Brooklyn--would be at this god-forsaken hour, this one is locked."
Boy oh boy, Specs thought, what a poet. He wasn't sure how he felt about wordy girls--usually he liked them best when their mouths were preoccupied elsewhere. He wouldn't judge, though, and he certainly wouldn't be rude. She was still a girl. He grinned at her and gave a chuckle. "Sweetheart, you know you don't gotta tell anyone twice that you're new around here."
He brushed past her and took hold of the door handle. "If Spot came back and this door was locked, all hell would break loose. And so it's never locked when he's away. It just needs a little..." He jiggled the doorknob and pushed hard on the door, which yielded open. He turned back to the girl with a smug smile on his face. "My pleasure, doll. But if you'd really like to, I wouldn't mind being repaid the favor..." He gave her a sultry wink.
|
|
