The bird of Manhatten

Chapter 8 - in which there are cigars and dances

May 1897
Many places in Manhattan, New York City
Jacks P.O.V.

When Crutchie an' I come down from da Penthouse this mornin', we'se greeted by loud laughter. Mags' laughter ta be exact.
She's layin' on da floor of da bunk room wit' Race sittin' on top o' her, ticklin' her.
"Where?!", he asks, attackin' her again. "Where did ya hide 'em?"
"I didn't." Magpie can hardly speak. "I don't know!"
"I know, it was ya. I'll ask only this last time. Where. Is. My. Cigars?"
"I don't know! ... Ask Al! ... Please. Stop! ... I need... ta breathe! ... Please, Race. Stop it."
Needless ta say, he doesn't.
"I know, ya did it, sweetheart. Stop lyin'."
"Please!... I don't know... Promise."
"Race!", I step between 'em. "Let her go. When she says she didn't, she didn't."
He sighs, but stops an' stand up. I hear Mags breathin' in deeply.
"Thank ya, Jacky.", she says, still layin' on da floor.
Race leaves da room. Ta search foa Albert most likely. I help her up.
"Actually." Magpie smiles. "Actually, we hid 'em together."
"I should have known.", I sigh.
"We jus' want him ta smoke less. We don't think it's good foa him."
Silence. Somewhere downstairs, I hear Race shoutin'. Probably at Albert.
"Ya down early. Somethin' happened?"
"What? No. Everything's fine.", I answer. "An' I think da timin' was perfect, don't ya?"
Da door opens an' Mush looks in. "Ya ready, Mags?", he asks.
"Ready foa what?", I question back.
"We go dancin' now.", she answers.
"Wait. Ya two have a dance-date?"
"It's not a date, Jacky.", Mags says.
"So? What is it then?"
"Um... a meetin'?" She looks ta Mush, who shrugs.
"Was dat a question?"
"... Maybe."
I roll my eyes.
"Don't be jealous, Cowboy. Ya still my favourite brother."
"I's not jealous."
"Whatever ya say." She pecks my cheek an' vanishes wit Mush downstairs.  

Magpies P.O.V.

Later, in da evenin', we'se on our way Tibby's.
Race is chasin' Albert foa stealin' his cigars again, Romeo an' Jack is flirtin' wit every female passer-by, Skittery an' Bumlets is laughin' about somethin' Blink said an' da rest is... well, I don't really know what dey is doin'. Most likely chattin', I think.
Somewhere a street-musician is playin', barely ta be heard over da boys.
The suddenly, someone's grabbin' my arm, causin' me ta gasp. I turn... an' face a green shirt. I don't ned ta look up ta know in whose arms I practically lay.
"Mush.", I sigh. He smiles down at me. I know this smile. "Oh no. Not again. Once a day must do it."
I try ta wind my arm out his grip. Needless ta say, it doesn't work.
"Come on. Please. Jus' one?", he wants ta convince me.
I breathe in ta say somethin', but he already lays his hand on my waist. So, instead of sayin' something, I sigh an' lay my hand on his shoulder.
"I knew, ya couldn't resist me.", he says, smirkin'. I roll my eyes an' he begins ta spin me. He's an awfully good dancer, so I practically have ta do nothin'. Except for knowin' da steps of course.
I hear da others cheer an' laugh, as we dance through da quietin' street, him leadin' us skilfully, so we won't bump into someone.

By da time da music stops it's already dark an' we danced a lot more dances than 'jus' one'.
Laughin' we lean against a streetlight.
I's kinda dizzy from all da spinnin' an try ta catch my breath.
"That", I say, still heavily breathin'. "Was exhaustin'."
Mush begins ta laugh even harder. "Oh, come on, ya lazy bone. Ya jus' need more practice an' if ya wouldn't run every time, when I ask ya ta dance, ya would get it."
I roll my eyes. "Ya wish I'd dance wit' ya more."
"Of course.", he answers with a smirk. "Ya a decent dancer. Wit' a bit of practice you could be as good as me."
"Oh, got ya modest day today, huh?"