Downstairs -- The Front Desk

[dutchy]

Dutchy yanked his hand out of the strong grip in sheer surprise at the fierceness of Don't Ask's reaction as his hand was pulled down. Apparently what Dutchy thought to be a gesture of apology was taken as something entirely evasive and hostile. They were shuffled away from Jack and Sweets a bit thanks to the other newsies and only then did Dutchy look away from Don't Ask to get out of their way, but it brought him closer to Don't Ask again. Dutchy kept his hands at his sides.

"I didn't mean to!" Dutchy whispered back, ignoring the looks from a few boys who had caught the scene. But of course he had meant to. It was an off hand kind of gesture, just a 'Sorry I bumped into you' kind of move. He hadn't thought any thing of it. He corrected himself, "I mean I would have known--" he was stumbling over his words, "I wouldn't have if I knew you were hurt! What happened? Those were bandages, right?"

If it were a bruise or a cut, Dutchy wouldn't have asked. It wasn't really something anyone asked, not worriedly anyway, unless the cut or bruise belonged to a girl. And even then it depended on what girl it was or else you'd end up with a cut or bruise yourself. But bandaged on the chest, possibly binding the chest, was a more serious matter. He thought of his relationship with Don't Ask as a bit different from the rest of the boys. Don't Ask wasn't a newsies for one, so Dutchy didn't feel the need to hide whatever he was actually feeling for the sake of appearing strong. Don't Ask was also Dutch, and Dutchy held onto that fiercely. Visiting Don't Ask's parents was like coming home for Dutchy, tradition and values that he had lost, possibly forever, he had thought, when stepping into the newsboys lodging house and the sea of strangers, when his father let go of his small hand with a teary goodbye.

[Don't Ask]

Oh, this had been a bad, bad idea. Holding his arms over his chest, Don't Ask tensed up as these strangers brushed him in their passing. All of a sudden, he felt very dizzy and out of breath. He desperately needed to get out of here, away from the crowd of people pressing against him, into the open air where he could find a desolate place to sit down and wait until everyone forgot about him.

"Ik heb te gaan," he blurted, and shoved his way to the exit. As soon as he hit the outside air, he bolted down the street.


((Sorry, not gonna hijack this thread anymore. Back to your regularly-scheduled prison break. Oh, and today's Dutch lesson means "I've got to go."))

[Jack Kelly]

"Jack you don' understand, we can't just, I mean we have to get 'em back but..."

Jack raised a hand to silence her, for two reasons. First and foremost, she shouldn't be talking so much. Secondly, he didn't want any negativity. What they needed more than anything was hope, and they couldn't have that if people went around saying can't. "Yeah, we can. We can do anything. We all gotta believe that--"

"They got guns Jack. Lots of guns."

Jack felt the color drain from his face. He and his newsies had taken on scabbers, fists, chains, and clubs. Guns...the word was foreign and dark, an imagining so forbidden that the word itself resonated in the leader's head. Guns.

"I was far off, but they almost got me. How can we..."

Jack hissed when he saw Sweets' wound. "You need Kloppman to clean you up?" he asked quickly, almost automatically. His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour, calculating and recalculating. Guns changed everything.

[shortstack]

Shortstack opened the door to the lodging house with heightened spirits. Whistling down the road, she accidentally passed the door, then quickly turned back, checking the sign to make sure this was the place. She opened the door, half expecting to find the front desk empty as it had been before, and was a little surprised to see and old man standing behind the desk along with a group of who she assumed were newsies, all looking distraught. Immediately Shortstack was sobered. Maybe what Shamrock had said was right. Maybe there was something to worry about here. Immediately she felt out of place and intrusive again. But hey, she needed a place to sleep tonight. If there was trouble, for once she didn't feel like being in the middle of it. Besides, she was still soaked from her swim in the river. Adjusting her suspenders, she approached the old man at the desk.

"Can I help you?" the old man asked with his raspy voice.
"Uh. Yeah. Dis is da newsies lodgin' house right?"
"That it is," the old man said with a smile. "My name's Kloppman. Are you looking to stay here?"
"Nice to meet yah. And yeah, a room would be nice."
"Okay," he brought took out a sheet and paper and slid it over to Shortstack. "Sign here...what can I call you?"
"Everyone calls me Shortstack," she said as she signed the sheet.
Kloppman chuckled. "I wonder why." Shortstack didn't respond.
"Is something wrong, Shortstack?" Kloppman asked.
"Well, I just been hearin' things. Is something goin' on with missin' kids around here?"
"You haven't heard?" Kloppman asked. Shortstack shook her head in response. "Well, you'll find out soon enough. The girls' room is upstairs. I assume you want to clean up..." he said noticing her drenched clothes.
"Yeah. Thanks, Kloppman." Shortstack replied. She took off her cap and headed upstairs, quickly glancing at the solemn faces of the newsies again.