~The wit just keeps rollin'
Satire: (in an inquisative child voice) Saint, does God have feet?
Spot: Shut up Satire.
Satire: Its a perfectly logical question!
Saint: Yes, and they're really really big. Now go to sleep, little one
~Sleep Tight Brooklynites.
Racetrack: "....You know....your brain resides in a scary, scary place Stretch."
~Another astute observation compliments of Race
Racetrack: "Hello?! Are you listenin to yourself?! Where the hell are we gonna hide a damn dog? We live in one- large- room!!" (fakes thought) "Oh I know- under the bed- no wait...you're on a bunk- But hey, maybe Specs wouldn't mind sleepin with the dog...gotta be a promotion from Stretch."
Stretch's eyes narrowed instantly and she glowered with a finger pointing at him.
Stretch: "Fidge....Sick him before I do."
~The Newsies consider keeping a dog for their own various reasons...
Satire: KO, where do babies come from?
~Apparently Satire never found out they were factory-produced
Race: "That�s my damn problem, I don�t know a direction."
Dusk: "KO..."
Race: "That�s not a direction, unless you�re speaking Jewish."
Dusk: "And your useless, smart ass remarks are you speaking Italian?"
Race: "Dialect. Can't help it."
~The world takes all kinds...
Satire: "Bah, shouldn't ya be prayin or somethin Saint?"
Saint: "For you? Always."
~ Another Epitome of Friendship
Skittery: "Jeez youse guys are loud!"
Fantasy: "We was sellin on the corner over there and we could hear ya!"
Specs: "Ya probably just heard Stretch yellin."
Skittery: "Well...yeah actually."
Stretch: (smugly) "Just be glad I ain't sellin near ya. No one would hear ya over my headlines..."
Specs: (sourly) "...She ain't kiddin."
Snipeshooter: "You could sell wit me Specs."
Specs: "You better be kiddin."
~ Stretch has many assets...we just haven't found any positive ones yet.
Specs: Whatsa matta with ya anyway, Snipes?
Racetrack: Kid's been havin' a bad day.
Snipeshooter: I ain't a kid.
Racetrack: Fine. Unusually small man with uncharacteristic deep voice is having a bad day.
~ Takes a man to admit when he's wrong...
Racetrack: "I know- s'always an honor when I grace ya with me presence."
Specs: "There's that ego tellin him things again..."
Racetrack: (frowns thoughtfully) "I dunno bout you Specs- but there ain't no voices in me head."
Specs: "Hmph, Ain't much of anythin in there."
Racetrack: "Ha! Says the kid with a vortex for a mouth."
~ Zing!
Racetrack: "Guys, these are some of me friends from Brooklyn. Donovan, Salvatore, Marcus, and John."
Fantasy: (smiles) "Uh oh. Racetrack has other friends?"
Specs: "What do ya mean other. He ain't got any ta begin with."
Racetrack: "Marcus, ya remember the four-eyed freak over there...Specs? And the two beauties sittin there are Fantasy and Brink..."
Fantasy and Brink laughed at their introduction and gave a wave, while Stretch, the only girl left out, narrowed her eyes at Racetrack and cleared her throat.
Racetrack: "Oh yeah...and the other girl is Stretch."
~ Last but not least?
Specs: (glares) "...So you guys ain't newsies- what do you guys do exactly?"
Donovan: "We do odd jobs so to speak."
Specs: "Where?"
Marcus: "Where ever we can find work. We... go where the oppertunities are."
Specs: "And where pray tell, do you live?"
John: "Brooklyn."
Specs: "...Just...Brooklyn?"
Racetrack: "Jeezus enough with the inquisition Specs. They're friends all right?"
Marcus: "...Well, we did take his glasses."
Racetrack: "So what? I've done it before."
Specs: "And I hate you too."
Fantasy: "...we'se such a happy group."
Salvatore: (pokes Skittery's shirt with a smirk) "Nice...where'd ya get it?"
Skittery: "GOD DAMN IT WOULD EVERYONE JUST-"
~...Extending the hand of friendship...