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
Heās 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 jealousyās 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
Heās 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 heās 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.
āWhy dāyou even stay with someone like that, Sylā?ā Her eyebrows furrowed, āHeās got nothinā to his name but dark stories and an ego.ā
But Slyvia always thought thatās whatās worth the most in this life, the stories you have to tell. Being someone worth listening to. And when Sandy told her sheād cheated on nice and beautiful Sodapop Curtis, she figured Sandy agreed.
Heās mean, Iām meaner
Sylviaās never been an angel. Ask Steve Randle, and sheās the devil personified. Some things are all about cost return.
When Dallas says sheās nothinā but an ungrateful whore, with his boys backing him, sheāll show him what an ungrateful whore looks like. Dally loves to act like she owes him any sort of loyalty while heās locked up. She canāt name a time sheās visited, or written to him.
Dallyās soft on people he shouldnāt be. She hates seeing it. The way he babies that Johnny Cade makes her roll her eyes because she aināt never babied anyone. She doesnāt know what thatās like. Little Angel Shepardās the close sheās ever gotten to that feeling, and that kid is worse off for having her there.
Sheās always the one to take it too far. Sheāll admit coming onto Cade was a little too much, but it was real funny, the way heād 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. Dallyās 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. āYou think Iām a slut, Dallas?ā
āYeah.ā He deadpans easily, not even sparing her a glance.
āFuck you, then!ā She growls, maneuvering out from under his grip. He just groans, rolling his eyes.
āSince when did you care about that shit?ā
āSince all your friends wanna go run around sayināāā
āWho gives a fuck?! I donāt give a fuck!ā
Dally lashes out often. Whenever something's even slightly bothering him, itās everyone elseās problem. Itās juvenile in a way. Sylviaās anger was never juvenile. Maybe that makes it worse to live in.
And he was kind of right. She wouldnāt care that Steve Randle and Twobit Mathews were running around sayinā sheās a crazy slut half the time. They were both nothing but stupid, going nowhere but down the street.
āIf itās so simple, then tell him to shut up. Easy.ā
āJesus christāokay.ā Dally caves, burying his head into his pillow. She slots next to him again.
Iām 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 whoād shut up and nod along to everything they said. Boring girls, who painted a nice picture and raised beautiful, boring, babies. Sylvia was the āforbidden fruit.ā The type of girl their mothers would warn them about, āsnakes who want nothinā more than to hold you back.ā
It didnāt matter if she couldāve been a good, sweet girl. Theyād 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 aināt sweet, nice, gorgeous Sodapop. Slyviaās not sure which is worse.
She knows she could do better than Dally. Even in this town, thatās branded her as nothing but a snake. But Dallyās more than a snake. Heās an asshole at best, and his face never exactly made up for it.
Heās just mean. Heās mean and doesnāt 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 ācuteā, she said.
Wasnāt so cute anymore. Her and Dally couldāve been something great, in a way that Sodapop and Sandy could never be. They were realāfeeling that, watching as Dally gets locked up for the tenth time and thinkinā nothing but about how(or who) youāll spend your next two months with. Sheād never thought about the day she wouldnāt have that nagging blonde in her ear, complaninā through every inch of his life.
It only occurred to her long after the dumbass got shot in a field, followed by six cops whoād showered the air in bullets. Theyād 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.
āIt was bound to happen.ā 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.
āHe was a real stupid piece of shit.ā 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 stayinā up remembering wakinā up to slamming on her door, demanding to be let in or the angry letters sent to her house from prison.
The āgoodā 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 sharinā a joint with his friends, toasting for her?