If Anybodys had a nickel for every time he valiantly fought with Riff to convince the undeserved leader of the Jets to let him back into the gang, he would have enough money for the Jets to deride him as being all high and mighty like those who worked for a living, he reflected grimly as he ran alongside him and succeeded... so far... in ignoring the already mocking jeers and glances of the others.
They weren't taunting him for having money and the relatively high social status that came with it, though, that would be way more concrete of a reason.
"C'mon, Riff, you saw me out there, that PR didn't know what hit 'im! He's prolly runnin' back to where he came from to lick his wounds by now!"
Had that PR been Pepe, the second in command of the Sharks that were the latest in the long series of foes that the Jets skillfully met and sent packing away from their turf?
If he had been, that would be even more impressive, that Anybodys had taken down not just any Shark but their second in command!
That would be like a Shark taking down Ice, except possibly a little less of an achievement because the second in command of the Jets was obviously gonna be a stronger, more skilled fighter than that of the Sharks.
"For... who am I kiddin', this won't be the last time... no. Now beat it."
That infuriating response of Riff's was about what Anybodys had expected, but he hadn't heard the part about how the PR he had beaten up had been their second in command yet.
"But Riff, that was-shhFUCK!"
Someone besides Riff had bumped into his left hand, either on accident or on purpose but probably the latter knowing them, he realized, and now ripples of white hot pain were seemingly tearing it up from the inside.
It had been way overly sensitive like this for a while, ever since that one Shark who he was pretty sure was Pepe had somehow managed to dodge an expertly aimed punch of his at the last second and he had ended up exerting his macho strength and fighting prowess on the brick alley wall behind him instead of him, and Ice's makeshift medical attention, though appreciated and something that wasn't exclusive to people who had money like professional hospital care was, hadn't helped much.
Not that he would have preferred that snobby professional hospital care, of course, true Jets didn't need to partake in the trappings of those in higher society who thought they were so much above them in ways beyond net worth, who had kept them down their whole lives.
Besides, any injury gained in service of defending the Jets' rightfully held turf, the turf that was all they had in this world besides each other and gave them what little semblance of security they had, was a trophy to be prized and waved in Riff's face over and over until he finally got it through his thick skull that Anybodys could give and take punches like the rest of them, maybe even better than most of them.
The pain from the injury, however, was not to be shown off in the same way that a wolf who was struggling to convince an alpha of a pack to let him join for some reason even though he was just as capable and badass as any of the other wolves under his command would never have any reason to show his future alpha his soft, vulnerable, easy to attack belly.
Anybodys quickly started to play it off, almost instinctively clenching his injured hand into a fist both to show that it and he were still as capable of going on the offensive for the Jets as ever and to try and make the pain more manageable.
This gesture failed in that second goal almost immediately, sending additional flares of fire shooting up his wrist, and he gritted his teeth and breathed in sharply but hopefully not audibly.
The first goal failed as well... for now... soon after as... that was A-Rab, he realized as he shot him an angry, intimidating glare... shoved him backwards a little.
"No, no matter how many times ya ask for it. Now beat it!"
Anybodys gathered from his tone and the mocking laughs of the others that he wasn't just saying no to him being in the gang, which he had no authority to do as not even its second in command, but also insinuating that his exclamation of 'fuck' had been a request rather than an expression of pain.
...Right, if they thought he would ever do that with any of them besides maybe Velma and Graziella they were even more deluded than they thought he was.
Anybodys was gonna pummel A-Rab and make him regret not just that insult but all the ones he and the other Jets had dished out to him.
He'd be begging for mercy by the time he was done with him, injured hand be damned.
"You dirty rat!"
Anybodys started to skillfully lunge at him, but was apprehended and thrown back, behind and out of the group entirely, by many of the others, as if they had somehow managed to coordinate their actions without speaking to each other.
The increased pain in his hand from it getting possibly not entirely incidentally roughed up in the process almost felt like it blacked out his vision for a second there, and when he came to the guys who were supposed to be his brothers were gone and those horrible but not demotivating, never demotivating words "Beat it!" were ringing in his ears.
He sprung away from the alley wall he realized he had started leaning on for support, regretting that the others had seen him do that, before continuing to irritatedly stalk in the same direction they had been going, the direction they had probably left in, wondering if he should do some spying on PR territory to see if he really had managed to get Pepe to retreat this time while the degree to which hand was killing him started to slowly subside.