Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters (but a girl can dream, LOL). I own Emily Delancey, Jacob and his sons, Wolf, and Bandit. Floaty and Katrina belong to DimensionalTraveller.

(A/N: Hi everyone, here is the first chapter. I hope you all like it. :-) Check out Firefly Conlon's story, "In His Arms" it's an awesome story.)


"It's a rumor,
A legend,
A mystery!
Something whispered in an alleyway
Or through a crack!
It's a rumor
That's part of our history."

-Rumor in St. Petersburg, Anastasia-

June 1, 1898

"I'm sorry dat Spot wouldn't let ya become a newsie, Em."

16 year old Emily Delancey shrugged nonchalantly, as if Spot's behavior hadn't hurt her. In truth, the fact he turned her down hurt. She had met the leader of the Harlem newsies, Spot's younger brother, and found him boyishly handsome but immature. Spot, however, she had fallen head over heels for a month ago when Vampire introduced them. It was a few days after that she went to Manhattan attempting to become a newsie; Jack Kelly had refused to let her step foot in a lodging house since she was a Delancey. Now, Spot refused to let her become any borough's newsie and he crushed her heart when he pulled his second-in-command, Chancy, into his embrace.

"Ain't no big deal," she replied and glanced up at the starry sky as she and the newsie, Dusty, began walking over the Brooklyn bridge. She had something the newsies would never have, her brothers. She knew the real Oscar and Morris, not the tough talking and acting goons the newsies knew. Her older brothers were her best friends. But if they knew she had been trying to become a newsie they would have blown their tops like angry volcanoes.

Emily looked up, snapped out of her thoughts by a loud scream. She glanced at Dusty who looked back at her startled. The two paused for a minute and winced through the darkness of the cloudy night. After a long pause there was no more noise, but the scream – which sounded like a woman's scream – had been very near and bone chilling.

"Stay here," Dusty ordered.

"Don't tell me what ta do," Emily followed after him, "If dere's someone up there, we'll fight 'im together."

"Will you just…." Dusty walked into one of the shadows cast by the bridge's towers. Emily froze in her tracks, he had stopped talking in midsentence. Tucking a strand of her raven black hair behind her ear, she narrowed her emerald green eyes and leaned forward. Still, she heard nothing.

"Dusty?" Her heart pounded and her stomach twisted when she received no reply. "Dusty….This isn't funny…." Still, no reply; her mouth went dry and she felt as if her feet were glued to the ground. I can go back ta Brooklyn and get help….Something suddenly grabbed her shoulder. Taking in a shaky breath, Emily slowly turned her heart racing and her mouth becoming as dry as sandpaper. A second later her horrified shriek pierced the night.

Two Years Later…

"How is she?" Spot watched as the doctor exited the bunkroom; his stomach twisted. When Floaty passed out in his arms his heart had leapt into his throat. She had been so pale and seemed to be as fragile as a porcelain doll. His left arm was still sticky with blood from Floaty's head wound.

The elderly doctor, a friend of Kloppman's, carefully shut the door. "I won't say she'll be ready to jump up and sell newspapers any time soon. However, I think she will be alright, but with the head wound she has you need to keep a close eye on her. Are you certain she was awake and lucid?"

Spot paused, "Loos-eed?" What da hell does dat mean?

"Lucid. Was she thinking clearly?"

"She seemed ta be. How is she now?"

"Unconscious, its good she woke up for whatever time she did. However, if you see any signs of irregularity in her breathing, movement, and if she does not wake up by at least tomorrow at noon come and get me. She may have brain swelling."

Spot felt as if a newspaper wagon had just run him over. His blank expression must have spoken louder than words since the doctor rephrased his sentence.

"If she stops breathing and moving her brain may have swelled. The brain is a muscle and when and if it is injured it swells. I'm no expert in this field, but I have a friend who has performed risky surgeries that have saved many lives. He lives in Boston and I can call him and ask him to be here to help us….However, fee is expensive."

"We'll find a way ta pay it," Spot assured.

The doctor nodded, "Very well then….I think she will be alright, son. Seeing that she woke up before I arrived is a good sign, she's a strong one."

Spot nodded and watched the doctor take his leave. Anger coursed through his veins like boiling liquid steel. Dis is Vampire's fault! He figures I took da girl he loved, so he's gonna take da girl I love. He'll learn oddawise, or me name ain't Spot Conlon! Taking a deep breath, Spot twisted the door knob and walked into his bunkroom. Floaty was lying on her back under the covers, her eyes shut and her breathing steady. The doctor had cleaned the back of her head and wrapped gauze bandages around it. He noticed a folded piece of cloth where her wound was, the doctor had called it a pressure bandage.

"Heya Floats," he said softly, "I'm gonna get Vampire and Oscar for dis. And I hope ya wake up again soon, 'cause Katrina really wants to see her mother, and I really want to see ya too." Spot walked out of the bunkroom a few minutes later and sat down on the top stair of the second story landing beside Sport.

"How'd it go?" His second-in-command and close friend questioned.

"Doc think she'll be okay, says she's strong since she woke up earlier. I don't know if I shoulda told her about Emily, Sport. Dat's da last thing she needs ta be dreamin' of."

"Knowing Floats she's probably dreamin' of ways to end da war with Harlem." Sport smirked and the two friends began to chuckle.

"Yeah, she lives up to her real first name. She told me da other day 'Emmalyn' means Hard Working."

"Well, her fadda did name her right," Sport nodded. Their conversation was abruptly ended when Racetrack past a few Brooklyn newsies and stumbled up the stairs. Spot stood and climbed down a few steps to meet with his fellow newsie.

"What's goin' on, Race?"

The Italian newsie panted and shoved a worn piece of paper into Spot's hand, "From Harlem."

Spot raised an eyebrow and unfolded the paper, another round of anger coursed through him. We'll be back for the Queen. Just remember Spot, Humpty-Dumpty sat high on his wall, and then he had a great fall. –Vampire – He scrunched the paper into a small ball and shoved it into his pocket and looked at Race, "Who gave ya dat message?"

Race stared at him, stunned. "What's goin' on, Spot?"

"I said who gave ya da message?"

"A Harlem newsie, I think I heard his friend call him Bandit."

Spot sneered, "Bandit. Vampiah's second in command. Damn it!" He was about to punch his fist through the wall when Sport stopped him.

"Ya gotta tell him, Spot. Jack would never forgive ya if ya never told Race what happened to Floats."

"Floats? Is Floaty awright?" Racetrack's eyes had widened and his skin had paled. "What happened?"

Spot took off his hat and shoved it into his pocket. "Vixen and Oscar Delancey somehow got into dis lodgin' house. I forgot me cane…" his voice caught in his throat for a minute, "And Oscah hit her wid it. He hit her on back of da head so hard she was bleedin'….She was almost killed. Oscah remembered who her uncle was and ran; Floats woke up when I got into da room, but she passed out again a minute after. Da doctor says he thinks she'll be awright."

Race nodded, "I'll tell Jack. We'll end dis with Harlem for once and for all."

Spot squared his jaw and made a decision, "Tell Jack dere's gonna be a leader's meetin' tonight on da docks. I want Manhattan, Queens, da Bronx, and Midtown dere." Unfortunately Little Italy and Long Island had sided with Harlem. They seemed to stupidly believe Vampire would be better a better King than Spot would.

Race nodded, "Do ya want us to send someone ovah to stay wid Floaty?"

Spot paused, "Yeah, I want you and Mush here wid me newsies, Wolf and Gunslingah."

The Italian newsie nodded and turned to leave, he stopped in midtrack. "Can I see Floaty?"

Spot nodded, "Yeah, go ahead."


August, 2010

18 year old Emily Coughlin nervously sat down on one of the benches of the antique ferry. Self consciously, she pushed a strand of her raven black hair behind her ear; she cleared her throat and sat as far from the window as possible. She didn't know how to swim and the ocean terrified her. But she was taking a tour around her home city of New York in the vintage ferry because her grandmother had begged her too. The request had been strange, but Emily loved her grandmother deeply; she was a tough older woman with a heart of gold. It was only a week after her funeral and already Emily felt as if she had lost a sister instead of a grandparent. She glanced down at her grandmother's antique locket; it was made of brass and carved to look like a book. Inside were pictures of two men, a tall one with dark hair and a younger one with light hair.

All you have to do is wear locket while you take the tour, that's it. Her grandmother had told her on her death bed. Anytime Emily had questioned why she needed to wear the locket, her grandmother would just smile and say, 'remember the names Oscar and Morris Delancey.' Now, Emily sat aboard the ferry wondering if the two men were of any relation to her grandmother, Emily Delancey.

"Now we are passing the Brooklyn docks, if you look to your left you will see a wooden platform that's just above the water. In the late 1800's and early 1900's this was the Brooklyn Lodging House, home to the Newsie King of New York, Spot Conlon. If it were not for this newsboy the newsie strike of 1899 would have never occurred, it was his 'okay' that joined all the newsboys and girls of New York together. Now, if you look to your right…."

The rest of the tour had been interesting; if she had still been in high school she could have written a great history paper. She stood and walked towards the exit of the ferry.

"Did you enjoy your trip, miss?" The guide smiled to her; he couldn't have been a day older than 17. That's odd….The guides have to be at least twenty one to get this job. Maybe he's just an assistant?

"It was great….Very interesting," she smiled and nervously stared at the gangplank. The ferry had kept bobbing back and forth, up and down, causing the wooden walkway to slide and wiggle. Her arms and shoulders tensed, she didn't want to fall in. Looking back at the guide, she saw he was staring at her clothing oddly until he noticed that her gaze had returned to him. Blushing he gave a sheepish smile, "Would you like some help down, miss?"

"No thanks, I'm fine." She quipped and took a small step forward. One step at a time...just don't look down. Fear caused her stomach to tighten and her mouth to become as dry as cotton. She focused on taking small steps down the moving gangplank, halfway to land the wooden plank almost turned over. She gave a small shriek as she lost her balance and began to tumble towards the looming ocean. Her heart raced as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Suddenly, a hand grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her onto land. Opening her eyes, Emily found herself staring into a single blue eye.

"Are you awright, miss?"

Her rescuer was a tall boy with longer light blonde hair, a leather patch over his left eye, and a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. Emily noticed that he too dressed oddly, as if he were back in the last century.

Giving a shaky smile, she nodded. "I….I really don't do well with the ocean."

"Den why were you on da ferry?" He winced, "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I was taking a historic tour for my grandmother; it was her last request before she passed."

"Aw, geez, that was kind and brave of ya." The boy scratched the back of his neck; his expression filled with discomfort…or was it embarrassment? Pausing for a moment, Emily looked around and once again her stomach flipped; gone was the New York she remembered. The streets were now cobblestone, horses pulling wagons and carriages passed by as newsboys shouted faked headlines. The streets were lined with businessmen in black suits, bowler hats, and top hats. Working women wore blouses and long ankle length skirts that were pretty, strong, and inexpensive. Their richer counterparts wore long elegant lacy dresses that screamed 'money'.

"Ya look like you've seen a ghost." The boy commented.

"Where…Where am I?"

"Ya don't know where ya are?" The boy stared at her in surprise.

"I…New York….I think…."

"Yeah."

"What year?"

He gave her another odd glance, "1900."

"Lordy Lou," She whispered, her face paling. My grandmother sent me back in time!


Sport flipped through the page of the afternoon pape and glanced up at Floaty's sleeping form. Spot and a small group of newsies, they were patrolling the Brooklyn streets for any Harlem newsies. Sadly it was now necessary, Floaty was no longer the only victim of the fight with Harlem. Lefty had been soaked, Wolf and Bandit discovered him in an alleyway between a restaurant and clothing store.

Putting down his paper he stood and walked over to Katrina's crib. The small baby was kicking her legs and had her tiny fingers wrapped around her teddy bear's paw. "Hey dere, kiddo," he greeted, "You look just like yer mommy."

Katrina stared up at him and giggled. Sport smiled; although Katrina looked almost just like her mother, she had her father's confident grin. Reaching into the crib he carefully pulled her out and placed her head on his shoulder and walked around the room with her. Maybe one day I'll have me own kid? After a minute he noticed the bottom of Katrina's baby gown was damp and the air began to smell sour.

"Oh no…." He groaned, "Ya didn't….Tell me ya didn't!" He held his breath and felt his stomach flip. The smell was disgusting, how did Floaty deal with it while she changed and washed the baby's catch-cloth? He laid Katrina down on her stomach and pulled up her skirt, pulling back the edge of her diaper he lunged away. "Oh….Oh!" He stumbled over to a window and struggled with it until it finally slid open. Sticking his head out the window he gasped in fresh air. After his recovery, he shut the window and returned to Katrina and glanced at Floaty, in hopes she was awake. She was still unconscious. Damn. The only other newsies in the lodging house with himself and Floaty were Wolf and Bandit, and those two wouldn't touch a poopy diaper to save their lives.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Sport went towards the closet to find a clean catch-cloth. He was beginning to hate the job of second-in-command.


Blink wasn't sure what to make out of the girl before him. When he first saw her inching off the gang plank he had done a double take. Now, after he saved it, he knew for sure he was seeing who he thought he'd seen….Emily, the Delancey brother's baby sister. Two years ago she had vanished without a trace; now she stood before him, soft spoken, shy, and terrified of the ocean. The Emily he had met two years ago seemed to be fearless and she loved the ocean. Now, she was back and she was acting strange, she didn't even recognize him. Maybe she has dat am-neez-yah da papes sometimes talk about. But what about dat clothin'?

Emily was wearing a bright pink blouse under an open and baggy button down shirt. Even stranger were her trousers, they were made of denim like overalls; only they didn't have a bib. Then there were her shoes –that were white, gray, and pink and made of a fabric he didn't recognize.

"Um….Are ya lost, miss?" Did she even remember who she was?

"Yes, I am." Her voice shook, "My home was different, not like this….It….It was filled with cars, planes, trains, and subways. The road was asphalt…" she stopped when she realized she was babbling. Blink's breath was almost taken away when she stared at up him, she looked so afraid and it broke his heart.

Planes, trains, automobiles? Maybe she's talkin' about Henry Ford's horseless carriage? But what da hell is a subway and a plane? Blink was puzzled, this new Emily was strange. And obviously where ever she had gone, she had forgotten all about her past and now she was home without any recollection of her life. This was all too strange. There was one way to know is this was truly Emily or not.

"What's yer name?"

"Emily Cou...Delancey….Emily Delancey."

Blink paused; at least she remembered her name though she sounded uncertain for a moment. Smiling he held out his hand, "Kid Blink, but all me friends call me Blink."

Emily gave a small smile, "Hi Blink, it's nice to meet you."

"Ya don't remembah me do ya?" He asked. Her face went from somewhat calm to pale and nervous; she shook her head. "Dat's okay," he smiled, "We didn't talk much before ya disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Do ya remembah anythin' about dis place?"

Staring at him, as if confused, she shook her head and gripped the strap of her pink clutch bag tightly. Blink shook his head, Emily and her clothing kept getting stranger; that was the first clutch bag he'd ever seen with a strap.

"Well den….I guess it's up to me to tell ya what I know while I take ya home."

"I have a home here?" She sounded so surprised.

"Of course ya do! Wid your two oldah bruddas, Oscar and Morris."


"How's Floaty doin'?" Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly questioned as he and the other newsie leaders who were on Brooklyn's side gathered around Spot. All were anxious to hear about the newsie queen's condition.

"She'll be awright," Spot replied, "We're just waitin' for her to wake up." He paced back and forth, "As you all know Harlem started a war wid Brooklyn when Vampire sent Vixen after me goil."

The leaders of Manhattan, Queens, Bronx, and Midtown looked relieved. The leader of the Bronx was a taller newsgirl with curly brown hair, everyone called her gunslinger. Her real name was Felicity Holliday, the daughter of the famous gunslinger, Doc Holliday. She and Floaty had become close friends after Alley left Brooklyn to join the Boston newsies.

"So are we gonna stand around here feelin' sorry that Floaty was attacked or are we going to do somethin' about it?" She crossed her arms and sat on a short piling. "Maybe you want to tip-toe around this war, Spot, but we can't. It's here and the only way to put an end to it is either by fighting off Bronx or for you to talk to Vampire."

Spot narrowed his eyes, grabbed his cane from his belt loop, and slammed it down on the wooden planks of the dock so hard the other leaders jumped. He shoved the top of the cane in Gunslinger's face, "I respect yer fadda's reputation, and I respect you. But if ya ever talk to me like dat again, I will have ya demoted to second in command and Blade over dere will be leader of da Bronx. Ya understand me? If ya think I ain't angry about dis yer wrong! Dey attacked me goil!" He turned his back for a moment and didn't notice the smirks the other leaders exchanged with one another. "I ain't takin' dis lying down, but dere's a reason I don't go off into Harlem ready to soak deys leader." He paused and took a deep breath. The secret he had been keeping for so long was now going to be exposed, "Vampire is me little brudda."

"What?" The leaders cried out in unison, causing their second-in-commands, who stood a few feet away, to look at them.

"Lower yer voices," Spot growled, "Dis stays between us. Everyone here knows dat Emily Delancey went missin' two years ago, what ya didn't know is before she did Vampire fell in love wid her. Emily didn't like him, she said he gave her da creeps. She came to Brooklyn wantin' to become a newsie…." He paused and inhaled. His mistake had been sending her away, if he hadn't maybe she would still be New York and this war wouldn't have started. "I told her no and sent Dusty to take her home…..Da two disappeared dat night. For two years Vampire's been convinced dat it's me fault da girl he wants is gone. Now since da strike is over and dere's nothin' to stop him…he's started a war wid Brooklyn. And it ain't gonna end until I'm either humiliated, dead, or Emily returns."

"Wait, I thought dat story about Emily Delancey was a rumor, somethin' da Delanceys made up for a good and creepy Halloween story," Gunslinger frowned.

Jack scowled, "It's true. We saw her all da time, den one day, she was gone. How could ya all think dis was a rumor?"

"Well she couldn't just vanish! We figured that the Delanceys just wanted attention." Gunslinger shrugged.

"Well she did just vanish!" Spot snapped, "She's gone and no one knows what happened ta her or me newsie. So yeah, dat rumor is true."

The leaders and their second-in-commands all fell silent for a long minute. It was the leader of midtown, a short and muscular boy who had been nicknamed Mouse because of his beady dark brown eyes and shaggy ash brown hair. Although his nickname sounded harmless and laughable, he was smart, strong, and allowed his appearance and nickname to trick his enemies into thinking him a fool.

"Well, first off, Emily Delancey is real and she's gone….She ain't comin' back. No one knows what happened it's a mystery, and it will probably stay dat way. Dat's settled, let's not bring her up again. Secondly, we all know ya, dere ain't no way Vampire's gonna be able to kill ya….Humiliate ya, maybe if he tries real hard. If you can't fight Harlem because of yer brudda, den let us do it for ya. Brooklyn's always been tough for us, now it's time we be tough for ya."

The leaders nodded in agreement. Spot frowned, "T'anks, Mouse, but dis is somethin' I gotta fight too. I ain't lettin' Vampire get away wid almost killing Floats. For all I know he could have wanted Vixen to kill Katrina too. We need to come up wid a plan."

Cowboy was the first to speak up, "First, I say everyone sells deys papes in pairs. Harlem's out for blood and if dey see a lone newsie deys gonna take da chance to soak him or her."

Spot nodded, "Dey don't play by da rules. Dat's rule one: older newsies sell deys papes in groups of two. Rule two, newsgirls have to be accompanied by a strong newsboy, dat goes for you too, Gunslingah."

"I don't need a shadow, Spot. I'm tough enough ta soak a Harlemer!"

"I know ya are, but dis is for everyone." Spot raised his voice over her arguing, "We're da leaders, we gotta lead by example! If we break da rules, da others will break da rules. Why follow rules yer leader doesn't follow?"

Gunslinger went quiet, "Fine…" she muttered.

"Thirdly, I need each borough to volunteer to send two newsies ta Brooklyn each mornin', dey can leave when I get back tad a lodgin' house, den another borough sends two newsies da next day, and we keep dat cycle goin'. I want dere to be people in dat lodgin' house with Floaty."

"I'll send Badger and Cactus over tomorrow," Gunslinger volunteered.

"Jake and Pie Eater da day after dat," Jack exclaimed.

"Mischief and Banks after dat," Mouse said as he leaned against a piling.

"I'll send Red and Pirate," the leader of the Queens borough offered. The Queens leader, Warrior, was a tall and soft spoken newsie. He always appeared too laid back, but every newsie knew he was like a cat stalking its prey: Slow and seemingly harmless until he attacked.

"When are we goin' into Harlem?" Jack questioned, "I need to get me newsies ready for dat."

"We ain't goin' into fight at first," Spot exclaimed. "I'm usin' a trick Floats used durin' da strike when she'd con people into thinkin' she was someone else. I need everyone to gather yer newsies, boys and girls. Bring dem to Brooklyn; we'll have good clothes for them waiting. Da boys are gonna be dock workers tonight, and da girls are gonna be ladies of the night."

"I ain't comfortable with that," Mouse frowned. "Da newsgirls we got are tough yeah, but….Prostitutes? C'mon Spot, even ya got more respect for girls den dat."

"Deys ain't gonna sleep wid da newsies," Spot exclaimed, "Deys gonna get the Harlem newsies drunk….Drunk enough to befriend a bunch of 'drunken' dock workers."

The leaders glanced at one another and smiled. Jack nodded, "Dat's a good plan, Spot, a damned good one. We can learn about deys next move den meet up here da night after tomorrow and make a plan."

Spot nodded, "Good. You all go tell yer newsies what's goin on…But do not tell dem about Vampire bein' me brudda."

"Why does that have to be such a huge secret?" Warrior asked as he crossed his arms. "Yer brothers, so what? Every newsie has at least one friend turned enemy, or even a family member dey don't like. They'll understand."

"No…Dey won't. Deys will wonder why the Leader of Brooklyn, da toughest and most powerful newsie in New York, allowed things to get dis bad. Dat's da same thing you all are wonderin', I can see it on yer faces."


Emily stared in awe at the city of Manhattan. It seemed calmer and almost kinder compared to Brooklyn. She glanced at Blink; he had been quiet for most of the walk. She guessed he was just as freaked out as she was, only he was probably wondering why she, 'Emily Delancey' was acting so strangely. At the same time she was wondering about the true identity of her grandmother. She had given her a note and told her only to open it if she found Oscar and Morris Delancey. The note would explain everything. It had better. I'm lost, alone, away from my family, and I'm scared. I don't know anything about this time other than what I've learned in history books. I don't know the currency, how women are supposed to act, and I don't even know my own family! I should have never gotten onto that ferry!

"Well, here we are," Blink exclaimed as they walked through two tall black iron gates leading to a long building. "Da World Distrubution center, da Delanceys….Uh yer bruddas, and yer uncle Weasel…Wiesel…Live here."

Emily watched as he stopped on the wooden platform. "Aren't you going in with me?"

"No way," he shook his head. "Newsies and Delanceys don't get along."

"We get along."

"Yeah, well, ya were never quite like yer bruddas." Blink tipped the brim of his hat to her. "I hope to see ya again, Emily Delancey, and I hope ya remember who you are. Tell yer bruddas what you told me, dey'll understand…."

Emily nodded, "I will. Thank you so much Blink, for everything. I hope to see you seen." She watched as he turned and walked out of the distribution center's gates. Nervously, Emily turned around; once again she was on her own. She peeked through the barred window of the building; she could hear men's voices and laughter. My grandmother's brothers are in there. Their probably like grandmom, so I'll be OK. Right? Taking a deep breath, Emily raised her fist and knocked on the door.

"Waddya wanted?" A gruff voice barked out at her.

"Um….I'm here to see Oscar and Morris Delancey…."

"Fine, wait a minute." The gruff voice replied.

Emily took a step away from the door and could hear two voices talking. One was deep, the other was slightly lighter. The door swung open a minute later and Emily found herself staring at her great uncles Oscar and Morris. Her heart pounded as she stared at Morris, he was tall with long dark brown hair and brown eyes. A thin black mustache grew on his upper lip; he was slightly taller than his brother and he looked as tough as nails. Oscar was a few inches shorter than his brother, his hair was short and blonde; like his older brother he had brown eyes.

"Um…."

"Emily?" Morris questioned as he stepped forward, "Is dat you?"

Not the Emily you're thinking of! But I'm going to have to be! I don't have a choice! She nodded, "I don't remember much….I um…." She shifted nervously; she couldn't tell them she was Emily Coughlin, their baby sister's granddaughter! She was going to have to watch what she told people more carefully. She could have altered time by telling Blink of future inventions. "I….never lost the locket you gave me…" She held up the book shaped locket.

"Emmy!" Oscar exclaimed.

Emily's eyes widened as the two Delanceys lunged forward and wrapped their arms around her in a bone crushing hug. They pulled her into the distribution center and asked where she had been, why she was acting so strangely, and twice they asked about her 'strange' clothing.

"I've been living in….Boston with an inventor. He said he found me passed out…." Emily paused, her grandmother loved the Brooklyn bridge, "…The Brooklyn bridge. I was pretty beat up, he adopted me and took me in as his own daughter. Everything I'm wearing is his invention, he calls it 'light' clothing." She explained, but soon realized her explanations were falling on deaf ears since now her uncle 'Weasel' had come in and gave her a quick hug.

"Welcome back," he exclaimed. "Now dat yer back, yer goin' back to work! Oscar, Morris, get her some decent clothes and teach her how to do her old job."

Well then, hello to you too! Emily thought to herself as her 'brothers' led her towards a room she presumed was hers. This is going to take some getting used too….