Sprints sighed, running a hand over his face. Jack specifically told him that only Spot could hear about this, but he felt like he could trust Riff. Something about her just made him relax.
He looked up at Spot. “Your choice. If ya trust ‘er not ta say somethin’, she stays. If not, she goes,” he said, jutting a thumb off the boat for emphasis. If she stayed and Jack found out, he’d be dead by morning, but what fun is it without a little risk?
(you good?)
Spot locked eyes with Riff, and something seemed to pass between the two, before he nodded. "'Course I trust her. She's a blabbermouth most'a the time, but she knows when ta keep a secret." Riff rolled her eyes, making a face at Spot as she leaned against a barrel on the deck.
"Cross my heart'n' hope t' fly."
Sprints nodded and took a deep breath, starting his story. “A few weeks ago Harlem started ta creep on ou’ border. Nothin’ new, so we’s goes and tells Harlem’s leader to tell ‘is boys ta take it back a few. He agrees, an’ we’s go back to Hattan. But da next few days it happens ova and ova again, so we’s take anotha hike up ta Harlem. This time he’s a bit more hostile, telling that they’se are just messin’ around an’ ta mind our own business.” he swallowed, and continued, voice cracking. “Same thing happens next few days, an’ we’s go up ta Harlem a third time. We’s don’t even get half ways through before we’s were taken out. They’se keep on stealin our boy’s spots. One of ‘em stole Sammie’s and he tried ta get it back, but uh,” Sprints looked down for a second before continuing, “He got soaked. Couldn’t work for a few days. It gets worse e’ryday, so we’s need Brooklyn’s help to push ‘em back.” He finished softly, tightly gripping the side of the boat.
Riff had, at some point, moved to perching on the barrel with oddly effortless balance, considering the rocking of the boat in the water, but looked about to jump down and punch someone as Sprints finished talking. She almost looked scary. Knowing what losing even a day's work meant for someone out on the streets, the news filled her with anger, but the reminder that she'd only make things worse on her own kept her where she was. For now.
Spot, however, didn't let too much emotion show. "So you's is tellin' me, ya want me ta send my boys out t' bust a few heads? These Harlem newsies are givin' ya a run for your money, I don' exactly want my boys outta commission too."
Sprints shook is head wildly, waving his hands. “No, no! We’s meeting them one more time, tomorrow at 5. We’s like Brooklyn ta join us, if you’se agree ta,” he cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit of his. Glancing at Riff, he almost startled on how scary she seemed. She looked as she was heading off to war, leading the charge.
Spot studied him for a moment, before looking to Riff. Just like earlier, something seemed to pass between them without them needing to speak, before he turned back to Sprints. "Ya got us on your side. Fer now."
(aw man I'm way late. Mind if I stalk?)
(go ahead!)
Sprints didn’t care to hide the relief on his face. Jacks gonna be so happy when I’s tell ‘im. “Thank ya, I’s can’t tell ya hows much this means ta Hattan.” he said, tipping his cap to the leader of Brooklyn. He felt like he was forgetting something still, but he put it in the back of his mind.
Spot waved a hand, before crossing his arms over his chest. “Harlem takes o’er Hattan turf, they’re gonna keep movin’. Everythin’ll be thrown knees o’er head, ‘n it’s only a matter o’ time ‘fore it reaches us.”
Sprints nodded, understanding completely. Glancing up at the sky, he saw it was dusk, the sun setting quickly. “Well, I’s better head back ta Hattan,” he tipped his hat once again before walking off the boat, giving Riff one last glance. “Thank you’se again!” He only hoped he didn’t get jumped on the way home.
“Ey kid! Need someone t’ accompany ya back?” Spot called, leaning over the side of the boat somewhat and gesturing to Riff, who had hopped off the barrel and was stretching her arms up as though that would help dispel the anger in her veins.
Sprints paused in his step for a moment, throwing the idea around in his head for a second before turning around. “Sure! I’s’ll enjoy ta company!” he called back, leaning against the light post.
“Ya heard the boy, Riff. Go keep ‘im outta trouble!” Spot nudged Riff, who managed a snort.
She took the less safe way off the boat, making the jump and landing in a crouch that she easily straightened out of. “A’ight, gotta gotcha back ‘fore dark hits. Tha’s when the nastier fellas come ou’ t’ play.”