In Between 'Hattan and Brooklyn || A Sprace Story

Chapter 2 - Race's Relationship with Brooklyn

- Chapter 2 - The 'Fallen Angel' in Between Manhattan and Brooklyn -
No Warnings
Third Person POV

Race walks to the Brooklyn entrance.

Rock looks up at him. "Hey, Racer." He greets with a small smirk.

"Calm yourself." Race rolls his eyes. "I'm not here with a message for Spot." He tells Rock.

"Then, why are you here?" Rock asks, an eyebrow raised.

"A message from Specs and Jack, and technically me as well, to Skittery and from Lucky to Tumbler." Race explains.

"And you say you aren't the messenger of Manhattan." Switch mutters with a scoff.

Race rolls his eyes. "I'm not." He responds. "We don't have a messenger. I just do it because it's my job as Jack's second." He reminds them.

He said that every time.

"You don't do it when you're hurt." Catch, another Brooklyn Newsie, points out. "Or, you shouldn't." He mutters.

"That doesn't happen too often." Race responds, turning to face him as he lied through his teeth.

The three boys start laughing.

"Really?" Race nods. "Then, show us your most recent injury." Catch tells Race.

Race stares at him. "Uh, no." He responds stubbornly.

Catch smirks at the challenge. "Then, you must be lying and have a new injury, so I'll go get Cloth and Spot." He tells Race, turning to walk away.

"No!" Race shouts, before immediately mentally facepalming. "I'll show you," he mutters in annoyance.

Catch turns back around, his smirk only growing.

Race rolls his eyes at the older Brooklyn boy, pulling up his flannel sleeve to reveal a newly bandaged bruise.

Rock shoots Race a smirk as well.

Race rolls his eyes. "I didn't come here to get attacked." He mutters.

"Racer!" Someone exclaims, wrapping their arms around him from behind.

"Hi," Race breathes out, getting squished. "DD."

DD chuckles, putting him down.

Race catches his breath, having almost just gotten squeezed to death.

Rock and Switch let Race through.

Race walks down the dock to where Spot's perch was.

Thankfully for him, Spot wasn't there.

"Well," Ace, Spot's Second, starts with a smirk. "If it ain't the Fallen Angel of Manhattan and Brooklyn." He states.

Race rolls his eyes.

They spit-shake.

"How are you doing, Racer?" Ace asks him.

"Fine." Race answers nonchalantly. "You?" He asks.

Ace steals a look at Smokes, before smiling. "Just swell." He answers, turning back to Race.

Race smirks a bit to himself.

"Now..." Race starts, remembering why he came here. He cups his hands out his mouth, turning to face the water. "Skittles!" He shouts.

"Dear God..." he heard Skittery mumble. "It's a Manhattan Newsie."

"Newsies hate me today." Race mutters, his hands dropping to his side.

Ace chuckles.

Race walks over to Skittery, who's arms rested on the dock, holding him up as he floated in the water, Waves next to him.