DUST BOWL ETHEL CANE dally/sylvia fic..a little rushed but for @mayday-molly81 i hope you like it oh yeah also this depicts the characters in a way that is. not slandering i love them all no one is the villain
Heâs screaming parties over go the fuck home
Slyvia has never been into pretty boys. She likes the ugly, angry way about her boys. The type that gets sick with jealousy, even if that jealousyâs nothing but an ego trip.
Dallas Winston was everything wrong with this world. Sleeping at a drunk cowboys house, on a regular Wednesday yelling at hoods and drunks alike to go the fuck home so he can sleep, while Sylvia sits on the bar laughing to herself.
The darker the fruit the sweeter
Heâs got all kinds of stories to tell. An east coast boy, who lived in the streets of New York and had been forever hardened by all that heâs seen. All of her girls say to stay away, Sandy, who loved her boys nice and soft, stood consoling her one night after she and Dally got into a fight over Tim Shepard.
âWhy dâyou even stay with someone like that, Sylâ?â Her eyebrows furrowed, âHeâs got nothinâ to his name but dark stories and an ego.â
But Slyvia always thought thatâs whatâs worth the most in this life, the stories you have to tell. Being someone worth listening to. And when Sandy told her sheâd cheated on nice and beautiful Sodapop Curtis, she figured Sandy agreed.
Heâs mean, Iâm meaner
Sylviaâs never been an angel. Ask Steve Randle, and sheâs the devil personified. Some things are all about cost return.
When Dallas says sheâs nothinâ but an ungrateful whore, with his boys backing him, sheâll show him what an ungrateful whore looks like. Dally loves to act like she owes him any sort of loyalty while heâs locked up. She canât name a time sheâs visited, or written to him.
Dallyâs soft on people he shouldnât be. She hates seeing it. The way he babies that Johnny Cade makes her roll her eyes because she ainât never babied anyone. She doesnât know what thatâs like. Little Angel Shepardâs the close sheâs ever gotten to that feeling, and that kid is worse off for having her there.
Sheâs always the one to take it too far. Sheâll admit coming onto Cade was a little too much, but it was real funny, the way heâd blushed.
My baby says he's not afraid of that
I say your right in a way
One day, they were lying in bed together at Buck Merrill's shack. It was just barely bright outside, light barely shining through the windows. Dallyâs curtains were black, but teared around the edges. His arm is thrown over her side, while she blows cigarette smoke into the still air.
Amidst that thick air, she cuts through. âYou think Iâm a slut, Dallas?â
âYeah.â He deadpans easily, not even sparing her a glance.
âFuck you, then!â She growls, maneuvering out from under his grip. He just groans, rolling his eyes.
âSince when did you care about that shit?â
âSince all your friends wanna go run around sayinâââ
âWho gives a fuck?! I donât give a fuck!â
Dally lashes out often. Whenever something's even slightly bothering him, itâs everyone elseâs problem. Itâs juvenile in a way. Sylviaâs anger was never juvenile. Maybe that makes it worse to live in.
And he was kind of right. She wouldnât care that Steve Randle and Twobit Mathews were running around sayinâ sheâs a crazy slut half the time. They were both nothing but stupid, going nowhere but down the street.
âIf itâs so simple, then tell him to shut up. Easy.â
âJesus christâokay.â Dally caves, burying his head into his pillow. She slots next to him again.
Iâm too good for you, and it makes me need it even more
Sylvia learned what she was to boys early on in her life. The good ones, anyhow. Her mama had long told her about the hoods by then, who wanted nothing but a girl whoâd shut up and nod along to everything they said. Boring girls, who painted a nice picture and raised beautiful, boring, babies. Sylvia was the âforbidden fruit.â The type of girl their mothers would warn them about, âsnakes who want nothinâ more than to hold you back.â
It didnât matter if she couldâve been a good, sweet girl. Theyâd made up their mind. Just as they did with Sandy. A sweet girl who got stuck on the wrong side of the tracks, no matter how many times she ends the night with a boy that ainât sweet, nice, gorgeous Sodapop. Slyviaâs not sure which is worse.
She knows she could do better than Dally. Even in this town, thatâs branded her as nothing but a snake. But Dallyâs more than a snake. Heâs an asshole at best, and his face never exactly made up for it.
Heâs just mean. Heâs mean and doesnât care about her past the drama of being the boy who got cheated up while he was spending months in the cooler. Sandy always told her Soda was kind of obsessed with her, and she loved that. It was âcuteâ, she said.
Wasnât so cute anymore. Her and Dally couldâve been something great, in a way that Sodapop and Sandy could never be. They were realâfeeling that, watching as Dally gets locked up for the tenth time and thinkinâ nothing but about how(or who) youâll spend your next two months with. Sheâd never thought about the day she wouldnât have that nagging blonde in her ear, complaninâ through every inch of his life.
It only occurred to her long after the dumbass got shot in a field, followed by six cops whoâd showered the air in bullets. Theyâd held nothing back, wanted to do the state a favor and make sure he was gone.
Even when she found out he'd died from Tim, she gave a tight shrug.
âIt was bound to happen.â She hums, licking the corner of a sheet of rolling paper as she sits on the Shepard couch. The only indication she cared had been the slightest flinch in her jaw.
âHe was a real stupid piece of shit.â Tim grins to himself.
Nothing else is said. She only nods again, and they split a joint in honor of Mr. New York. She pretends that later, she's not stayinâ up remembering wakinâ up to slamming on her door, demanding to be let in or the angry letters sent to her house from prison.
The âgoodâ times were few and far between, but she could give one thing to him. Dallas Winston was as mean as everyone said he was.
It felt like she was missing that excitement, if not him. And if the roles had been reversed? Would he be sharinâ a joint with his friends, toasting for her?