at some point you have to do your first post. And in this case it is a drawing of Racetrack I've done a whiiiile ago (back in August) and thought I should finally share it outside of Discord :)
Why does he have so many dice he wouldn't need or so many card decks? Who knows but I wanted to draw this. (and in the reference pic I took of myself I emptied a bit too many dice on the table)
Hope someone out there likes it (especially with the little Spot reaction, Spot is just weak to Race being cocky <3)
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so albert has like long-ish hair, right? he puts his hair up in double braids more for practicality's sake than anything. he has two younger sisters, that's how he knows how to braid.
now consider race who sees albert doing his hair up and watches so intently that he learns. sometimes the girlsies in brooklyn let him practice on their hair, just so he can offer to do it for albert. albert doesn't say yes very often.
but, one day he does. his wrists hurt and his arms are tired. he sits down at the bottom of the staircase of the lodging house, race sits a step higher. albert lays his head on race's thigh, just a little bit, and race nearly explodes. he tries not to pull on the braid too hard (spot's main complaint) and albert sighs happily as he feels race's fingers card through his hair. it's music to races ears. he lets himself smile, softly, smittenly, as he 'accidentally' strokes albert's cheek on his way to get a new strand of hair.
race wants this all the time.
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in manhattan, when one newsie gets sick, they all get sick. and they're fucked right now. "it ain't my fault!" jojo shouts. "buttons got me sick!" everyone rounds on buttons.
"yeah, like i fuckin chose to be sick," he mutters. the crowd of sick newsies starts yelling at him.
"everyone shuddup!" jack shouts from his bed. "i got a headache."
"someone gimme some help out here!" tommy boy calls from outside. specs, blink, and skittery go to give him a hand with whatever it is.
"what happened?" all the newsies hear snatches of conversation from outside.
"-in the street."
"-when to stop-" blink and skittery enter, holding an unconscious race between them. "ay, mush, move it." they toss race onto a bed.
"what happened to him?" ike asks quietly. there's a small cut on race's forehead that's bleeding.
"oh, he passed out in the street," skittery explains. "he's sick and wouldn't take the day off. never was very smart."
"now he's dead," blink adds.
"what?" a shout goes up from some of the younger ones until mush smacks blink around the head and tells everyone blink's kidding.
"they're kids, stop scarin them," mush orders him. "also, race being sick means only one thing. someone has gotta go tell spot conlon."
"yeah, that ain't scary," blink mutters. "uh, boots, go to brooklyn and tell spot he's got a sick boyfriend." boots heads off dutifully.
the next hour is a mess. all the newsies fret over race, who sleeps the whole time. and then everyone goes silent and dumbstruck when spot enters.
they're used to cold, intimidating, angry spot. not a caring spot. not a spot who immediately runs to race's side and starts checking on him.
spot presses his hand to race's forehead and then hugs him tight, pressing kisses to the top of his head. "ay!" crutchie shouts. "everyone hit the beds and give them some space!" race wakes up soon enough, with a worried spot sitting bedside.
"race!"
"whatcha doing here? i's just sick. ain't dying or nothing." spot kisses his forehead and stares at him.
"ya passed out in the street. gotta take it easy."
"when one of us gets sick, we all get sick. i ain't dying, spot, i promise."
"you need food." race shrugs.
"i ain't hungry."
"race. listen to me. you need food, you're sick."
"i'll throw it up."
"i will shove it down your throat if you don't eat the food i bring ya."
"spot-"
"tony. shut up. i's getting you some chicken soup. don't argue." race watches him walk out, smiling a little dopily.
all the newsies start hooting and cheering, whistling at race.
"alright, alright!" race shouts. "i got a headache."
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