NEWSIES: The Ultimate Modern AU

How AC came to be

When they arrived back at the warehouse, Weasel was waiting for them pissed and proud; just as Jack had predicted. They all bowed their heads, not in shame but to avoid eye contact. The death stare was radiated and burned the back of their necks. Race pushed Jack forwards to explain, which resulted in a dirty look from Jack back at him.

His explanation was rather pointless, but they all knew Weasel wouldn't really apply punishment. Years of employment and not a single one of them had been fired yet. Shocking. "Just hurry up, get on with it I don't want to deal with you anyway." He brushed them off.
They continued their day still in good spirits from their earlier reuniting.

~~~~

Considering that the evening was ripe with life, Jack felt oddly alone as he made his daily commute to Bottle Alley for Jimothee's food. It wasn't called Bottle Alley for no reason, sometimes the other Newsies would gather there for sling shot competitions. A bit old fashioned but they weren't called 'newsies' for no reason. Jack and his mates all delivered mail, the Brooklyn boys made the news basically, the Bronx delivered actual papers, Woodside delivered groceries. It was a little community they had amongst themselves, and although none of them had ever read a paper in their life, they still treasured the name.

A new line of empty bottles were aligned on the top of a window sill, practically waiting to be smashed. If Mush was there he'd shoot them down with no hesitation. On one of the walls of the alleyway was a table filled with tallies. Brooklyn was in the lead by at least twenty, Bronx in second and then Manhattan only slightly behind. At that point Jack wondered why Woodside even competed considering they only had five winnings within the three years of their weekly games. It was a wonder how the cops hadn't got to them yet, it was always a loud mess. Cheering, glass shattering everywhere, loud bangs off graffiti coated brick walls as marbles ricochet off them.

Perhaps they should have broken a window by now, but they hadn't. Elmer almost did the previous year when one of the Brooklyn Boys snuck up behind him as he began to aim for one of the top bottles. Spot then took the chance to quickly score the bottle. Race was torn whether to cheer for his boyfriend or be pissed at the cheaters. His face was priceless.

Jack laughed to himself thinking back to the confused Race that day.

Going through the dumpster, the mangy cat came back. It was now a ritual; go get Jimothee food, feed the cat and it's kittens, go home. The kittens had grown to around the size of a football; of corse Jack didn't really keep track of them, but he thought back to their first day and had a brain lag as he remembered how tiny they once were. Crazy how time could fly so quick.

Work had been tiring earlier, and his legs were really starting to feel it on the way back home. Couches, lamps, tables and chairs, Miss Medda obviously went all out with her furnishings. It was a wonder how she'd ended up in the same neighbourhood. Perhaps it was fate, or maybe it was just a strike of luck. Regardless of the changes, Jack was grateful to have her back in his life. As he approached his street, he stopped and looked down the long road which was the route to 73rd, Medda's street. Should he go see her? He considered it, looking up at the street lights. Perhaps he was being too clingy, like a pesky fly that wouldn't leave her alone.

He stood on the pathway for a solid three minutes before deciding the better option of heading home as the turtle would be getting hungry for his dinner.

Jack put the scraps in the pasta dish and then handed out a few apples and oranges he'd collected. The dumpster wasn't hygienic but they sure were eating healthier than ever before. As they ate their fruit, they watched Jimothee as always, mesmerised by his presence... and the pasta dish.

"We need to get him a better home. He cant stay in that dish." Race began.
"What do you mean?" Albert looked at him in denial as the pasta dish had seemed like the perfect habitat solution.
"Well it's Spots dish and him and the Brooklyn Boys was going to have their Pasta Sunday this week and- well he needs his dish back!" The boys all gave each other glares, none of them wanted to piss off Spot.

"Well can't mr Alpha Chihuahua get it back himself?" Elmer asked. The boys snickered at their clever nickname which they had given Spot. It only happened when one of them connected how although he was small and seemingly unthreatening, Spot Collin had an attitude that was ready to attack at any moment. He was also an alpha dog... so when they put two and two together they ended up with Alpha Chihuahua. Much to Race's protest, the nick name stuck and while they would never say it to his face, the man was now compared to as a pocket dog, or for shorter terms, AC.

"No dead ass. He wants his pasta tray back." Race sighed.
"Fine, we'll figure something out. Can't you charm him to hold on until we get Jimothee sorted? We can't just keep the turtle in the kitchen sink!"
"Fine, but don't come knockin' on my door when he comes and gets it himself."

The boys shivered at the thought of Spot knocking on their door in rage. Of corse Race watched them in silence consider their fate until Albert broke the silence. "Pasta Sunday? What's on the menu?"