A (Not-So) Silent Night
TW/Squicks; Cursing, Kazooing, A Mention that Race Smokes, Kissing (non-graphic)
Hestia groaned into her pillow, like many other newsies as their dearly beloved local idiot, Racetrack Higgins stomped throughout the bunkroom blowing as much air into that damned kazoo as he could muster. You know for someone who smoked, he had a pretty good lung capacity.
But It also happened to be winter which meant Hestia wasn’t always in the best mood to be woken up before she absolutely had to. She stuck a hand out of the warmth of her blanket and fumbled around blindly until her hand brushed against a smooth object. She peeked an eye open to make sure she had the right instrument. A sly, Cheshire-cat like smirk spread across her face. She closed her eyes and waited for Race to come closer.
“Didn’t I break that damn thing?!” Jack exclaimed.
Albert all but screeched into his bedding. “Oh my god, Race! Shut up!”
“Aaah, I wanna sleeeep!” Romeo whined cuddling closer to Specs.
And finally, Race arrived at Hestia’s bunk. Before he could even take a breath, Hestia shot up, already startling the crap out of the boy, then blew a long, long, sharp, shrieking note on her ocarina. Right in race’s face. By then she figured he’d be too stunned to retaliate, but boy was she wrong.
An even louder kazoo squawk hit her at full force, and it just so happened that both the blond idiot (Race) and the pinkette idiot (Hestia) lived by the motto of ‘yell louder to establish dominance’.
“OH GOD, THERE’S TWO OF THEM!”
“I think I’m gonna take my chances sleeping on the roof..”
“Jack, sweetheart, love of my life, apple of my eye, it is fucking snowing so get your ass back here and don’t you dare think about climbing out there.”
Jack defeatedly climbed back into bed with Crutchie, who happily cuddled into the Manhattan leader’s side, absorbing the warmth. It was quickly disrupted by the shriek and squawk of clashing instruments.
“You know maybe the roof wouldn’t be that bad,” Crutchie said, trying to slip out of bed, but was quickly pinned down by Jack.
“Uh uh, you’re stuck.” Jack was quick to silence Crutchie’s complaints with a kiss. Usually, there’s be groans of “get a room” or various mutters of mock disgust or hoots and hollers, but most of the newsies’ attention was fixated on the competition between Race and Hestia. Smalls was actually setting up a betting pool on who would win. And it dragged on. And on. And on. All throughout the snowy winter night.
(it was a tied match in the end on account that Hestia was too cold and too damn tired and Race’s cigar lungs caught up with him.)