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Post by Prince on Oct 12, 2008 22:47:56 GMT -5
Tired? here's where the female Manhattan newsies sleep... well, it's where they're supposed to sleep anyhow
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Post by mabel on Jun 6, 2009 22:02:21 GMT -5
[NEW DAY]
The dying daylight of the roof no longer sufficient, Mabel and Bumlets made their way back inside the Lodging House. Moving to her bunk, Mabel went about her nightly routine of smoothing the thin, raggedy sheets of her bed. A seemingly futile process, but one Mabel insisted on nevertheless.
"Mabel.." "Some kids, they come here to get away from life, or because they've got nothing better. Some have it all but want freedom and are ready to pay the price.."
Mabel scoffed lightly. The idea of someone giving up anything for the life of a newsie was a foreign concept to the rural transplant. Sure, she often felt bored and discontent in her previous life, but rather bored and discontent than hungry and penniless.
"Why did you?"
Mabel stiffened slightly at his inquiry. Lips quirking in a frown, Mabel maneuvered herself so that she was sitting indian-style on the wooden floor of the bunk room--after all, she wasn't about to wrinkle up her just made bunk.
"Well, it wasn't by choice." Mabel remarked curtly, "I... my family's just had a bit of financial trouble. Father was a bit foolhardy with our fortune and-..." Mabel trailed off, staring pointedly at her lap. Mabel's father was nothing short of the shadiest of business men. His unscrupulous endeavors lost their family many connections and soured the family name. Still, Mabel refused to acknowledge her father as a blaggard.
"We lost everything." She said plainly, glancing up at Bumlets. "He's clever as any though. He'll put us right... and when he does, I'm gone from here."
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Post by Bumlets Russo on Jun 6, 2009 22:12:36 GMT -5
Bumlets found an empty bunk and sat down watching her with an intense curiosity. Her tale was one he'd heard, very rarely from others but he'd heard it from Ace a long time ago. Though Ace had run, his family still had the clout. As his mind turned over he tried not to let the words sting as she spoke of leaving once it was sorted out. He knew she wasn't made for this life, or a man like him. It was pointless to wonder of what ifs--- even if she had pushed him into wanting more then just a meager life to live an die by the strength of his back.
He took off his hat and ran his hand threw his hair as he set it aside, "You know, you'll be better for this." he spoke slowly as if trying to pick words that wouldn't offend her. Or worse, make her hate him. "You've learned what a lot of people never do, you won't take what you had for granted if you ever get it back.." Not a when, if. He was still a realist. But he watched her intently before he shook his head.
"Mabel this life isn't all bad either..." didn't she see the freedoms some of them explored, the lives they led was a far cry from many of the ones that had social restraints. People looked down on them, but they had freedoms that most could never dream of. "Jack hoped on a train and went to Santa Fe. He didn't have to deal with bankers, debts or brokers, he just went and saw the world that he wanted to see. And he still came back here.." There was something special about it, being a newsie. It was family. It meant more to most of them then their real families had. Because, pain and lose was something only those that had experienced them could truly understand.
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Post by Sweets on Sept 2, 2009 19:52:23 GMT -5
- New Day -
A small fly had been buzzing around the room for the past four hours, and for the past four hours Sweets lay on her bunk listening to it. Staying in bed for the day was torture for the malnourished blond, who though weak, was quickly tiring of her new prison. Of course the lodging house was far preferable to the cell she had been locked in mere days ago, but there was something about staying put after so many weeks of trying to move that left her itching to get out.
Heaving a small determined breath she kicked her feet out over the edge of the bed and slowly pulled herself up with the help of the bunk above her until she was firmly standing. With a triumphant grin she took a few steps before catching sight of the fly, her momentary arch-nemesis, buzzing past her face; and in one quick movement she spun, her hand flailing in search of the offending insect as her foot caught on the neighboring bunk and sent her flying to the floor. Moaning slightly she remained unmoving, debating even trying to regain her feet and hoping above all else that no one had witnessed her dramatic spill.
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Post by dutchy on Sept 3, 2009 17:27:30 GMT -5
"Oh, jeez, Sweets!" Dutchy exclaimed, setting the newspaper wrapped parcel and bottle of Coke in his hand in the nearest flat surface and quickly crouched at her side. He was tentative about touching her. She might snap at him or tell him to get out. It wasn't entirely in her nature, he was almost sure. He didn't know her very well, but given the name...
"Are you okay? Do you need a hand up? Looked like a nasty fall..."
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Post by Sweets on Sept 13, 2009 13:10:35 GMT -5
(I'm sorry I completely missed your reply until now!)
At Dutchy's exclamation Sweets inwardly sighed, someone always managed to appear when she humiliated herself. However, she had recently heard about Brook's fiasco in the washroom with Snoddy, so she conceded that perhaps it would be wise to count her blessings. As he knelt beside her she managed to roll to her back, grinning sheepishly at the concerned boy. "Heh, I'm okay I think," She was still skinny and weak from her time at the workhouse, but compared to how she'd been living the past few months, she truly did feel fine.
Lifting herself up enough to rest back on her arms she sighed, blowing a few strands of hair from her face and tipping slightly to lean against the bunk post. "What are you doin' back?" For the most part the bunkroom was deserted during the day, with the streets being more of a home to the newsies and the bunks merely a place to sleep. With her embarrassment subsiding, she was very much glad for the company.
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Post by dutchy on Sept 14, 2009 13:20:56 GMT -5
After deciding she was mostly alright, Dutchy got up and fetched the things he came up with. He sat down adjacent to her, his own long legs crossing under him before doing so. He gave a bit of a shrug, looking down, his glasses slipping down a bit on his nose. He set the bottle of Coke next to her and opened the newspaper revealing a hot dog.
"Well, it was near lunch time. I figured you might be hungry." He gave a small sheepish smile looking at her over his glasses and doing his very best not to appear sorry for her. He wasn't, really. He was glad she was back, one more step closer to getting everyone back. But the way she looked. Dutchy only remembered ever meeting her once or twice before, but it wasn't hard to tell she hadn't eaten anything proper in some time.
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Post by shortstack on Oct 13, 2009 15:55:35 GMT -5
Shortstack peered into the room to be sure it was the right one. She had almost walked into the boys' room but caught herself just in time. Simple logic concluded that this was the place. She walked in cautiously, looking sheepishly around for an unoccupied bed. Spotting one in the back corner by a window, she walked up to it and placed her bag on it. If it belonged to anyone, she could always move, she figured. Not knowing what to do next, she sat on the bed and stared out the window toward the city below.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Mar 6, 2010 14:30:06 GMT -5
((New Day))
Brook had been feeling poorly and hiding it the last few days but it had come to the point where the little Cajun could not hide how terrible she felt. Her face was a sickly pale color and her eyes were bloodshot, she was almost afraid she had yellow fever. But then reminded herself that it wouldn't be in New York City-- only the plague. With a moan as she moved, all her joints aching as she pressed her cheek into the pillow. Why did it have to hurt so much?
With a whimper she turned her sweat covered face towards the window, seeking light like a wilting flower. She couldn't remember feeling so poorly, and it wasn't good as far as she could recall. But her mind was hazy as she closed her eyes again, no one would miss her today.
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Post by shortstack on Mar 19, 2010 23:57:15 GMT -5
Shortstack opened her eyes to see out the window. The sun was shining too brightly for her taste. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shield her violated corneas. A good day for selling papers, she supposed, though she was a little hesitant to begin. She sat up in her bed and look around. The room was empty with the exception one. Shortstack was about ask her if the others had gone, but soon realized that the girl was not well. She grabbed her slightly damp clothes from the bedpost where she had hung them, and searched under the bed for her shoes.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Mar 26, 2010 13:54:57 GMT -5
Brook chose to ignore the other girl and pressed her face more into her pillow, she wanted to be left alone. She didn't want anyone to see her this way and worse, she felt like she was a failure as a person. Everything had been to stressful and now she was in the mind to be terrorized by some kind of illness.
She almost wished it would take her, there were to many people who didn't care anymore. To many people that hated her for what she was and Brook Lynn could only take so much.
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Post by shortstack on Mar 31, 2010 7:58:06 GMT -5
Shortstack saw the girl wanted to not be bothered, so she crept around her bed, looking for her shoes. Crouching on the floor, spotted them under the bed and crawled underneath to reach them. She hit the back of her head as she was crawling back out, swearing softly. She sat on the floor next to the bed, rubbing the throbbing spot on her head. Her shoes were even wetter than her other clothes. It seemed that the world was telling her not to go out today. Maybe this whole newsie thing was a bad idea.
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Post by Kid Blink on Apr 21, 2010 0:12:52 GMT -5
((NEW DAY--I... think? Maybe later the same day?))
Blink hadn't seen Brook in a while. Truth be known, that was mostly his own doing. Irritable and prone to cursing out anyone who shot him a sideways look, he'd been avoiding her. He'd been trying to protect her from his bad mood, knowing how vulnerable she was these days. Were he in a more clear-thinking moment, or perhaps born the other gender, he might have realized that that logic didn't quite add up. But he was definitely of the outdoor-plumbing persuasion, and more to that, he was Kid Blink. Logic? Overrated.
He'd noticed in the last couple days, though, that he hadn't needed to go too far out of his way to spare her his presence. She didn't seem to be around for him to avoid in the first place. Thinking maybe she'd finally made good on her threats to go back home to the bayou, he asked around, and found someone who said she'd been hiding out in the bunk room at the lodging house, and had been there for a few days now.
Even Brook at her most depressed knew better than to go for days at a time without selling, Blink was sure of that. So Brook not leaving her bed for a while? That got him worried. Selling off what he could as he worked his way back toward the lodging house, he dumped the rest of his papers off in the arms of the first newsie he crossed and beat it the rest of the way.
Sure enough, when he poked his head into the girls' bunk room, he found a lump resting on Brook's mattress, far too big to be nothing but blankets. Even though it had only been a couple hours since the other girl newsies had tromped out of the room and started their selling day, the room had a musty, stale smell to it, only adding to the illusion that Brook had been shut up in here for a week. Blink felt a sharp twist of guilt, realizing that she'd been here, alone and sick, and he'd had no idea. He was too busy being a jackass.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, edging inside and closing the door behind him. Usually there were pretty strict rules about boys in the girls' bunk room and vice versa, but Blink figured this would qualify as an exception. He'd make it qualify if he had to.
Moving toward the bundle on Brook's mattress, he perched carefully on the edge of her bed and placed his hand on what he hoped was her blanket-shrouded shoulder. "Brook?" he murmured, gently petting whatever part he was touching. "Hey, little froggie, you okay?"
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Post by Brook LaRue on Apr 21, 2010 0:34:48 GMT -5
She could only make a sound as she heard a voice, it was her hip he shoulder he was touching and the blanket shifted from her head, with a weak sound she turned her head towards the sound of the voice. She was sweaty, hurting-- everything hurt and all she could think about was that was a voice she didn't think she was going to hear. Not after all the things that had happened, she honestly thought she was dying.
"Do I look that bad, mon choux?" her voice was quiet, almost a whisper as she pressed her face back into the pillow as she panted a bit, the effort to just turn her head was almost to much. She didn't want anyone to know they'd throw her out she was sure. Something bad would happen, her hand reached towards his, red hot with fever. "Don't.. you be tellin' Jack.. please.." Because she was afraid she'd lose her bunk or worse, much much worse. She couldn't live out on her own, it scared her, the boys had become her family and she was afraid.. more than afraid of being separated from her life at the lodging house. "Please.."
It was a quiet sound, her voice was meek and weak, she was ill.
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Post by Kid Blink on Apr 22, 2010 23:49:18 GMT -5
Shit, Brook looked even worse than Blink was expecting. Pale and drawn, and even though Blink was still chilled from his morning outside, he knew when she touched his hand that her touch burned far warmer than normal.
"Stay here," he instructed (as though she would go anywhere) and lurched off the mattress, making a beeline for the washroom. He fumbled around for a clean towel, finally located one he was... pretty sure was clean, and soaked it under the cold faucet. Wringing it out--perhaps not as much as he should--he quickly returned to the bunk room and Brook's side, drew her stringy hair away from her face, and laid the cloth over her forehead.
Now able to make out her form under the blankets more distinctly, he set his hand on her actual shoulder, stroking her upper arm. "Brook, girl, I... I think you need a doc. I think you're sick." Memories of the recent, too recent outbreak trickled back through his mind, and he remembered watching his friends getting sick, and he remembered the one bunk in the boys' room that still laid empty every night...
"I think... I think maybe you're real sick..."
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(c)Red
