The Celts (West Side Story: Riff X Reader)

Chapter 16

(Just imagine that Mouthpiece and Racetrack Higgins are played by different people that just look similar. They MIGHT be cousins but i dont really know, so you tell me what you want their connection to be and your wish is my command?)

That night, Jack Kelly and a rough gang of boys showed up in Upper Manhattan to defend the Jets from the Celts, who were likely unpredictable probably all armed with knives and other weapons. The Newsies were simply armed with their fists and experience, excepting Race, who had a very small dagger in his pocket. 

Once the Jets, Sharks, and Newsies were gathered in the dusty street that they had fought in only a little while ago, Baby John and A-Rod both joined the group.

"I ain't seen no Celts anywhere, Boss." A-Rod said, out of breath. The boys, along with scanning the streets for Celts, had both been running with blue smoke bombs that they had stolen from a magic cart that had passed through Manhattan a few months prior.

"Y'know, you guys are spreadin' an awful lot of school spirit." Jack said, fixing his old hat. Riff completely disregarded what the newsie had said. Our attention was drawn to Snowboy, who had just shouted in glee. 

"Graziella!" He yelled, running up to the approaching blonde girl and wrapping her up in a hug. 

"They's close friends." Riff whispered to me. I looked back toward the newsies and saw race slowly take the cigar out of his mouth. 

"Hey, Albert." He said in a quiet, though urgent tone while fervently nudging a ginger boy, who looked up to scope out Grazie. Race then waited for Grazie to look at him before winking and returning the cigar to his mouth.

"When is these Celts gonna get here?" Albert asked me, readjusting the gray cap that he was wearing backwards. 

"I don't know." I told him. He rolled his eyes in the most dramatic fashion. Just then, a small rock burst through the thin layer of New York fog and clattered to a stop of Riff's feet. We all looked in the direction that the rock came from and watched as Declan strode out, green face paint streaked across his cheeks as though he were a middle schooler going to a rivalry football game. Jack, Riff, and Bernardo all quickly made their way to the front of the group, standing very close to Declan as the rest of the Celts approached behind him. Since a portion of the Celts had withdrawn to New Jersey with my sister, the remaining people were just Ray, Hugh, Cara, Clove, Saucy, and Declan. They seemed to have recruited a variety of people off of the streets to back them up. The only two people that I recognized were Oscar and Morris Delancey. There were also a bunch of boys wearing red.

I moved between Bernardo and Riff to face Declan. 

"Only special kinds of losers ask the Lower Manhattan Newsies for help." Declan sneered at me. 

"The hell do do mean?" Jack asked sharply. "You got Brooklyn behind you." 

"You can thank Saucy for getting himself a girlfriend from Brooklyn." Declan said to me. "Denise Conlon really has a grip on the Brooklyn boys."

"Ground rules." I said to Declan. "No weapons."

"Coward." Declan said with a toothy smile. His teeth had very buck-like qualities, which made him resemble something of a rabbit. He had no rabbit-like qualities, however, he was quite ruthless. 

"You have a rocket in your pocket, Clanner," I said, "throw it away so that we can do this." Declan stared at me angrily for a little bit longer than an instant, brown eyes growing increasingly darker by the second. He then let out a sharp breath.

"Everyone, weapons on the floor." He shouted, reaching into his coat. He then pulled a handgun from a hidden pocket and dropped it. The rest of his crew did the same. 

Once Declan turned back to me, I punched him hard in the groin. He grunted and nearly toppled to the floor. I looked back at the rest of the Sharks, Jets, and Newsies with a triumphant grin. That instant, a very sudden clash occurred between the groups. Despite looking like he wanted to praise my action, Riff was pulled away by Ray, Ronan's second in command. He wasn't holding a weapon, but definitely distracted my Friend with a clean, swift blow to the jaw. 

Before I could arrive to his rescue, a hand closed around my arm and and yanked me to the floor. Landing hard on my shoulder, I grunted and looked at my attacker, who was wearing an untucked white shirt and shiny brass knuckles. It was Morris Delancey. 

"What's up, doll-face?" He asked snidely. I jumped up, not excited to receive a hit from his metal enhanced fist. 

"You have nothing to do with this rumble, Oscar." I said, painfully aware of the countless fights happening around me.

"Fightin' for a better cause, sweetheart." He said with a shrug. "That guy killed your ringleader, you ain't upset?"

"He had it coming." I said, staring hard at him. Oscar then brought his right fist closer to his own face, brandishing the brass knuckles in front of me. 

"Boy, I really hope you like the taste of copper." He said darkly. Just after finishing his sentence, he made his swing, brass knuckles twinkling in a catch of light. I swiftly moved to duck, but was blocked by a brawl happening right behind me. The very instant that the thought of the inability to escape entered my mind, a body moved between Oscar and I, blocking the punch. It was Riff.

Riff grunted when the brass knuckles hit his chest, definitely leaving a gnarly bruise that I would come to feel immense guilt for. However, despite the blow, Riff managed to deal a hit that sent Oscar reeling, which gave Riff the opportunity to finish the spat, kicking him in the stomach. Immediately after, Riff whipped around and grabbed both of my shoulders. 

Looking up, I saw that his face was laden with scrapes and small bruises. The same thing was strewn across the visible area of his chest and arms. 

"Are you okay?" I asked, painfully aware of the fighting going on around us. All in the span of a few seconds, Riff wordlessly held my shoulders and pulled me in, smashing his lips into mine. Just as quickly as it had begun, Riff and I were both whisked away into separate fights.