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Post by Doll on Sept 20, 2010 20:31:42 GMT -5
Lying down on a pew, Doll looked up at the ceiling, staring at it. She was done birding for the day, well, night now, and felt sore all over. Working hard on finding information seemed to be the thing today. A basic day for her was wake up in Brooklyn, sell in Brooklyn, bird in Queens, go to the docks and report, go and bird in Bronx, eat something, then bird in Manhattan, and finally, scour up any information she could get that was left, then go back to Brooklyn, and sleep, or find something to do till she slept.
Well drinking was not an option anymore, Spot made her say out loud that that she wouldn't drink alcohol anymore. It wasn't that she had been a drunk... ok yea, she was probably a drunkard before, but now she wasn't. And it was weird never having alcohol. Doll hadn't been drunk in a while, except for the one time Fox had given her after the miscarriage. And even then, he had been able to tell she had been drinking. He called her fragile, in reality, she felt like it wasn't her who was fragile, but him.
How was she fragile, she could fight, like hell she could fight. Spot just wouldn't let her. And then there was always the killing that seemed to happen, which she wasn't allowed to do either, even though she was fully capable of snapping some person's neck. There wasn't much that Doll could do, the more she thought about it. It seemed as though there was nothing she could do, which was why she was in a church tonight. Before she went home she wanted to be in a place where she had no leader, no birds, just her.
Of course, company was allowed, but she just wanted to lie there, and stare at the cieling. She wouldn't mind if some other person came to join her, but they'd have to deal with silence from Doll's side of it all, most of it. But for now, all she could do was stare at the cieling and wonder.
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Post by Spot on Sept 21, 2010 19:55:58 GMT -5
Spot was bleeding.
It was only a tad, and he could barely even see it, or feel it, but that's because Spot was Spot. He was more concerned about other things. Like the fact that Doll was no where to be found.
Why did this always happen to him? Why was this always occurring? Why couldn't Doll just stay in one place all the time. She was never in the right place, ever, never when it was even necessary for her to just for once stay in one place.
He had been climbing through everything anything. He had cut himself climbing through some debris in a alley. He was rather embarrassed by it, but he had no time to be embarrassed. He had a wife missing.
He walked into the church swearing a storm. He hated coming inside here. He had never been religious, not a single day, and it bothered him to be in here. But walking down the pews, and seeing Doll lying on her back on a pew staring upward. He released his breath, walking into the pew, and tried to pull her up so he was looking straight into her eyes.
"What have you been doing here this whole time!" He stared at her, trying to find a decent explanation for her being here, all by herself. It was terrifying to him fro her to go missing. She was never where she was supposed to be at the proper time. Never by his side, where he needed her to be. Spot looked at her, breathing hard, trying to be angry, trying not to be insanely angry with her. Just trying to keep his head on tight.
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Post by Doll on Sept 21, 2010 20:59:42 GMT -5
Raising an eyebrow, she felt herself being pulled up. Squirming a little, she moved so she was sitting on the pew sideways, knees pulled up to her chest. Spot looked... angry, somewhat. Doll looked him in the eye, saying slowly, "I was done birding... and I wanted to go somewhere to rest for a little while. That a crime? Bet it is, cause I wasn't back in Brooklyn. Sit down a while, it's actually quiet here." Lying back down, she went back to staring at the beautiful ceiling, patting the pew, motioning for Spot to sit down and join her.
"You know, sometimes, when I look at ceilings, I wonder why someone made them look beautiful. Not a lot of people look up, so why are they making them beautiful?" Doll wanted to try and get the conversation away from her not being home when he wanted her. It had been a long day, and she hadn't been quite ready to go home, and even now wasn't quite ready. For some reason, she liked the silence, but didn't. It was different, which was nice, but it wasn't what she was quite as used too.
"Sometimes I wonder if angels are real too," she added quietly, "And if they watch over everyone. Like, if the lady who owns a flower store is really an angel, or the sour old man in the tenement. Who's an angel and who isnt." Doll sometimes felt like lately, she had been thinking to much, and she wished it was like the old days, punch first then think. It used to be action, then reaction. Now it was reaction then action. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, still thinking of everything, and she wished she could stop thinking.
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Post by Spot on Sept 22, 2010 16:32:32 GMT -5
Spot was puzzled, and much more aggravated by the fact that Doll wasn't even seeming to be paying attention to him. "Do you hear me Doll! Let's go!" But then she just reclined on the pew, patting the area next to her. He listened to the quiet and the peace that was in the room. His voice, his loud yelling voice echoed of the ceiling of the church. He felt like yanking her up and dragging her out of there.
He sat down.
He listened to her questions. Spot felt as if it was necessary to answer all her questions, every last one of them. to comfort her. To keep her calm. It was his job.
"Maybe it's because, eh... Whoever's up there. He likes them pretty." He mumbled softly. "Ya. Know? Maybe its for those who do look up. Like... a present for those who do look up." He had never though about it. He didn't think to much in general. He wasn't much of a thinker. A fighter for a flighter. A person to punch then think. This wasn't him.
He didn't have an answer for it. Just the wonder if there was, and if there really was, was someone he knew one of them. Someone.
Thought process over. He just wouldn't think about it anymore.
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Post by Doll on Sept 22, 2010 18:52:32 GMT -5
Nodding her head, Doll didn't reply. She wasn't quite sure what she thought. "Spot? I think I'm thinkin' to much." Thinking made her head hurt sometimes, didn't know why, but it was probably because she had never spent this much time thinking about things like this. Scooting a little when Spot sat, she moved so her head was in his lap. Staring up, she could see Spot, and the church ceiling, both of which were wonderful views to look at. She yawned a bit, before racking her mind for the information she had retrieved that day.
"Bronx is quiet lately, haven't been talkin' much 'bout the fire, Queens for all I know is innocent until proven guilty. Nothin' 'bout Staten that makes 'em suspicious yet, and 'Hattan is definitely out of the subject of burnin' that joint down. They're just as upset about as ever before... Spot, have I ever told you you got handsome eyes?" whenever she was tired she started to have less of an attention span. She wasn't overly tired, just the kind of tired where you were awake, but also worn out after a long days worth of work.
It was weird how everyone worked when they were tired, sometimes. Some got drowsy, others got cranky, her she just got a short attention span, somewhat. Things would catch her eye and she'd talk about them. Doll needed to work on that, the whole short attention when tired thing. Because if you were tired, things were going down, you probably shouldn't be looking around and talking about things. That would just get your arse handed to you then.
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Post by Spot on Oct 8, 2010 21:37:03 GMT -5
Spot's eyes fell open Doll again. She was as he rarely saw her; peaceful, a thinker, a child-like calmness that everything was gonna be ok. She was so calm, he wanted nothing more to know how to be just like her. Not calm, but powerful, and loved by her people, the Brooklynites. Understanding and calm. Quiet, and able to pack a punch at the same time.
He hated her for it.
He loved her for it.
He nodded. "Ya Doll. You're definitely thinking far too much." He took a hand and rubbed her forehead, trying to make her stop thinking. "You're thinking way, way, way too much."
And then all of a sudden she was talking serious again. They way they did before they were married. About the fire. He thought about those injured by the flames, and he realized eh had to find out who it was. And then all of a sudden she was talking about his eyes. She looked up to him, and he looked back down. "Doll. Men ain't pretty. My eyes aren't pretty. They're scary. You stubborn midget."
He moved her closer to him. "Let me tell you something Doll. You have pretty eyes. Gorgeous..." It was rubbing off on him. Her tired behavior was making him realize he was bone tired. His body ached. He had started working during the night, selling then, and working during the day and then sleeping a little and doing it again. He yawned.
He touched his hands to her cheeks, her soft pale skin. "Doll,"
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Post by Doll on Oct 8, 2010 22:26:40 GMT -5
“Sometimes it’s scary when you think too much,” she replied, “Cause sometimes, I think I’m thinking too much, and then I’ll never be able to stop thinking.” Doll sighed. Thinking… that was all that she could do lately it seemed. Think, breathe, repeat. A fairly simple cycle. And when Spot said men weren’t pretty, his eyes weren’t pretty and the whole ‘they’re scary’ deal, and couldn’t help but smile when he called her a stubborn midget. “I’m not a midget, I broke five feet last year, and if anything, you’re a midget too, and you know what?” She pushed herself up a little, so she was sitting partially on Spot, but also on the pew,
“You only say they’re scary, but that’s only because you are just seeing what people think. Try seeing them, like I do,” she moved a little so she was more comfortable, “I see them full of courage, when everyone else is scared. They are full of determination, and stubbornness when it seems like we oughta do somethin’ else,” Doll smiled, resting her forehead on his shoulder, “In your eyes, I see a leader, a great leader. But you’ve gotta see them not like everyone else see’s them for once.”
When he said her name, she replied quietly, “We should probably be going back to Brooklyn, right? I know… church isn’t the place you wanna be at, but it was kind of the only stop I could find on the way home. We can go home if you want to,” Doll yawned, “Just don’t expect me to walk fast.”
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Post by Spot on Oct 8, 2010 23:21:06 GMT -5
Spot couldn't help but wonder if he agreed with her. Was that why he didn't like to think? Did he find it scary to think about things a lot. Like what happened at Irving. He'd admit, he'd been blocking that out. He had enough trouble without that. Even worse, all the other boroughs were looking clean, and he couldn't help but suspect his own borough. Sure, they had losses, but it still seemed bad. Brooklyn was still looked upon as the bad guys sometimes, and lord knows what other people would think. Lord.
Did he just reference to God. That was another thing he didn't like to think about. He couldn't handle it any longer. He had to stop this thinking thing in it's tracks. He didn't respond to her comment though. To admit that he was scared would just be... no it wasn't even possible.
"You're still a midget. You know you stopped growing years ago. Five feet is pathetic. Completely pathetic." "Not that Spot could talk. He was a sound 5'5, and had been so for a good few years now. But He was determined to grow a little more, though he didn't need to. One cold stare would do the trick. Height not required.
But her words on seeing his eyes through other people's eyes shocked him with a little jolt it truth. It was odd how true it was. But he would never admit that either. "Whatever. I have bad eyes." He smirked gently, feeling her head against his shoulder as she moved.
"We don't have to walk fast. This place just gives me the creeps." He smirked, wrapping an arm around her. "Or we could stay. Or I could carry you." He mumbled. "I'm in favor of option 3."
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Post by Doll on Oct 8, 2010 23:58:25 GMT -5
"Five feet is a wonderful height then," she replied dignitively. Spot didn’t have to tell her that she was short, she knew, but hell, he was short too. He had no right telling her she was a midget. But then again, he was Spot, he could do that. Doll added, “Besides, being five feet does have its perks. Like… being a good size for people. I’ve never met a boy older than me that was smaller than me.” She didn’t know how that was supposed to be a good thing, but at least it was something and nothing at all at the same time.
The more he said he had bad eyes, the more she wanted to tell him how wrong he was. So she muttered back, “You say you’ve got bad eyes but I say you’ve got good eyes.” Doll didn’t bother fighting it anymore. He could believe it if he wanted to, but she’d always say his eyes were good eyes, no matter what he thought. Anyone could have bad eyes, but Spot to her had the kind of bad eyes that made everything good. As much as she wanted to say it over and over again, she couldn’t. He had to figure it out himself.
She couldn’t help but smile. “There’s something with you and carrying me, I swear there is. Besides,” Doll buried her head in his shoulder more, “You’re tired to. You can’t possibly want to carry me if you’re tired too.” Of course, that might have been a lie, but oh well. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kept her face buried. She was tired, but didn’t want to fall asleep. Moving her head a little, “Spot how come churches give you the creeps? Is it like how some people get freaked out about being in Brooklyn?”
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Post by Spot on Oct 11, 2010 18:27:41 GMT -5
"There are no perks to you being the shortest person on earth," he said, mocking her gently. "Even Singer is taller than you, and I mean he's pretty short." He decided to leave out that fact that if Singer keep growing he'd get taller than him. That was just an unconventional detail. "But there is something good about you being a midget." He placed his arms over her head, leaning on her.
"This," he said, smirking.
He laughed at her, the light mood increasing to him. It was hard for him to become calm, but with Doll it was a lot easier. When she wasn't trying to hurt herself or getting hurt in some way. In fact, it was moments like this that had made him fall in love with Doll. The fact that it didn't matter what happened when she was around.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to let her even see his eyes, no matter what she thought they were like. It wasn't right. There was nothing good about his eyes. There was nothing good about him. It was hard enough to feel that he sometimes hurt her. It was the fact that she just didn't see the relatively obvious bad in him. It was so like Doll. So Doll.
"I think I can protect you best when I carry you. It's easiest to know where you are that way." He leaned a bit closer to her, taking his hands off her head, and wrapping his arm around her, carefully not to squeeze to hard. "I'm not tired. I'm never tired. You're just tired, and you think I'm tired." Of course, he was exhausted, but that was none of her business.
"I don't like churches." He started off quiet. "In church, I'm not in control..."
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Post by Doll on Oct 11, 2010 19:21:28 GMT -5
Rolling her eyes lightly, she said, "Singer's tall cause he's Singer, nothing more to it." Laughing a little when he used her as an arm rest, she couldn't help but say, "If you were shorter, I'd use you as an armrest too." Doll looked up with her eyes, trying to see if she could see his arms. A smile played on her face. It was nice for her to see Spot in a better mood. He was always either grumpy, hungover, or anything else of the sort. It was nice to seem in a better mood.
Now if he would smile, she'd probably feel very happy. Smiling from Spot... it was rare. Moving her head a little, she said quietly, "You always feel like you have to protect me all the time, but..." she whispered, "I don't want to be protected sometimes. I want to be able for the both of us to walk around without you glaring at every boy we pass. Because, if you've noticed, I only love you, not anyone else." Doll knew he'd probably object somehow, saying that she needed protection, but it wasn't like she couldn't have a voice on it.
Spot liked control. She knew that. And Doll didn't have an answer to that. Resting her head on his shoulder, she had a question herself, but wasn't sure if she should ask it. "Spot everyone gets tired, you're not god. As much as I'd like to say you're a god, you aren't. Everyone gets tired." The question was still burning in the back of her head, and she was thinking of a way to word it, until finally, she decided she ought to say it how she thought it.
"Spot... you know how last time we... er, did things, we almost had a family? But then it slipped out of our hands? Well... what if I said, maybe, we have a chance of having a family of our own again." Doll hoped he wouldn't freak out like last time, she really hoped he wouldn’t. So far, she was about roughly three months, well, as far as she knew. This wasn’t quite the place she wanted to tell Spot, but… she had to tell him sometime. She took a deep breath, and said quietly, “Spot… I’m three months pregnant.”
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Post by Spot on Oct 16, 2010 18:29:59 GMT -5
Spot's hands wrapped around Doll's waist a little as he laughed. He laughed. His guard was down, but that meant she had to be even closer to him. It was hard protecting the most accident prone newsie in New York. He quieted down a bit, hearing his laugh and her shortness bounce around the church's walls.
And just like that, she began to bash his protecting her. Saying that, she didn't like to be carried and didn't want to be grabbed, or have him glare at other boys when they walked past. "It's not that I don't trust you Doll. I don't trust other boys." He smirked. "And since you're so accident prone, I have to make sure nothing happens to you.... Nothing." IT was a quiet pause following in which Spot thought of all the things that had happened. She had been kidnapped. Injured several times, and kidnapped again. She'd married him, and put herself in danger, and almost had a baby. Almost.
It was just these thoughts, all it took to zap any humor or lightheartedness out of Spot. He was back to the serious person he usually was. Nothing but a protector. A rock.
"I'm not tired Doll, that's that." He sighed, then mumbled, "I wish you would listen," he said under his breath. "I'm not tired and I'm not a god." The thoughts led him in the obvious direction of 'I'm more like the devil' but he didn't say it out loud. It didn't need to be said.
He was quiet as he listened to her, her words awkward at first. She was bringing it back up. The memories, ones he had just barley pushed away early flooded back. Her cries. The sadness. So much liquor. So much.
He didn't want to think about it anymore, but then she said it. 'What if we had another chance.' Many a times he had imagined himself holding a child. A son. A daughter. Just a little delicate thing. Many times he had imagined himself dropping the child, or them crying in his arms. Their little bodies starving, because he couldn't make ends meet. Oh yes, he had thought about what would happen if he had another chance.
And for the seemingly infinite time that day, he didn't know what to think. He hated the suffocating uncertainty that was swallowing him up. He gulped quietly. He knew she wasn't through. And he knew exactly what she was about to say.
It didn't make it any less shocking when she actually did say it.
His mind blanked for a few measly moments, like when you just get a slap you weren't expecting. And then he felt all reality rush back to him like a flood.
He gripped her a bit tighter. Looking behind him, he realized how off his guard he'd been. Anyone could have come in here, at anytime time, slipping silently through the wide open doors of the church, and he would have been just sitting here with his pregnant... with his pregnant wife.
"Doll we need to go back to Brooklyn," he said automatically. He had to think of a safe place. And Brooklyn was the only safe place. It didn't matte what had happened before, because plenty of bad things had occurred in Brooklyn. It was the fact the Brooklyn was the only place he was in control.
But he had to take a moment to access the situation. Last time... Last time what had happened.... He couldn't even think about it straight, but he forced himself too. What had happened happened because Doll had been stressed.
And he had caused most of that stress.
He quieted down,, relaxed his tense grip on her. "Doll... I'm...." He tried to find a word for it, before finding it was easier to say that he had expected. "I'm happy Doll." It was weird to hear the words, but they were easy once they came out. It was easy to be honest with her. "I'm happy... I'm really nervous though." He looked to her. "And I think you need to rest Doll. Actually rest for once." He looked to her, and kissed her on the forehead.
"And I think we should head home."
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Post by Doll on Oct 16, 2010 19:47:03 GMT -5
She had caught him off guard. That wasn’t how she wanted him to find out. Off guard. ‘Go back to Brooklyn,’ he had said. Doll knew he was tense now, he had tightened his grip slightly. It wasn’t too tight, but enough to hold her firmly, but then loosened. Then he said it. He said he was happy. Happy, but nervous. But then he mentioned her actually resting, and then kissed her forehead. Staying silent for a while, she smiled a little, “I’m glad you’re happy, and didn’t freak out like the last time. Who knows, maybe I’ll listen and rest this time.”
Doll nodded, “Yea, we probably should… Can we get Hot Chocolate on the way home? I crave it. Like, really badly crave it.” She craved hot chocolate last time, so she figured that maybe she had the same pregnancy cravings as before. Possibly. All she knew was that she wanted Hot Chocolate. Although she never quite got why it had to be Hot Chocolate. Hot Chocolate wasn’t even that normal of a craving. Well, none of the cravings she had ever heard of before. The most common one she knew of was women craving pickles and other food like that.
Laughing a little, she said, “I bet you won’t be able to carry me anymore,” then she realized what that meant, “Spot, you’ll still love me when I’m fat, right?” Doll could be self conscious, same as any other girl, and, well, being fat… it meant that you couldn’t really be athletic. Would she always be fat after being pregnant? She hoped not. Sure, she wasn’t exactly the perfect girl to be looking at for women’s fashion, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about some things involving appearance. She already was wearing baggy shirts to keep from people seeing her bump.
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Post by Spot on Oct 18, 2010 20:20:26 GMT -5
He relaxed a bit. "I'm glad you glad I'm happy. But you really should listen. And rest. And take care of yourself alright. Just be sure to... to..." So many things ran through his mind. 'Rest. Listen to me. Eat well. Stay inside. Be careful. Stop selling.' The list went on and on.
He smirked at her. "Of course you can have hot chocolate on the way home." He sighed, humored by the craving that had tormented his wife the last time she was pregnant too. "I'll get you a thousand hot chocolates for you. But we first have to set some rules for this.. thing..." He looked away for a moment. "This baby. We can negotiate them, but... I think this is the way it should be. Ok."
He looked back to her. "First of all..." He thought hard. "I love you. Second of all." He thought hard about how to put what he wanted to say into words his wife would understand, and agree to. "When you start to show, I think it'll be time for you to stop selling." He paused in his rules. "Oh ya. No interrupting until I'm done with all the rules. Three. Be careful, ok. just please. Four. Don't go places outside of Brooklyn without letting me know. And don't be stubborn with me."
He was quiet for a moment, before deciding. "I think that's it."
He looked to his wife, before remembering. "Oh ya! I reserve the right to carry you. Everywhere..." He smiled at her, actually smiling. "I think that's it."
He laughed at her comment. "You won't get fat. You'll be pregnant. Of course I'll love you."
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Post by Doll on Oct 18, 2010 22:12:31 GMT -5
"Rules," she repeated, why were there rules as to what she had to do while pregnant? But then again, this was Spot. Doll smiled at the first rule, and but scowled when he said she couldn't interupt him. So, she waited until he was over, and said, "I reserve the right to be stubborn, I'll just try to not be as stubborn as... much. And if we're gonna go get hot chocolate, can we go now? I REALLY crave it. Like, right now, and if I dont get any... I might rip someone's head off right now."
She wasn't quite joking. Thankfully, though, she had a few plenty of baggy shirts she could wear, and hopefully be able to sell as long as she possibly could. Doll wasn't one to let Spot do all the work for himself, well, as much as she could, that is. It was hard to keep Spot from doing what he wanted to do. Smiling, she added, "It's good to see you smile. I love it, and dont laugh! I'm gonna be pregnant and that makes people look fat! I was just asking if you wouldn't mind me bein fat!"
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