Newsies Imagines

Visits to Brooklyn (Spot)

You collapse gratefully on top of a nearby chair, one that's worn out and faded from years of wear. You managed to sell all of your papes early, so you have the rest of the day to relax and hang around with the rest of your friends.

A knock sounds at the door, distracting you from your tired reverie. Your brother, Jack Kelly, peeks his head around the open door. "Hey, Jack! How were the papes? Sell any today?" He grins. "As good as always. Say, Y/N, have you sold all your papes yet? I need you to do a favor for me." You frown at him. "And here I thought you were just here to talk to me. No, you want me to do something for you."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's just a small favor, it won't take that long. Will you do it?" You lean forward. "Are you going to tell me what it is before I say yes?" Jack mumbles something under his breath about how if you knew what it was, you probably wouldn't say yes. You throw up your hands in mock exasperation. "Fine, I'll do your little favor. What is it, you want me to sell some papes for someone else?"

Jack folds his fingers together conspiratorially. "Well, not exactly. I was kind of hoping you would run on down to Brooklyn and tell Spot to stop sending his boys over to 'Hattan all the time." You raise your eyebrows, incredulous. "You want me to go to Brooklyn and tell Spot Conlon what to do? I thought you said this was a little favor, not something that would get me killed!"

Jack shrugs his shoulders. "Well, it's not that bad. Besides, the reason I'm sending you is because Spot can't soak you for telling him because you'se a goil. Gotta think smart, you know?" You sigh, trying to hold back a laugh. "You are an awful brother, you know. Awful." Jack looks at you hopefully. "Does that mean you'll do it?" You glare at him, and he beams. "Yes, I'll do it. But know that if I don't come back my death is on your hands."

You stretch with a sigh, and stand up. Jack grins wickedly at you. "I knew you'd do it! Remember, we're counting on you." As you head out of the room, you wave a hand at him without looking back. "Yes, you are. Never forget it."

The bright sunshine of the Manhattan afternoon puts a smile on your face despite the tough task ahead of you. As you stroll casually down the city streets, weaving your way slowly towards Brooklyn, you can't help but think about just what your brother has asked you to do. Complain to Spot Conlon that his boys are on your turf?

You've never met the King of Brooklyn yourself, only seen him from across a crowded room at some newsie gathering or other. You have, however, had plenty of time to hear all about him, from his penchant for getting into a fistfight with someone who looks at him wrong or running Brooklyn with a famously iron fist. Yeah, this visit won't exactly be a walk in the park.

A short while later, you've crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge and you are officially in Spot Conlon's territory. You put on a cool, emotionless face and continue on your way. As you get closer to the Brooklyn lodging house, you notice that you're no longer alone. A few newsboys have watched you arrive and started to follow you, and your shadows only grow in number the farther you head into Brooklyn territory.

You're almost across the street from the lodging house when the Brooklyn newsboys finally make their move. One of the boys, who appears to be at least ten inches taller than you, stands in front of you, arms folded menacingly across his chest. "What's a Manhattan newsie doing in Brooklyn?" You return his glare. "I'm here to speak to Spot Conlon. I was sent by Jack."

The Brooklyn newsie doesn't seem interested in this. "If Jack Kelly wants to talk to us, he should've come himself. Go back to 'Hattan- we don't want goils around here." Ok, that's going too far. Your fist moves faster than you can blink, and before you know it, the tall newsie is lying crumpled on the ground in front of you, clutching a nose that appears to be broken.