This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid

29 | Counting Days | David

So guess what! We're back to Race and David's perspective! Which means, it may be slow, but it's a lot less angsty. (Nothing says bonding time than being locked up in an unfamiliar prison together! Haha). So pretty much, Spot and Jack are "we miss them so much. I hope they're okay" and Race and David are just like "we're here, we're queer...wonder if our friends are near" haha. Anyway. Enjoy! :) 

"You really think countin' days will help us?" Race asks David, curious.

"It's keeping me sane," David replies as he draws another tally mark.

"Ya know that marks the fourth day we've been here."

"Yeah, I know. They'll find us soon. I know it."

Race snorts. "You're putting a lot of faith in them."

David stops. "Well, yes. Aren't you? You want to see them again, right?"

"Well, yeah," Race responds. "But I also don't want them to find us."

"Why not?"

"I'm scared of what the Delanceys might do to them," Race admits. "We know we're the bait for Jack and Spot, to lure them here. The Delanceys want somethin', and I don't know exactly what, but it's gotta be big, that's for sure."

David doesn't know how to answer. "It'll get better, I promise."

Race rolls his eyes. "I hope it's soon. And by better, I hope you're talking about when I get food in this empty stomach of mine." As if to prove a point, Race's stomach growls loudly. "Hear that? That's the sound of no food since...day one? Food sounds nice." He pauses. "Well. That, or I finally get a permanent box at Sheepshead Races."

David sighs. "That's  what's on your mind?"

"Ya know, when we get outta here, I will be gettin' a permanent box at Sheepshead Races," Race thinks aloud. "As compensation for all this."

David chuckles and lets out a good natured exasperated sigh. "You and your gambling."

"Hey, it's who I am," Race defends himself. "Ya know, we have nicknames for more than just sporting a fancy new title."

"Oh yeah, fancy."

"You don't think they're fancy?"

"I didn't say that."

"Ya kinda did." 

"I meant-"

"You don't think our nicknames are sophisticated enough, do you?"

"I--"

"Well guess what! We ain't much higher up in the world than the common rat. We'se all the same to them rich folks. And guess what? We don't care about their world. Nicknames are an escape from the names given by parents who ain't here to look after us no more. Nicknames don't mean much to those above us, but they're somethin' to us. We don't own much, but they can't take away our own names away from us. Even if no one'll call us by 'em, they're still ours."

David was not expecting any of that. As he was not expecting that, he has no retort prepared to counter that, or belittle or diminish it for that matter. He never thought of nicknames that way.

"When did you get your nickname, Race?" he asks instead.

"When I first became a newsie five years ago, I went into Brooklyn one day," Race tells his story, "and I sold at Sheepshead, and gambled a little bit too."

"Wait weren't you only ten then?" At least, David is pretty sure Race is fifteen.

"Got a problem with a ten year old beginning to gamble?"