I don't own West Side Story, nor the characters. Anyways, Riff seemed like a nice character to begin with, in a West Side Story fic. I do, however, own Aurelia Brygida. Try saying that name five times fast, okay? (: Switches from Riff's point-of-view at the rumble to third person, then back to his wonderful POV and thoughts. (: And I sorta wrote this. For. Snarky.
Bernstein and Sondheim to a good job of doing that (..hehe. BS. -giggle-)
Just a head's-up.
To make it easier, as well, Riff's POV is also in italics.
Because Snarky rules my world. Really, she does; she has a flag and everything.
This was it. This was for..everything. This was because nothing good could ever come of lousy foreigners. All they could do was break your heart. All they could do was hurt you.
I flipped the knife over in my hand, staring the Puerto Rican right in the face, eyes narrowed. I thrust forward, just to see his reaction, just to see if he would squirm. To see if he'd be scared, to see, well..him in the reflection of the blade. I could see him, of course. I saw his face, beaded with sweat, eyes concentrated on me.
I needed to kill him. For me. For them. For her.
---------
"We got some Poles, d'we, Riff?" scoffed Action, running a hand through his hair and laughing a little, in a rather inderedulous tone.. He looked at the small herd of people, looking new and frightened, bustling past the playground. They stuck close, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the surrounding area as if it was alien or something. It probably was. Skyscrapers instead of concentration camps.
Riff sneered.
"Guess we need to go welcome them to the Land of Opportunity, don't we?" he asked, hearing the small laughs from the rest. Riff flicked his cigarette aside, blowing out the rest of the smoke, beckoning the rest of the Jets to come with him, just with a simple flick of his index finger.
As the gang approached, the heads in the group all turned at the same time, clutching books to their chests. They all looked like a bunch of frightened sheep, really..it was..completely and utterly..amusing. It made them feel good about themselves.
The four or five girls within the group, seeming to be protected by the men or something, were very much clumped together. Their eyes were wide with fear, lips pursed together.
"Hey, welcome to America," Riff said in the cheeriest tones he could muster, laughing a little more.
"Dziękuję, friend."
"Friend, friend he says!" repeated Action from the back, looking as if he was about to go into hysterics. That caused some puzzled looks from the group, as well as them squishing impossibly closer to each other. Riff smirked, looking over the crowd, mentally picking them apart.
"Proszę, we would just like to get home," a scrawny boy pleaded, looking up at them with wide, green eyes, through too-large glasses. He looked much younger than the rest of the group, maybe a ten-year-old, rather than a teenager as the rest were.
"Beat it, kid," A-Rab said, jabbing his thumb away. The youth hesitated, though decided it'd be best to leave. He scuttled down the sidewalk, careful around the group of older boys.
"Nie panikuj!" one of the males said to the females of the group. They nodded a little bit, staring the Jets straight in the eye from their current position.
"Ice, whaddaya say we welcome them properly?" asked Big Deal, cracking his knuckles with a small laugh. The Jets didn't think much of the new immigrants to the country, especially ones that had depended on the U.S. of A in the second World War. Maybe the first, but you didn't hear about them as much as the rest of the world.
"I think that's a perfect conclusion to come to," Ice agreed as the gang started to circle around the cluster of foreigners. He was always the smart one of the group, Ice was; some murmurs as to him being the leader had started up, though it had been quickly silenced by Riff.
"This is our turf, y'see?" Action chimed, crossing his arms a little. "Beat it. Don't ever come back to our side again, or there'll be..consequences."
A-Rab and Big Deal made a small lunge forward, enough to make the immigrants in the middle jump just a little.
"Beat it."
The group scurried away, not before receiving a few shoves from the sides and back, however.
As they disappeared around the corner, the entirety of the Jets burst into laughter, walking down the opposite way.
---------
Later that evening, as he was making his way back to his own home, Riff scoped out a figure near the playground again. He raised an eyebrow, at first, as the rest of the Jets had gone off the other way.
"Hey, you!" he called out, starting to jog after whomever was there. The person had been bending over, though snapped up at Riff's voice, taking a step back. "Hold it!"
He or she didn't move, which was good. Riff wasn't in the mood to chase anyone at the moment; he was rather, well, tired at the moment. Being a hooligan was tough work.
"Przepraszam," came a soft voice, once he was near.
"I thought we told you cruddy Polacks to beat it," he said, lip curling to a sneer as he drew closer.
"Please, I..just..dropped something," she said (he could tell the voice was female by now), taking a small step away. Riff reached forward to grab her arm, pulling her to where he could see her.
Doe-brown eyes were staring back at him, frightened and wide as a deer caught in headlights. They were deep, and he swore if he stared too long, he'd be drowning in them.
"I'm sorry," she shuddered out, moving up to push thick brown curls away from her face, slightly pale hue, whiter than most of the girls he saw around here.
"What's your name?"
He wasn't quite as mad as he was curious.
"Aurelia."
Riff would've commented on how that was a pretty name, but he kept his mouth shut. Because, of course..well..that was probably one of the stupidest lines ever. Overused.
"I'm Riff."
She shivered a little bit, maybe from fear. There was little chance the young woman was actually cold, as she was in a white gown with long sleeves, hemmed a little below the knees. It was pencil-straight, giving little justice to her figure (which he assumed she had...he couldn't quite see if she had any sort of shape, or if she really was just a stick).
"I'm not gonna do anythin' to you."
"Then, can I please go? My brat will worry about me."
"Brat?"
"Brother. He may be..younger than me, but he worries like he's ten years older."
"Why don't I..walk you home? The streets aren't the best at night."
He wasn't being kind.
He just had nothing better to do.
That's what Riff told himself.
She was a Pole. A one-night act of kindness meant nothing.
"A..Alright.."
Riff let go of her arm, watching her start ahead. He kept behind her, just a little bit, watching her flats hit the sidewalk as if it was the most interesting thing on earth.
She stopped just a small bit down the sidewalk, at an apartment complex, climbing up the stoop steps and swallowing hard.
"Hey, wait!" he demanded as she went to open the door.
Aurelia spun around to look at him, running a hand through her hair.
"Yes?"
"Nothin'."
She let out a feeble chuckle, turning back to the door.
Riff walked up the few steps, bridging the gap between them.
He touched her elbow lightly, and she turned around yet again.
"Yes?"
"Can I see you again?"
"..I suppose you'll be able to, sometime."
Aurelia opened the front door, closing it behind her, leaving a very confused Riff there.
---------
They met, once more, at the playground.
It wasn't in secret, as romantic as that sounded. Riff told the Jets he was meeting with a Pole, to gather information. A small fib, sure, but..it was probable enough. Meeting with 'the enemy' was a good idea, as you were always to keep your enemies closer.
Riff and Aurelia did talk with each other, though.
About their families, as odd as that sounded. Their mothers and fathers, their siblings..and they even went on to talk about their friends, just a little.
Riff taught her a little bit about American culture.
Aurelia taught him some basic Polish words, in case he ever encountered her sorts of people, and..well, had the urge to 'make nice' with them.
They met like that several times, at least every day, sometimes twice a day (if he could make it, though).
"Repeat after me, Nie mogę bez Ciebie żyć," she instructed, sitting up a little bit on the bench. Riff furrowed his brow a little bit, swallowing hard.
"Nie mogę bez Ciebie żyć," he repeated, slowly, stumbling over some of the words.
Aurelia giggled just a little bit.
"What does it mean?" he asked, noting her reaction to him saying it.
"I cannot live without you."
"I guess I can't say that to your friends, can I?"
She laughed a little more, Riff grinning. He was rather pleased with making her laugh; she had a nice laugh. It was a little harsh, true, but it made her personality all the more endearing. Such a timid thing made such a rough laugh?
After that, their meetings seemed to be less friendly, as they had started. It had evolved into something...better than that, into something that was a little more romantic. Something that was less of getting to know eachother, more of using that knowledge to make the other happier.
She would lean against him, he would put his arm around her, and for a while, where they came from didn't matter.
On an evening where they stayed out later, Aurelia looked up at him pensively for a moment.
"Mogę Cię pocałować?" she asked, reaching her hand up to touch his face lightly, thin fingers running along his cheek.
"..I'm sure 'yes' is what I should say," Riff replied, laughing a little bit, finding humor in such a situation. "What does it mean?"
"May I kiss you?"
Riff laughed a little more, just a little bit softer.
"Yeah...I thought I should say 'yes'.."
They moved ever closer, lips melding together in a kiss, sweet and warm and...he hated to part.
But. Breathing was an essential part of living, he supposed.
---------
It wasn't a secret to the Jets that Riff was involved with a Polack. He wasn't especially inconspicuous about it, thought they trusted him enough. He was just getting a whole hell of a lot of information from her, that was all. They didn't dare question him, either, for they knew that could end rather badly.
The Poles had started to move in on their territory, becoming more and more bold with crossing the invisible border between their side and the American side. It was starting to get more and more on the Jets' nerves, to a point where they had beaten up a few people brave enough to stay across the line for too long.
There eventually came the moment when they met in territory that was deemed neutral, setting a war council up.
They determined that all sorts of weapons were okay, and anyone that got involved was fair game. Anyone that wasn't an authority figure, that is..stabbing Officer Krupke may not be the best of ideas.
They settled on the playground as their battlefield, at nine o'clock the next evening.
---------
"Riff, do you have to?"
"I gotta," he replied bluntly, shoving his switchblade into his pocket, looking at her for a brief moment. Aurelia looked broken and sad and..well, like she was rather close to sobbing. She wiped at her eyes a little bit, and Riff sighed, walking over and wrapping his arms around her.
"I won't get hurt, don't worry.."
"Promise?"
"I..I promise, I'll do everything to not get hurt," he said with a laugh, playing with the ends of her hair, letting go and stepping back as he peered at the clock. "Just promise you won't come down and find me?"
"I promise."
What he didn't see was her crossing her fingers.
---------
They met at the playground, shaking hands and being the slightest bit cordial.
However, it was down to business after a minute, the whoops and hollers of the young men starting to beat at each other heard throughout street. They all had the same hope: that they would gain total control, and, of course, that they would..be able to avoid that fat bullet that was Krupke.
The clang of metal pipes and wrenches against each other filled the air, as well as the small clink of blades getting in the way.
Riff was near the center, bat in one hand, blade held high in the other, cocky grin painted over his face. He was sure the Jets would win-- the Poles weren't especially coordinated, nor a team, and the fact that they outnumbered the immigrants often helped.
He didn't see Aurelia squeezing into the fray to find him.
He didn't see Action rearing back and smacking her across the head with a pipe.
Riff didn't hear the sickening sound of bone against metal, nor did he see the horrified look on Action's face, nor did he see her crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The sirens of a cop car wailed, and they all began to scatter, crowd thinning. Blood was pooling on the ground from various wounds on various people, though Riff noticed the steady stream coming from a certain point, following it.
The Jets were all crowded around, looking nervous as Riff approached.
"Riff, you gotta understand, before we..even let you see..it was a--"
"What? What the hell're you talking about?" Riff laughed, pushing past all of them. He was a little startled at first, leaping back nearly a foot, running a hand through his hair shakily. He had paled considerably, looking as if he was going to heave. "O-oh.."
"Look, Sarge's gonna be here soon, we gotta beat it," Ice said, in his normal unsympathetic tones. He started away, most of the group following. Action stayed behind, rubbing the back of his neck.
"No one was supposed'ta get killed.."
"She wasn't supposed to come."
"I'm really, really so--"
"Just..go, Action. Go. I'll be there in a minute."
The spotlight had turned on, whizzing above his head.
Riff kneeled down for a moment, wary of the red liquid, gently touching Aurelia's face.
He wiped at his eyes, willing himself not to cry.
It was all for the best.
She couldn't even follow the simple instruction..not to come..
The two of them were too different, anyways. She was an immigrant, he was an American. It was doomed from to start.
He set his jaw, pulling back sharply, taking off in the other direction.
Foreigners were nothing but trouble. He was glad he learned that earlier.
---------
I gasped as I felt Bernardo's blade go into my stomach, hunching over instinctively. I had been too lost in the moment, too worried about Tony intervening, too caught up in my own thoughts to really notice the Puerto Rican was coming over for me. Foreigners were nothing but trouble, and that was that. My vision blurred at the edges, and I could feel the pain dulling with each breath. Wherever I'm going..please, for the love of God, let there not be foreigners.
I sank to the ground, handing my knife off to Tony.
They broke my heart, and now..he killed me.
I think I stopped breathing.
That took me about..two weeks of intensive work. x.x
Please, read and review if you happen by it! (: