i can't be T A M E D ! -open-

[drifter]

Drifter sat up in a tree in Marcus Garvey Park, fiddling with ideas in her head and trying to figure out how she'd get them to work. Obviously some of these ideas would have to be figured out without her borough's knowledge. She didn't want an internal war when she started the other one. She had plans on how she'd start it all, how she'd manage it. She could possibly select a few newsies from the lodging house and have one come with her to each borough. She'd come around, just saying 'hello', putting up the image that Harlem was on the good team and wouldn't possibly do anything to start a war. Heck, she'd even act like her treasured necklace had been stolen when everything else "went missing".

And she'd only tell those who she chose about when things were going to get done. She didn't want to ask permission from anyone about this. She was the leader, after all! This could be her small way of saying that she was in charge and what she ordered needed to be followed. But she wouldn't be doing it outright like Ghost had. She wouldn't be belittling any of the Harlem newsies for the sake of her power. She wouldn't be doing things like Ghost. Never would. Her rise to power was subtle and practically unnoticeable. The same would go for Harlem's rise to borough-dom. Few people within the operation would need to know things.

Drift leapt down from the tree and brushed herself off before walking toward the lodging house, a sort of strut in her walk, giving her a more empowered sense than her usual, almost timid, stride. Harlem, as far as she was concerned, was done being pushed aside because of their size and status. It was time for a change.

Drifter was going to make that change happen.

three-hundred-twenty-six||good muse||listening to

[Bloody Jack]

Bloody Jack was in Harlem for two reasons; she could not step foot in Brooklyn right now and she was bored. Bored beyond belief. She was tired of picking on small children, they cried. No real fear there. She was dressed in her finest light blue silk, white hat, white gloves, white high heeled shoes. She had her white sun umbrella open and over her shoulder, shading her dirty blonde curls and casting her face into shadow. Up her sleeve was a fan, a knife, and a pistol.

She walked along, her heels setting up a satisfying sound on the sidewalk. She winked at a few young men lounging by a wall, but they did not follow her. They were working, her mistake. She looked for a source of entertainment elsewhere. She saw a park. Sunny, with flowers and bees and people out for walks. She by passed it, hating the mere thought of entering that park.

She hurried along at her normal brisk pace and absently touched the scar above her right eyebrow. It was there from when she was in the Irish prison. Another prisoner had started a fight. She'd gotten the scar. The other had gotten a grave. Jacky halted a bit, watching the blonde young woman who headed toward a building near Jacky with purpose. She looked busy. Perfect.

Jacky approached the young lady and waved a hankerchief. "Excuse me, Miss?" Jacky called, her English accent adding to the effect of a rich girl lost. "I am terribly sorry, but I have seemed to lost my way. Can you help me?" She asked, simpering and dimpling sweetly. As sweet as Jacky Butler could, of course. She smiled again and watched the girl's reactions. "Are you from Harlem? You seem the type..." She said, letting it drift off. This girl was different from that silly Doll girl.

Much different. And that meant different fun for Jacky.

three-hundred-fourty-three||wonderful