Newsies Imagines

Just Friends (Race)

You've been a newsie for a while now. This means that you've had plenty of time to get used to the roar and bustle of the streets, the multitude of footsteps constantly ricocheting off of the cobblestone streets to rattle against the countless brick facades, and the long work hours that never seem to improve. The one thing you're still not used to, though, is what to do when you have no potential customers.

There's a sweet spot in the early morning for selling papes, the time when all of the weary bankers and storekeepers have just stepped out for the morning and are in need of the morning news. After that, though, you're hit with a stalemate for an hour or so until the early birds start coming out for lunch. Luckily, you have someone to keep you from getting too bored: your best friend and fellow newsie, Race.

Race is currently leaning up against the wall of a nearby building, trying unsuccessfully to use the cover of a faded striped awning to keep him out of the sun's glare. He squints over at you, tremulously reaching out a hand in your general direction. "Help me, Y/N, I think I'm dying."

You raise an eyebrow, walking over to lean against the building beside him. "What now? You get rejected by another one of the rich girls?" Race makes a face at you. "It's nice to see that your bedside manner is as good as always. If I broke my leg and was bedridden for a month, would you just laugh at me the whole time?"

You grin. "I'd get you one of Crutchie's crutches so you could work, you freeloader. I'm not paying for your cigars, even if your leg is shattered." Race swats you with a rolled up newspaper, although his heart's not in it. "Rude. Although, to be fair, I don't pay for my cigars either. I just liberate 'em from guys at the track who wouldn't appreciate them as much as I do."

You snort. "You mean you steal cigars from guys just because they look like their ties cost more than a week of our wages?" Race shrugs. "Same thing." You shake your head, biting back a laugh, then glance up in excitement. Across the sidewalk, you see them: a potential customer. Perfect.

Race sees them a second later and straightens up too, but he's too late- you're already walking briskly over to the man, conjuring up your brightest smile. "Morning paper, mister? We've got all the best headlines today." Luckily, the man is willing to play along, and he smiles back at you as he reaches for his wallet. "And what headlines could those be?"

You pretend to think. "Robberies, stock exchange, and our special of the day, a trolley strike." The man furrows a brow. "The trolley strike is your best headline?" You wink as flirtatiously as you can. "With your generous donation, sir, we can do better tomorrow." The man laughs, to your great relief, and hands you a few more coins than strictly necessary. "I like the sound of that."

You hand the man his pape and walk back to Race, unable to hide a grin at the sight of the exasperated look on his face. Race pitches his voice up an octave in a terrible impression of you. "Nothing but our best headlines, mister. I'll make up anything for you, mister." You roll your eyes, shoving him in the shoulder. "Oh, shut it. You're just jealous that I am now one quarter richer than you."

Race dramatically widens his eyes. "Not a quarter! Whatever could I do to be as good at selling papers as you?" You grin. "I'd just try being better. It might be difficult for you, though." Race raises an eyebrow, walking a step or two closer so you can practically feel his breath dusting your cheeks. "Is that right?" You match him in smirk and tone. "Absolutely."

You're saved from a confrontation when you hear a familiar voice calling to you from a few paces away. "Hey, break it up, you two. You'll scare away the customers." Race turns at the sound of Jack Kelly's usual drawl. "Where are the customers for us to scare, Jack? We'se looking as hard as we can, and there's no one here except for us." Jack gives him a suspicious look. "Then why are you flirting with Y/N instead of trying to find them?"