a purposeful past | s.s

Chapter One

Trigger warnings: Uh... frying pan. Also a very determined ENTJ.

There wasn't much on her mind at the time when Domino made her way through the streets of lower Manhattan, beloved frying pan in hand.

Nothing on her mind, except for one determined goal.

The roads were bustling with activity, swarming with people and trolleys and whatnot, folks gazing at her warily as she stormed ahead.  That was fine. She had no reason to stay inconspicuous, anyway. A chill passed through her as a cool breeze drifted by. Although there were little to no trees to indicate the change of season, it was prominent enough by the sharp smelling air and shorter days.

She was glad it was now fall. Her and the sun had never mixed very well.

She felt no fear when she thought of her destination. Her mission. She'd gone too long without him, and he deserved to know. They all did. But him especially.

It wasn't long before she arrived. She knew he would be there. She'd been watching his daily schedule for days on end. In a good and respectful way, of course. She'd had her reasons.

The building was an old thing, looking worn and outdated, but was somehow brought to life by the loud and boisterous voices echoing inside. She knew all that would change before long. Domino only allowed herself one last breath of preparation before she swung open the door to the newsies lodging house.

Shocked yells from some of the newsies hit her ears, yet she paid them no mind as she headed straight for the stunned boy at the back of the room and quickly took him in.

Specs.

No amount of preparation could have quelled the feeling of nervousness in her stomach at the sight of him up close, right before her.

"I need ya ta come wit me," Domino ordered, grabbing his wrist and hauling him up.

"Ya can't make me go anywhere," the boy snarled, ripping his arm from her grasp.

She tilted her head. "Oh, really?"

Before he could reply, she twirled her frying pan around in her hand and swung it back, connecting it with the back of his head. In less than a second, he was crumpled over his chair, lost to the world.

As the newsies were staring at her with a mixture of horror and rage, in stormed a girl, momentarily blinded by a fit of anger that only she could comprehend. "A senseless madman, dat's what he is!" she roared, throwing the bag she was carrying aside. "Tried ta ask him if there was anythin' he knew, but he was too outta it ta tell me a thing-!"

It was at that moment the girl - Lane - noticed Domino standing over the unconscious boy with a frying pan in hand. Her features soon took on the same traits as her fellow associates.

"Look, I know dis looks bad, but..." Domino lowered the pan slightly. "I have candy?"

About ten minutes had passed before Specs had finally woken up from where she'd dumped him behind a tree. It'd been a bit cruel, she would've
admitted, but at least it was a nice tree.

"I don't even know ya, 'n yer already me
least favourite person."

She sighed. Of all the things he could've greeted her with. "Dis conversation needed ta happen, 'n I wanted privacy. I thought ya woulda appreciated it, too."

He didn't reply, and she watched as he sat up and gently felt around the back of his head.

"I didn't hit ya hard enough ta leave a bump."

"Ise checkin' fa blood," he snarled back at her, eyeing the tips of his fingers for the red substance.

"Like I said," Domino told him. "I didn't hit ya dat hard."