Roof Second Floor Lobby Back Door

Molly Riley 'ey kid, watcha name? *the little girl just stares at you. You repeat the question. A boy that looks exactly like her walks up* She don't talk much, but her name is Molly. Molly Montgomery Riley. Montgomery cause that was my-- *our* mom's maiden name. *she looks down and he hugs her* 'ave you been blessed wit a newsie nickname yet? *shakes head* Nope, we're still working on it. Once we find one, we'll get back to you. Where'd dat come from, anyway? I told you, we'll get back to you. When's yer birthday? Know how old ya are? August 18, same as me. I know we look like it, but no, we're not twins. She's 6. Whatcha look like? *she blinks and elbows the guy* Yeah, I know, they're pretty nosy. Well, our dad was Hispanic, so we're a mix between Spanish and American nationalities. She's got black hair that's past her shoulders, fairly straight, but whenever it gets hot is starts to curl under. She's pretty small, as you can see, only about 3'10". An' she's got violet eyes. I call 'em purple, but she likes to call them violet. *the little girl smiles* Molly's pretty skinny. They don't exactly give you a feast at the orphanage. And wadda ya like, huh? Got mucha a personality? She adores her kitten, Broadway. Actually, she loves all animals. *grey tabby kitten wanders in* Oh, there 'e is now. It's a bit of a story about that little rascal..but maybe I'll tell it to you another day. She's really quiet, Molly, I mean, she hasn't spoken for about four months now. She doesn't really get close to people much, ya know? But she's the sweetest kid ever. *he smiles* So... where'd ya come from an' watcha doin heah? We used to live in the Bronx, at least until our house burned down. Then we lived on the streets until the bulls caught us and tossed us in the orphanage. After a bit, we got tired of that and some guy suggested we come here and the rest is history. Don't s'ppose ya got any friends, do ya? Well, not really. *Molly points to Matthew and he grins* We don't know anyone real well, but me an' Mol're best friends. What about a, uh, signifigant othah, hmm? *wink wink nudge nudge* *boy bristles* She's only 6! Not happening. Waddya do 'round heah? Oh, she sells newspapers with me...she also helps out Mrs. Corcoran around 'ere. If ya emptied ya pockets right now, what'd be in 'em? *Molly does just that* Hmm..piece of string, old peppermint, and a penny. Doesn't say much about her, does it? Anythin' else we oughta know? Molly likes singing. She found an old guitar one day and started singing and fiddling on it. But she still doesn't talk. Her only way of communication is a small slate and some chalk that she uses to "talk" to people. Back to the bunkroom