|
|
Post by Fox on Sept 2, 2010 21:51:54 GMT -5
If asked to rate the Bronx to Manhattan on a scale of one to ten, Fox would've done so willingly. Manhattan would've gotten a 3. Bronx...probably an 8 or 9. Sure, the burrow was full of craziness, but Fox fit in with the craziness; good newsies were always secretly- or not so secretly- insane. Sitting cross-legged on her top bunk, she leaned over the edge, examining the room. It was...cooky, to say the least. Random items; some of which she hadn't recalled seeing before; littered around everyone's bunks.
It was an oddly cozy place, but still. Fox wasn't one to stay in one location for long, but she figured that the Bronx would be a good place to remain for hopefully the rest of her Newsie career. After all, she was 15. How many more years of a Newsie did she have?
She had to admit, the thought made her a bit...off. Really, she wasn't sure what she'd do once she couldn't be a Newsie anymore. Chances were, she'd go into some odd merchanting business. Business itself seemed reasonable; after hanging around in 'Hattan for nearly her whole life, Fox knew majority of the idiots in business could be tricked fairly easily. Her cunning mind would probably do well.
Sliding down onto the floor, she flattened out her pants, and leaned against a bed post. It was late, and most of the Newsies were either loitering around the Common Room, finishing up selling or doing some private business. She put a hand on her temple, sensing a headache coming on. She got them more often now, but really didn't care to identify the cause. Most of the time, she'd blame the same thing over and over again; drinking. Fox knew it was a problem, but didn't really care to fix it. Totally her fault for the drinking, not her fault for smoking. Fox wasn't one to pin the blame on people, but he was the one who ended up getting her hooked on a good smoke.
Shrugging her shoulder, she let her ice-blue eyes search the room, picking up random details. Colors fascinated her; so did drawing...art in general just did. Artists didn't make money, though. Not that Fox needed money, but still. Art wasn't a profession, as much as she wished it was.
Count: 432
Muse: Goodish. I went on a random like...spree of writing xD
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by Tootsie on Sept 6, 2010 17:05:07 GMT -5
Tootsie was just about obsessed with Bronx.
Having not left the place in two whole weeks, for reasons she would rather place in the back of her mind than confront, she had grown even more familiar and even more in love with the lodging house than she had ever thought that she could. And she loved the lodging house before all the madness of Irving occurred.
It was more of a home to her than she ever remembered having.
Walking (cautiously, mind you) through the halls at a slow pace, Tootsie recalled the fact that there was another newsie in the Bronx lodge of later. A girl by the name of Fox.
Though Tootsie had no major judgments on most people, (except fellow Argentines, who she knew were as famous for their temper and fast slang as she was, and thieves, who she just couldn't stand) she was hesitant to drinkers. Not that she didn't like them, but alcohol was a funny thing to Tootsie, and it didn't take much to make her forget the happenings of a probably embarrassing evening, and she avoided it at all costs. To those who could handle it, she most definitely saluted them. They had a strong will she lacked, most definitely.
Walking (which could much more accurately be described as limping at this point, for she had walked far more than she was used to with a burned leg and was starting to feel a greater pain than she was accustomed to) back into the girls room that she loved so much, she saw a flash of red hair that she presumed was Fox. That is, if the name fit.
She watched her observe the room. She was waiting for a sign of her pleasure in the room, and couldn't hold her tongue any longer when she said,
"Do you like it?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Fox on Sept 6, 2010 17:19:51 GMT -5
"Do you like it?"
Whirling around, she focused her light blue eyes on the girl infront of her; Toostie, she remembered. Fox guessed that her name fit with her having a penchant for candy; she could've sworn that there was a sweet aroma of some sort of candy surrounding her. Contemplating the question for a moment, she tilted her head to the side. "Better then 'Hattan", she said quietly, tugging on a strand of her red hair. Sure that Toostie had seen her examining the room, she continued. "Ya' wouldn't believe how boring 'Hattan is." Comparing Manhattan's nuetral aspect to the Bronx's eclectic nature was nearly impossible. Needless to say, she liked it alot. Even though she'd lived in Manhattan for years, she never considered it home.
Using the corner of her eye, she stole a quick split-second glance at Toostie, noticing the limp in her step. She recalled having heard something about her being injured at Irving; it was no surprise to her, though. Alot of Newsies remained injured from that incident. Fox hadn't been in Irving that night, but she remembered walking down the opposing street, and hearing a crash followed by a number of screams. Rounding the corner; she'd arrived just in time to see Irving up in flames. Not that she'd ever used the building; music wasn't her thing. And Fox liked fired, for whatever odd reason.
"'Hattan isn't much of a home. They've got history, but thats 'bout it", although, asking for a home as a Newsie sounded a bit ridiculous to her. Your home was all of New York City.
[/font] [/size] |
|
|
|
Post by Tootsie on Jan 10, 2011 20:24:23 GMT -5
Tootsie leaned on the door frame, smiling. "I think I have a good understand. I'm from Jersey. Don't hold it against me, but we know boring." It was true. Tootsie was an expert on New Jersey life, and she had only come to New York from New Jersey after running away, so she knew that it was definitely one of the worse places she had ever lived. She absolutely hated New Jersey. She shivered in hatred and disgust.
"At least Manhattan's in New York." She murmured, propping up her burned leg against the wall so she wouldn't have to worry about standing on it while talking. She pushed up her hat, peering from under her bang at her again. She seemed a bit sullen and distant, but she was participating in the conversation, so it worked out for Tootsie.
"I'm Georgia. Call me Tootsie though. " She nodded. "Well, Bronx is. If you don't get scared off to easy. Eddie's insane, and Queenie's crazy, and me, I bounce back and forth. But if you can handle all of us, and Robin likes you, you'll fit in fine." She smiled gently. "Oh. And even if you don't like it. I'll do your hair. And makeup. At least once." She couldn't hold back, and gave a smirk. "No. Argument."
|
|
