Dust Yourself Off

stringstaylor:

Strings knew someone who liked his face, but he kept his mouth closed. He already brought her up once and he refused to do it again. Instead, he took the comb and ran it through his hair. It didn’t want to stay down, but he wasn’t about to slick it like he was taking his girl to the theatre. He took a glance in the mirror and sighed. That’s as good as it was going to get.

“Should we tell Patch, then?” Strings said as he stuck his hat in his back pocket. “I think he oughta be a part of it too, you know. We’re a band of brothers, and I think Patch would get upset if we go without him.”

“I don’t think we should upset him by tellin’ him Sticks is back in the first place.” Rat muttered, but he didn’t ultimately disagree. Patch had been close with Sticks when he’d bothered to be one of them–it would only hurt worse if Patch didn’t get his explanation, too.

“…we’ll swing by the theatre sometime tomorrow. I dunno how late I’ll be working, but..if you think he needs to know, we’ll tell him. Three musketeers, yeah?”

stringstaylor

“They keeping you at the docks late? Are they bringing a good shipment of fish in? Think you can switch my order with Mr. Sweeney’s? I think he steals the good fish for his own shop because we’re getting all the business.” Strings was slowly feeling more comfortable knowing that Rat will be at his side. It was Patch that he was more worried about.Patch was unpredictable, so he may be happy to see Sticks, angry at Sticks and attack him with a cavalry sword, or run away. The latter would be the worse.

“Do you think we should bring something for Patch to calm him down, just in case?” Strings asked as he glanced over at the clock. He was running a little late, but Juni would understand after he told her. Besides, he had to gather the cats into the basket on his bicycle.

Of course he was going to tell her. He didn’t keep anything from Juni, and she was sure to pry it out of him even if he wanted to keep it a secret. All she had to do was look at him with her with her curious eyes and he would spill it. She had to be a witch. A good witch, but a witch.

“I’ll see what I can do, mate...” Rat muttered, pulling the meat from his eye to glance it over, before flipping it and pressing that side against the bruise. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep up this particular charade for too long--Strings was too concerned about him, too observant about him these days for him to be kept in the dark. Sooner or later, he was going to have to fess up...

But that was for Future Rat to be concerned about.

He lifted a shoulder, trying not to wince. “We’ll tell ‘im and say he can wear one part of his armor--he feels better in it. One piece of it probably won’t get him thrown out, yeah? Just have to make sure he doesn’t bring any blunt objects.”

Rat didn’t miss Strings glancing at the clock, and waved toward the door. “Get goin’, I know you don’t wanna keep the Juni-bird waiting. Will you--” He began, then seemed to think better of it. He knew Biddy was better off without him, he didn’t need Strings to report back the same news. “Nevermind. Off you get.”

stringstaylor:

Strings knew someone who liked his face, but he kept his mouth closed. He already brought her up once and he refused to do it again. Instead, he took the comb and ran it through his hair. It didn’t want to stay down, but he wasn’t about to slick it like he was taking his girl to the theatre. He took a glance in the mirror and sighed. That’s as good as it was going to get.

“Should we tell Patch, then?” Strings said as he stuck his hat in his back pocket. “I think he oughta be a part of it too, you know. We’re a band of brothers, and I think Patch would get upset if we go without him.”

“I don’t think we should upset him by tellin’ him Sticks is back in the first place.” Rat muttered, but he didn’t ultimately disagree. Patch had been close with Sticks when he’d bothered to be one of them--it would only hurt worse if Patch didn’t get his explanation, too.

“...we’ll swing by the theatre sometime tomorrow. I dunno how late I’ll be working, but..if you think he needs to know, we’ll tell him. Three musketeers, yeah?”

stringstaylor:

“Unless my shop moved to London…” He cleared his throat and went to their ice box. He kept meat on hand at all times not just for food, but to keep the swelling down on whatever injury Rat had at the time. He handed him a steak to place against his eye. “You can cook that later, or I can bring something back from the May’s…or you can come with me. Though I think Mrs. May would take one look at you and send you straight to the hospital.”

“He wants to meet with us.” He sat back down in his seat, rubbing his temples as he did so. Did he always had this bad of a headache? Maybe he didn’t realize it. Just the thought of meeting with Sticks again made him want to throw up. Maybe he was getting sick. He put the back of his hand against his forehead. He sure was sweaty. “What do you think? Should we?”

“Mate–don’t.” Rat said immediately. He was certain he could only handle one thing at a time, especially when they were both potentially traumatic. Handling Sticks was one thing. Handling the Mays’ boarding house? That was something entirely different.

He gladly took the steak, gesturing his thanks before plopping the hefty cut to his eye. It wasn’t a sensation he enjoyed, but he was starting to come around to it. What choice did he have?

“Do as you like.” He said finally to his friend, stubbornly shaking his head, meat and all. “I want nothin’ from the man an’ I don’t care to hear him. Let him make himself feel better, yeah? Let him. You got your life to live without him–so do I, so does Patch. He chose to go, mate. He chose it.”

“Fuck ‘im.”

stringstaylor

“Like I’d go without you.” Strings replied with a long sigh. “I think we should hear him out, give him a change to tell us why he abandoned us.” He stood up and grabbed his worn vest. He kept buttoning it up wrong and would mutter when there was an extra button on one end and an extra hole on the other.

“So what happened to you? Did you say something to make someone angry or they just didn’t like your face?” He finally got his vest buttoned correctly but now he couldn’t find his comb. Where did he put it? He had to look somewhat put together to see Juni. If he came in looking disheveled, Mrs. May would drag him to the wash room and stuff a rag in his ears.

“Nobody likes me face, mate.” Rat replied, moving to take a seat. Before he could plop down into the chair, however, he grabbed the comb from the table and extended it to his friend. Good deed done, he collapsed into the chair, and immediately regretted it. Now that he was down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up. Maybe if he fell and rolled to where he needed to go...

Frowning (pouting, really), Rat considered his options. Strings was always the one easily won-over. Temper was all but nonexistent in his friend, where Rat himself felt like it was constantly gnawing at him. It wouldn’t sit right with Strings to never see what Sticks had to say, and it was no doubt going to eat at him.

“...fine.” He muttered finally. “We’ll go, but I won’t listen. I’ll be there to glare and be stubborn while he spouts his usual horse swill. One meeting, then we’re done.”

stringstaylor:

“Unless my shop moved to London…” He cleared his throat and went to their ice box. He kept meat on hand at all times not just for food, but to keep the swelling down on whatever injury Rat had at the time. He handed him a steak to place against his eye. “You can cook that later, or I can bring something back from the May’s…or you can come with me. Though I think Mrs. May would take one look at you and send you straight to the hospital.”

“He wants to meet with us.” He sat back down in his seat, rubbing his temples as he did so. Did he always had this bad of a headache? Maybe he didn’t realize it. Just the thought of meeting with Sticks again made him want to throw up. Maybe he was getting sick. He put the back of his hand against his forehead. He sure was sweaty. “What do you think? Should we?”

“Mate--don’t.” Rat said immediately. He was certain he could only handle one thing at a time, especially when they were both potentially traumatic. Handling Sticks was one thing. Handling the Mays’ boarding house? That was something entirely different.

He gladly took the steak, gesturing his thanks before plopping the hefty cut to his eye. It wasn’t a sensation he enjoyed, but he was starting to come around to it. What choice did he have?

“Do as you like.” He said finally to his friend, stubbornly shaking his head, meat and all. “I want nothin’ from the man an’ I don’t care to hear him. Let him make himself feel better, yeah? Let him. You got your life to live without him--so do I, so does Patch. He chose to go, mate. He chose it.”

“Fuck ‘im.”

stringstaylor:

Strings had his head in his hands and didn’t budge as he heard the door open. He knew it wasn’t an intruder. Even if it was, Strings wouldn’t do a thing about it. They didn’t have much, so the intruders would be disappointed. Perhaps they would try and kill him, but maybe they would spare his life. He did look rather pitiful. He would be compliant.

The voice and awful joke confirmed that it wasn’t an intruder, so kept his head in his hands. “Rat…” He said through his fingers as he slowly dropped his hands from his face. He stared down at the wood floor, his eyes fixated on a red wine stain, or was it paint?

“Sticks is back. He came by the shop and–” He glanced up at Rat and back down. He thought that Rat look strange, but it may have been the trick of the light. He looked back up at Rat. “You look terrible! What happened?”

Well, if that wasn’t a one-two punch to the face.

“I look as terrible as I ever do, mate. Don’t pretend you’re not attracted.” He said immediately, not wanting to have the attention focus on him. Having a bloody nose and a few bruises was fairly normal at this point, he thought--it would be weird not to have them.

Sticks. That was a name they didn’t really speak in the apartment anymore. It was a sort of unspoken agreement that they simply didn’t acknowledge him. To the boys, Sticks didn’t exist anymore. To have him returned not only upset the balance of things, but left Rat further floundering for words.

How early was too early to drink?

“He ain’t back, mate.” Rat finally decided, and moved to the kitchen to peruse what laid within. He was starving. “Lad’s back in merry ol’ London, fritterin’ his life away and livin’ high. Even if he was back, doesn’t mean a damn thing to me, eh? Doesn’t mean a damn thing to any of us. We forgot the market again, didn’t we? Fuckin’ hell...”

stringstaylor

Strings sprinted to his crappy little apartment, running in and slamming the door. He was in such a shock that he couldn’t remember greeting Mr. Underhill, the shopkeeper who always stopped to ask what the next’s day special was. Indeed, he did stop and let him know that he wasn’t sure as he left early, but he did save some extra pickled pigs feet for him, extra pickled to suit his sour wife. Strings couldn’t remember the booming laugh Mr. Underhill gave in response. Hell, Strings couldn’t remember sitting on the beat up armchair, trying to catch his breath.

“Shit.” He muttered as he took off his hat and tossed it onto the floor. Strings wasn’t one to use such vulgar language, but it seemed appropriate for the situation. Sticks was back. He didn’t know how he was going to break it to Rat and how he was going to break it to Patch.

It was a slow march up the stairs to the small apartment shared with the lads, ignoring the sharp pain he had in his--well, everywhere. Everywhere had sharp pain. And he was supposed to make a career of this?

Then again, if anyone was going to make a career out of getting the spirit beat from him, it was going to be Rat Jones.

Taking a deep breath, he finally opened the apartment door, shrugging off his jacket and shuffling to hang it up with his hat. It was then that he noticed the state of his friend. “Mate, y’look like death. Somebody make fun of your beef again? I toldja to not take it too seriously, they’re just jealous...”

redsoconnor:

“You work at the docks? That could work in our favor. Are you in good standing with your boss or does he want an accident to happen to ya?” Reds asked. “Give your notice, but make sure you’re on his good side if you can.”

“Depends on the day, likely.” Rat mumbled, though he couldn’t hold that against his boss. Considering the other managers and foremen he’d worked for, he’d been treated decently. He did his best to stay on everyone’s good side.

Rat finally glanced toward the apartment window above his head, nodding slightly again. “Tomorrow, then. Thanks mate.”

There wasn’t much that was constant in Rat’s life of late. Well, that wasn’t true; everything felt like routine…and he was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, when the universe handed you something on a silver platter, it wasn’t likely to let you keep it for long. Nothing was gained easily.

It was why he wasn’t entirely shocked when the first fist collided with his face, mashing the cigarette he’d just put to his lips and knocking him on his ass.

No, he didn’t remember these men–maybe they were friends of the last guy that had stirred up trouble with him? All Rat knew was that he was tired. Tired of not being able to fight back. So, he tried.

“You didn’t read the whole thing, did you? Look, it sounds scary, but the Blue Knife Gang is family. We look out for each other. Sometimes that means doing jobs that aren’t normally in our job description. The benefits outweigh the cons, brother. No matter what happens, you and your family will be taken care of. Nobody will mess with them.” Reds replied seriously. “Which reminds me, we’re gonna need a list of kin. They don’t have to be blood related or anything, but we gotta know our extended family.” Reds didn’t mention that it wasn’t only for protection, but to let the know if Rat did die in the ring or otherwise that they knew who to tell.

“We’ll go through more tomorrow, yeah? You remember how to get to the laundry, right?”

“Mate, does it look like I read the whole thing?” Rat gestured to his swollen eye. “Lucky I see at all, let alone read the fine print, eh?” Of course, that wasn’t an excuse that would hold any water, especially with his friends.

He gave a small nod, not yet wanting to even try to think of anyone he’d want the gang to know of. Who knew what they would actually do to them? It all sounded great...a perfect sales pitch from Reds, but who was to say what would actually happen the following day, or the days even after?

What if they got a hold of Biddy?

“I remember.” He finally replied, heaving a tired sigh. “S’pose I should give notice at the docks, eh?”

redsoconnor:

“I think I’ve done pretty well. I’m not livin’ in the lap of luxury, but I have a better life here than I had in Ireland.” He turned the corner. “Don’t wanna go down that street in your state. That’s the Forty Thieves gang territory. At least, they’re trying to build up their numbers. They aren’t dangerous, and I don’t think they’re going to be. Just a bunch of kids thinkin’ they’re tough.”

He grinned. “The best thing that ever happened to me. What about you? Life get any better?”

“Instead of forty of ‘em, there’s probably about twelve, eh?” Rat attempted to joke, the idea laughable–but then again, he’d just seen what those kids could grow up to be. Nobody was laughing at that.

Rat considered the question, thinking back on what life had been like in Bolton and the Jones Zoo, as his mum liked to called it. It had been easier there; growing up in a place always makes it easier, but it hadn’t been what he needed. He’d needed to go out, explore, grow with his friends, and if his mum had anything to say about it, he’d settle down, too.

That thought felt like another sucker punch to his stomach. If he thought about it too much, it would only put him in a blacker mood than he’d started out with, and Reds–someone who likely could be a friend–didn’t need to hear his woes. It would make a better song than a story, at any rate.

“It has it’s ups and downs.” He finally replied noncommittally. “I think you stole all the luck, mate. Next bit’s mine, eh? Pinky swear.”

“More like 25.” Reds said with a small shrug. They didn’t have many weapons at their disposal, but they did have some rowdy angry members. It was their anger that made them make mistakes and become reckless. On top of their disorganization, they had no distinct leader. They had a man who said he was in charge, but he was more like a puppet to a few of the boys. “Dangerous if you can’t fight back.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s not all the luck of the Irish. I got more than my share of woes. Still do.” He cleared his throat. Reds did have an anger issue, but not as bad as Romeo. His wife had to sew him up many times and he would go a long time without seeing his children if he was banged up a lot or out of town collecting contacts. He never wanted to scare his children. “You should know that this job isn’t sunshine and roses. Once you’re in, you’re in.” He said seriously. “The only way you’re leaving is in a body bag.”

“Might’ve mentioned that before I signed in blood, eh?” Rat replied in an attempt to continue levity, though in truth, his heart dropped into his belly. It had only confirmed the concerns he’d had conversing with Romeo in the first place. This was entirely out of his element, and steadily getting worse. Would the benefits outweigh the other? Only time would tell.

Rat slowed as he neared the apartment building, and gave a cursory glance about to ensure that Strings wasn’t immediately about--he had enough to think over by himself without having to try and explain himself so soon.

“I’ll just have to mind me own and make sure to not, ah...die, I s’pose.” He rubbed at the back of his head. “...it isn’t just the boxing, then? There’s more to it.”

#;reds #redsoconnor #HE'S A SAD BOY

redsoconnor:

“I think I’ve done pretty well. I’m not livin’ in the lap of luxury, but I have a better life here than I had in Ireland.” He turned the corner. “Don’t wanna go down that street in your state. That’s the Forty Thieves gang territory. At least, they’re trying to build up their numbers. They aren’t dangerous, and I don’t think they’re going to be. Just a bunch of kids thinkin’ they’re tough.”

He grinned. “The best thing that ever happened to me. What about you? Life get any better?”

“Instead of forty of ‘em, there’s probably about twelve, eh?” Rat attempted to joke, the idea laughable--but then again, he’d just seen what those kids could grow up to be. Nobody was laughing at that.

Rat considered the question, thinking back on what life had been like in Bolton and the Jones Zoo, as his mum liked to called it. It had been easier there; growing up in a place always makes it easier, but it hadn’t been what he needed. He’d needed to go out, explore, grow with his friends, and if his mum had anything to say about it, he’d settle down, too.

That thought felt like another sucker punch to his stomach. If he thought about it too much, it would only put him in a blacker mood than he’d started out with, and Reds--someone who likely could be a friend--didn’t need to hear his woes. It would make a better song than a story, at any rate.

“It has it’s ups and downs.” He finally replied noncommittally. “I think you stole all the luck, mate. Next bit’s mine, eh? Pinky swear.”

Reds stood up along with Romeo but didn’t say a thing. “So, I take it you’ll need an escort home or perhaps you’d be willing to stay here. You’re always welcome to get mended up at my house. My wife has seen her fair share of injuries. Unfortunately I can’t guarantee the kids won’t jump on you. They should be asleep though.” Reds fixed his vest and glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s your choice, mate!”

“Ah, right, ya have kids!” It wasn’t that Rat had truly forgotten; Reds had mentioned his family as a selling point. It appeared that family was a common theme among this…group, whoever they were. He wondered idly if Reds’ family knew what he did? Hell, he didn’t know what Reds did, but he got the gist.

“I love kids–I have a little sister back in England, yeah? She had me niece before I came over, and I guess a few more boys after.” He glanced at his bandaged hands, as if he suddenly remembered that he’d been in a scrap. “…maybe after I don’t look like the dead, yeah? Best be off home. Me mates would worry.”

“I’ve got two! A boy and a girl. Hellions, me wife calls them, but I like to say that they’re just expressing themselves.” He said as he opened the door for him. “It’s best you try walking on your own, yeah? Get the muscles used to workin’ and healin’. A hot bath oughta help as well. You’re gonna need it for tomorrow.” He took out a cigarette and brought it to his lips. He took a deep inhale before exhaling smoke rings slowly.

“England? Why did you come here? Opportunity? To get mistaken for an Irish lad when clearly…” He finished his sentence with a laugh.

“Aye, what the hell is that?” Rat agreed, his voice hitching an octave in his happiness that someone apparently understood. “Just because we sound a little alike don’t mean that we’re the same. I’m from fuckin’ Bolton.” He frowned a little to himself–but really, he was pouting.

He kicked at a pebble in the street, and almost immediately regretted it as something pulled in his leg. Still, he did his best on his own, not wanting to appear weak in front of someone who was…clearly not in the same field as he was. “Opportunity.” He nodded. “Came with me lads to see what America had to offer. Everyone talks about New York, whether they love it or hate it. We came to play our music, yeah? And we do, sometimes. Not as much these days…”

He sniffed to bring himself back to the present. “What about you, then? Come with the wife, or for her?”

“It’s these goddamn Americans. They can’t tell a Irish lad from an English lad or a Scottish lad from a French lad.” He shook his head before steadying Rat. “Whoa there, Rat. We need you in tip top shape, especially for trainin’.” He kept his arm around him until he was able to balance himself.

“It’s like the news got all mangled by the time it went overseas. Land of opportunity my ass. Not hirin’ Irish or blacks for anythin’, no matter how hard we work.” He growled. It was the first time since he met Rat that he showed a side of him that wasn’t as pleasant and welcoming. His green eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. “Fuckin’ idiots.”

He cleared his throat at the thought of his wife. She was always able to calm him down. “I met me wife on the ship to America. It was love at first sight, it was. I came over with Romeo. We were childhood mates when we were growin’ up.” He didn’t say why. It wasn’t his story to tell. “Couldn’t let him go to America by himself.”

It wasn’t the first time Rat recognized how far out of his own element he was, and he knew there would always be little reminders. The hardship he experienced was because this Land of the Free hated the people who helped build the country the said they loved so much, but it would never compare to those they dragged through the mud daily.

He couldn’t protect Biddy then, but now...

“So you’re sayin’ you were hoodwinked!” Rat’s eyes widened as much as they could in their bruised state. “Bamboozled! Tricked into comin’ to America and fallin’ in love. Shame, shame, shame. Such a promisin’ future ya had, too.”

Reds stood up along with Romeo but didn’t say a thing. “So, I take it you’ll need an escort home or perhaps you’d be willing to stay here. You’re always welcome to get mended up at my house. My wife has seen her fair share of injuries. Unfortunately I can’t guarantee the kids won’t jump on you. They should be asleep though.” Reds fixed his vest and glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s your choice, mate!”

“Ah, right, ya have kids!” It wasn’t that Rat had truly forgotten; Reds had mentioned his family as a selling point. It appeared that family was a common theme among this…group, whoever they were. He wondered idly if Reds’ family knew what he did? Hell, he didn’t know what Reds did, but he got the gist.

“I love kids–I have a little sister back in England, yeah? She had me niece before I came over, and I guess a few more boys after.” He glanced at his bandaged hands, as if he suddenly remembered that he’d been in a scrap. “…maybe after I don’t look like the dead, yeah? Best be off home. Me mates would worry.”

“I’ve got two! A boy and a girl. Hellions, me wife calls them, but I like to say that they’re just expressing themselves.” He said as he opened the door for him. “It’s best you try walking on your own, yeah? Get the muscles used to workin’ and healin’. A hot bath oughta help as well. You’re gonna need it for tomorrow.” He took out a cigarette and brought it to his lips. He took a deep inhale before exhaling smoke rings slowly.

“England? Why did you come here? Opportunity? To get mistaken for an Irish lad when clearly…” He finished his sentence with a laugh.

“Aye, what the hell is that?” Rat agreed, his voice hitching an octave in his happiness that someone apparently understood. “Just because we sound a little alike don’t mean that we’re the same. I’m from fuckin’ Bolton.” He frowned a little to himself--but really, he was pouting.

He kicked at a pebble in the street, and almost immediately regretted it as something pulled in his leg. Still, he did his best on his own, not wanting to appear weak in front of someone who was...clearly not in the same field as he was. “Opportunity.” He nodded. “Came with me lads to see what America had to offer. Everyone talks about New York, whether they love it or hate it. We came to play our music, yeah? And we do, sometimes. Not as much these days...”

He sniffed to bring himself back to the present. “What about you, then? Come with the wife, or for her?”

Reds stood up along with Romeo but didn’t say a thing. “So, I take it you’ll need an escort home or perhaps you’d be willing to stay here. You’re always welcome to get mended up at my house. My wife has seen her fair share of injuries. Unfortunately I can’t guarantee the kids won’t jump on you. They should be asleep though.” Reds fixed his vest and glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s your choice, mate!”

“Ah, right, ya have kids!” It wasn’t that Rat had truly forgotten; Reds had mentioned his family as a selling point. It appeared that family was a common theme among this...group, whoever they were. He wondered idly if Reds’ family knew what he did? Hell, he didn’t know what Reds did, but he got the gist.

“I love kids--I have a little sister back in England, yeah? She had me niece before I came over, and I guess a few more boys after.” He glanced at his bandaged hands, as if he suddenly remembered that he’d been in a scrap. “...maybe after I don’t look like the dead, yeah? Best be off home. Me mates would worry.”

Romeo arched his eyebrow. “If you wish to have a more accommodating residence, I will be able to provide it. It will be upstairs above the laundry mat.” At least it would provide a safe place for them to live. “How many would be living with you?”

Reds couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? We all live in our own. I have a wife and kids. Mr. Foley here is just my boss.”

“Me mates have been with me since the beginning.” Rat replied instantly, not about to have anyone attempt to dissuade him from helping them into the better life, too. “They’re me brothers. Family. Where I go, they go. If there’s a boon for me, there’s one for them, too.”

He nodded finally, and, with some difficulty, scrawled his name on the document. Strings was likely going to kill him.

“…I try not to ask questions.” Rat said after a moment. “…but you don’t seem to be the type to own a laundry mat, if I’m honest.”

Romeo stared at Rat intensely. “It is fine if they stay with you.” Romeo said, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You say they’re family, and family is family.” Romeo took the piece of paper and nodded. “You start training tomorrow morning at 9am. You’ll meet us in the abandoned fabric factory. For now, one of my men will escort you home.” He stood up and held his hand out to Rat. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Rat held a hand at his throbbing ribs, glancing to Reds again as though he might provide an answer for the best way to handle the situation. Nervous, Rat stood as Romeo did, offering his bandaged hand. “You as well, sir.” He managed tentatively.

He couldn’t imagine a life away from the docks--but he was certain he would find out what that was like very quickly. Hopefully he wouldn’t regret it. What would the lads think? Well, Patch would worry, but in his own way. Strings...would likely slap him over the head. Probably best to not tell them the details.

“Good evenin’ then, sir. Miss Edith.” He gave a small nod of his head to the woman, raised well to respect women, regardless of what they did and who they were.

#;romeo #romeofoley

Romeo arched his eyebrow. “If you wish to have a more accommodating residence, I will be able to provide it. It will be upstairs above the laundry mat.” At least it would provide a safe place for them to live. “How many would be living with you?”

Reds couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? We all live in our own. I have a wife and kids. Mr. Foley here is just my boss.”

“Me mates have been with me since the beginning.” Rat replied instantly, not about to have anyone attempt to dissuade him from helping them into the better life, too. “They’re me brothers. Family. Where I go, they go. If there’s a boon for me, there’s one for them, too.”

He nodded finally, and, with some difficulty, scrawled his name on the document. Strings was likely going to kill him.

“...I try not to ask questions.” Rat said after a moment. “...but you don’t seem to be the type to own a laundry mat, if I’m honest.”

#;romeo #romeofoley

“You are a doll, Mrs. Murphy. don’t you forget it, love.” Romeo said with hardly a smile, yet his voice had a hint of amusement and perhaps endearment within it.

“I don’t need to hear your life story.” Romeo said as he poured himself a glass of Irish whiskey. “I would be willing to pay you to train, fight, as well as double the amount when you win.” He said as he took a sip of his drink. He let the taste sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “It’s a job better than the docks you work at and the pennies you make playing music.”

“Wasn’t me life story…” Rat muttered to himself, though he knew he wasn’t in a position or place to argue. Couldn’t–not with Edith currently tending to the gash at his lip. His gaze flitted from Romeo to Reds, then back again, trying to figure out just what the catch was. Nothing was given for nothing.

“You’re serious.” He said finally, as though it finally slipped through the thickness in his head. “Bloody Christ…” It was all going a bit too quickly for his liking. He needed to think–to talk to Strings about it, because Strings was always good at setting his mind straight. Strings would know what to do. But without his friend there, and the expectant eyes on him, Rat could only think about the better future he’d have.

He was tired of being the low man on the totem pole. He was tired of being pushed around and forgotten. He was tired of feeling weak. Something about this told him that he would never have to feel weak again–not working for this man, Mr. Foley. “All I’d have to do is fight for ye then, yeah? No surprises?”

“I’m not laughing.” Romeo said, staring directly at Rat. “All you would have to do is fight for me.” Romeo said as Reds put down a piece of paper. “You’ll also get room and board if you need it, as well as new suits. If you’re representing me, you will need to look presentable.”

Reds sat back down. “If I may add my two cents, though I don’t fight or anything, working for Romeo helped me get my kids to a good school and live in a safe area. My wife and I no longer live in Five Points and for that we’re grateful.”