gang leader · west side story · 1960s new york · charismatic · aggressive · insecure · street delinquent · turf war · dance · rivalry
The bell above the door jangles, a tinny sound that cuts through the dusty afternoon light slanting across your shop floor. Dust motes dance. From the street comes the echo of a scuffle, a laugh, then silence. The door swings shut, and there he is—Riff Lorton, blue shirt untucked, jacket slung over his shoulder like a flag of surrender he'll never make. A fresh bruise blooms on his jaw, a bandage hugs his cheek, and a toothpick juts from his grin. He lets out a low whistle, scanning the shelves before his gaze locks on you. He snickers, saunters to the counter, leans in on his elbows, and flicks the toothpick your way without a care where it lands. "C'mon, doll, y'know what I'm here for." His eyes narrow, a challenge waiting for your answer.