NeuroQueersies ~ The Diverse Story of the Newsies' Strike

Chapter 12 ~ The Decline

Ah, I see how it is. A creative title haha.

I mean, not really, but still. This is the chapter where everything starts going downhill. (Starts is a key word).

This ... shouldn't be too long?? But you never know haha.

I'm sorry for the long-ish paragraph that comes up after Spot's iconic line. Sorry in advance. It makes more sense in my head and I thought it would be funny to finally write it down, because I think it every time I watch 92sies.

Also there is gonna be a semi-controversial/Schrödinger's Canon (I'm coining that term if no one else has haha) moment brought up briefly ... you'll understand when you get there.

Anyway.

Enjoy! :)

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Warning: transphobia :(

"All rise, court is now in session. Judge E. A. Monaham presiding."

All the newsies are tired, hungry, and would rather be anywhere else than here in this court room.

"Are any of you represented by the council?" the judge asks everyone.

Spot and Race in the front of the group, acting as leaders, turn around, trying to find someone who fits the description. Except everyone else behind them is turning around too. "Council? What's a council?" is muttered from somewhere in the back.

"That settles that, then." The judge looks at them with disdain in his cold unusually ice blue eyes.

"Your honor, I object," Spot interjects.

The judge eyes him. "On what grounds?"

Spot looks directly up instead of at the judge, defiance and pride in his expression. "On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor."

And now that gets everyone around him to laugh. 

Race especially, who finds it hilarious. 

He doubles over behind Spot's shoulder. As everyone is still laughing around him, he looks up at Spot, shaking his head, and wheezes out something along the lines of no no, that's not what he meant, because yes, "on what grounds" could mean literal grounds, but even Race knows that's not the case, and Spot raises his eyebrows, smiling because he can't help it, with a little it's not? responded to by Race shaking his head, no, causing Spot to laugh, oh, and then Race doubles over again laughing; the whole exchange to quiet for anyone else to hear.

It takes a good minute, but finally, everyone stops laughing, and the judge can continue this joke of a trial that absolutely no one is taking seriously.

"I fine each and everyone one of you five dollars," the judge continues on emotionlessly, "or five weeks of confinement in the House of Refuge."

All the newsies visibly react, all of them repeating five dollars? angrily.

"Five dollars?!" Race answers incredulously. "Your honor, we don't got five dollars. We don't even got five cents." He looks down for a brief moment. Spot is watching his face intently. "Now, how's 'bout I roll ya for it, double or nothin'?" he looks up again and smirks, tongue flicking out and in. He gets everyone around him to laugh again.

He's only doing what he can to save them all from sinking into despair.

(Also, he wants to gamble--he hasn't since before they went on strike.)