A/n- really quick- yes it's been 7 months and I apologize for my disappearance- but these two are still very relevant in my mind (there's more to come I swear)
<3
Spot felt stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. He cursed himself as he stormed into the lodging house. The king had indirectly made a spectacle of himself as he stormed up the steps, presumably to his room.
"What's up with him?" York grunted, his face hidden behind some playing cards. Hotshot looked up from his play. Her eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. "Not sure. Might have to do with that Racer that keeps comin' here's." Hotshot shrugged as she flipped a coin into the pot.
"You mean Racetrack?" Myron spoke up, Hotshot nodded. "Oh yeah I know em'" Myron crossed his arms. Graves nodded along with everyone as he examined his cards. York eyed everyone at the table.
"You's all met blue?" York raised an eyebrow. Everyone nodded, York looked surprised. Well as surprised as he could look with that clunky eye patch.
"Yeah he ain't a bad guy." Graves said, rolling his shoulder. York scoffed, Hotshot poked her head up as he scanned York's facial expression.
"Ye', he's at the sheepshead almost every day now." Bart added, causing York's eye to widen. "Blue's been trespassin' all this time? Why ain't none of you's told me?! Or boss?!" York asked, his voice raising in volume by the minute. Hotshot rolled her eyes.
"Calm down big boy, no need for ya' to soak em' again." Hotshot drawled sarcastically. "Boss has been making us watch 'Blue' for the las' month so he doesn't do anything stupid, like get another concussion." Hotshot put the nickname Blue in air quotes, glaring at the other. York slammed a fist against the table, making the slowly growing money pot shift. He glared at Hotshot, leaving the table in a frozen standstill.
"Why hasn't he soaked em' yet." York growled, Hotshot glanced around the table. She seemed completely unfazed by York's tough talk and smokers voice. Did this dude smoke seventeen cigarettes a day? Can he even count to seventeen? Okay that was a little harsh. Hotshot leaned back in his chair, letting it tip back just a bit.
"I dunno, musta' made some deal with Jack to let him sell on our turf." Hotshot shrugged, her stomach sunk as she knew he lied straight to his somewhat families face. This seemed to calm York down, which inherently calmed everyone at the poker tables nerves.
Hotshot went all in, getting a few quizzical looks from a couple of the boys at the table. That didn't seem to bother her at all. Hotshot pushed out of his chair and without saying anything quit the poker game. She collected the money he won in that short time period.
"I'll go check on boss." She said, turning on his heel and made the climb up to the King's room.
"Does Hotshot always have a death sentence?" Graves asked as soon as Hotshot was out of view. "Eh, he's the only one to ever knock some sense into Spot." Bart shrugged, betting a way too high during his play.
-
*July 1899*
Race wasn't immediately convinced they should strike. It all happened so fast and everyone was so excited.. all it took was the support of his peers and he was on board.
Now suddenly here Race was, stepping onto molten lava that he once thought was solid ground. A place he could sell without a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd been nervous to come back to Brooklyn ever since that fateful June afternoon. His heart almost felt like it was fluttering when they began walking towards the dock.
Jack had his usual calm smirking expression on his face, which completely felt like an impossible thing to Race.
Being calm, yeah as if.
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Kings Racetrack- A Sprace fanfic
Fanfiction"Race had been to Brooklyn before. More times than he could count on his fingers. He'd sold at the Sheepshead Races, gambled at the Sheepshead. But who was Race if he didn't try and antagonize one of Spots boys.." Racetrack Higgins, a Manhattan news...
