Riff slowed her pace just enough to fall back into place next to Sprints, shouting a not-so-nice string of words in response to the sailor that had bumped into him. Once he was out of sight, she wrinkled her nose, nudging the newsie next to her. "Ya don' wanna apologize down here. Not without real good reason."
“But I’s-“ Sprints shook his head and took a deep breath. “Okay,” He knew that each city had its own set of traditions or ordeals, but keeping track of them all made his head hurt. It was better to be nice all the time and hope for the best. “We near Brooklyn?”
"Uh huh." Riff nodded, her eyes scanning the passerby and alleyways with an oddly sharp gaze, one that made it obvious not much got past her. After a moment, she tapped Sprints' shoulder to let him know she was changing direction, and turned down another street, onto the street that lined the water and attached the docks to land.
Sprints followed Riff, not bothering to memorize where they went. He trusted RIff enough not to kidnap him for some illegal experiment. As he watched Riff, he compared her gaze to a cats. Always watching, tense, and ready to strike.
As Riff led Sprints through the bustle of workers, fishermen, and people wishing sailors a safe journey, a grin suddenly lit up her face. She reached out, popping none other than Spot Conlon on the back of the head as she passed him, snickering.
“Wait, ain’t that Spottie?” he asked, peering back over his shoulder. If what she said about her and Spot being like brother and sister was true, then it was perfectly fine that she hit him. If not? Well, running was one of Sprints’ strengths anyways.
Whatever she'd been about to say in answer was cut off suddenly as her hat was lifted from her head, and then used to swat her once. "If you're goin'ta hit a fella, at least have a bit o' pride abou' it. This that 'attan boy?"
“I’s guess Spot does have eyes everywhere, since you’se the only Brooklyn newsie I’s met yet,” Sprints playfully bumped his shoulder against Riff’s, then switched his gaze to Spot’s. “I’s Sprints.”
"Spot, but I'd be willin' t' bet ya knew that." Spot said, giving Sprints a nod, though his eyes flickered between Riff and the Manhattan newsie. "Some news you's is bringin', for sure."
“And I’s rather share it inside. I’s come to knows that the walls have ears,” Sprints said, lowering his voice. If everyone knew what was going on, then it would be safe to say there’d be a collection of angry newsies. And a collection of angry newsies was never good for the group in trouble.
"Carpe Diem." Riff said, snapping her fingers. At Spot's look, she motioned to the ships docked along the wharf. "'S a small fishin' boat. I happen t' know the owner, and he ain't out till next week. Boat's all yours t' chat."
“That’s good wit me,” Sprints nodded, waiting for Spot’s agreement. He had never been on a boat before, and he really hoped he wasn’t seasick. Puking in front of Brooklyn’s leader was not on his to do list.
(hey, weird question, but do you ship sprace? and if is, do you want to maybe incorporate that into the story?)
((Tbh, I was only vaguely aware of that ship, but hells yeah))
"Tha's our Riff-Raff, always there t' save the day." Spot said with a grin, reaching out to punch Riff's shoulder.
"Somebody's gotta, y'all can' do it yourselves." Riff shot back, nudging Sprints' shoulder with her own to let him know to keep up as she moved past Spot. One second, her hat was in his hand, and the next, it was on her head, with Spot looking slightly confused as he followed her.
(okay! i watched the newsies musical put on by our local theatre group, so now i’m newly resubmerged in the fandom lol)
Sprints followed Spot and Riff, slightly behind but still keeping up pretty well. He caught the movement of her stealing her hat back, a small smile slipping on his face. Making a reminder in his head about Riff’s quick fingers, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, rubbing a penny between his fingers.
"Stealin' ain't very lady-like." Spot said, making a face as he nudged Riff.
"You stole first, I'm jus' followin' your example." Riff shot back, elbowing him gently. "Anyways, boat's just up this-a-way. Keep ya away from pryin' ears."
Sprints nodded, and started to whistle a tune he heard on the radio. Observing the people around him, he fell into thought. Riff and Spot sure are like brother and sister. They reminded him of when he and Race were little, just eight or nine years old.
It didn't take more than two minutes for Riff to turn, confidently slipping along a dock before stopping. She gestured to a small fishing vessel, the words Carpe Diem painted in flowery and faded blue paint on the side. "Here she is."
Sprints looked at the boat swaying slightly in the water, a mixed expression on his face. He had never actually seen a boat before, only in the papes. “So we’s just climb up on ‘er,?” he asked.
"I could always throw ya up." Riff offered teasingly, before jumping the small distance between the boat and the dock, her hands finding the edge of the boat and gripping it to keep from falling. She pulled herself up over the side easily, and disappeared for a moment before a short board was making it's way over the side, bridging the gap. "Here. Try not t' fall, you two." She called, earning a playful 'If I do, I'm comin' back t' haunt ya' from Spot.
Sprints laughed nervously, before quickly scaling the small board and landing beside Riff on the boat. “In case of a freak storm, I’s feels like this is a great time t’ mention I’s can’t swim,” he said, brushing off his clothes while a light pink stained his cheeks. There was just no time for him to learn how to swim; it was always sell sell sell then he’d be too wiped out at the end of the day to even try to make it to Brooklyn. That was a few years back, but now he figured it was too late to try to learn.
"Don' worry." Riff said, lightly punching his shoulder as she watched Spot make his way up the board, coming close to falling once. "I'll save ya. We're docked though, so no storm's gonna knock her out that easy." She'd learned to swim entirely through necessity, a backup for getting out of shit situations.
Sprints threw back his head dramatically, a hand on his forehead as he put the other on her shoulder. “Oh, my ‘ero! How will I’s ever repay youse?” his voice had raised a few octaves, and the cracks in his voice stood out more than ever.
Riff snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Indentured servitude. A nice cigar'll do too." She said, crossing her arms over her chest with a laugh. The wind coming off the water blew her hair around, and she very quickly decided on pulling it back and shoving it all under her cap. "Ya wouldn' be the first unlucky fella who's found himself needin' me t' save him ou' here."
“Youse crazy if ya think I’s have an extra cigar layin’ ‘round,” Sprints scoffed, giving her a look. “Youse have ta talk ta Racer ‘bout that one.” It was a running joke in the Manhattan newsie gang that he sold his mother for a box of Coronas. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, disturbing his cap. “But I’s still gotta tell Spot about..” his voice lowered. “…Harlem.”
"If I saved your life, ya'd find one." Riff said surely, flicking her eyebrows up playfully. The mood slightly sobered as he continued, but the grin she wore never faltered. It was a staple of hers, a way to keep spirits up best she could. "You two want me outta here, then?" She asked, jerking a thumb back towards the dock. While she absolutely wanted to be right there in the middle of things, she understood the need for privacy sometimes.
"Do we?" Spot raised an eyebrow at Sprints, one thumb hooked in a belt loop, and his other hand resting on the cane he'd stubbornly decided to bring up onto the boat.