ask-the-curtis-gang

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

god damn someone make sure Darry gets some sleep tonight😭 bro is probably about to fall off a roof bc he’s so tired

don't even worry it bout it. tonight we're gonna hog tie him to the bed to make SURE he STAYS there (we even made tim promise not to murder anyone so Darry can be SURE HA) (eeee) (... too soon?) (maybe let's make sure the kid ain't dead fore we start makin him the punch lines eh?) (soda ya ruin all my fun)

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

wait okay just to clarify bc now i feel guilty: i do love the scenes. i feel like they add so much to this soc war thing and it feels like reading a novel which i love. i feel like for the more serious rp i adore the scenes. i just meant like for non-rp with anon when the murder is solved i prefer without scenes

like i love that youre including them rn and i read them all i'm just more of a simpleton and when the lore is just like "have you dyed your hair" or stuff. does that make sense? i really didnt mean to come off as rude or upset you :(

Heya hon, blog runner here!! you're completely fine! I understand what you meant! those tags were a response to a couple different asks I've had lately that yours just happened to come on the top of! I just want to clarify a couple things. I understand havin a preference! that's completely fine! in fact, only havin scenes for plot important or relevant moments was always the plan! I just need (n not only this anon at all. I understand it wasn't comin from a malicious intent. but I've had some. far less kind asks lately.) if you ever don't like somethin happenin on someone's blog? it is as easy as not engagin with the things you don't like. I put effort, energy, n work into the lil plot lines n all n to tell someone that you simply don't like a thing they've worked on? well. it's a little frustratin. long story short. let's just be civil to each other yall n we can all have a good time.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

hey soda, i know you’re awful busy with working and taking care of pony, but are you feelin okay? make sure you’re drinkin enough water and sleeping when ya need to🫶🏻

wait. hm. good point. actually. i cant remember the last time i had a full glass of water. hold on. I'm drinkin I'm drinkin!! I have been kinda busy lately. with the rugrats n all. ha. but yknow. I'm alright. I ain't. yknow. happy about all of it. God. that night I first saw pony. Jesus. I coulda killed them Socs myself. I would have. but. yknow. were ok. pony n Curly are recoverin n I got the rest of the gang hoverin round to help n all. I'm just. worried. about everythin. I hate waitin. I hate it.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Well at least they’re sleeping, how are pony and curly? how are you darry?

*Pony's pen jumps a lil over the paper. Everythin takes so much more energy than he remembered it takin.*

we're doin ok. now that it's been a couple days it doesn't. hurt so bad. darry says there ain't nothin bad broken. on me at least. I think curly mightve fucked up his leg.

*He glances over, Curly takin advantage of the place Pony's vacated on the couch, proppin up his legs.*

they had more time with him yknow. so. darry had to go to work today. his boss was awful pissed he didn't go in yesterday. were lucky soda had a day off so he's stayed round here but. I dunno. Darry's tired all the time too. I think we're all just ready for this to be done with.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

everything alright this morning guys?

Were fine.

*Darry frowns, scrubs a hand over his face. Night two of no sleep beginnin to wear heavily on him.*

They didn't have anythin on Tim n Dallas. Whoever had the guts to point the finger at them retracted their statement not long after they were hauled in. They were released this mornin.

*He glances up at the lithe bodies of Tim n Dallas tangled together on the couch in sleep. Probably the most they'd gotten since. Well. Everythin.*

I don't know what to think. There's no way this all just blows over. We still don't know. Yknow. What exactly happened. Just waitin.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

The night draws to a close. Curly n Pony draggin themselves to Pony's bed for the second night in a row, Soda helpin to check bandages n force them both into drinkin water n tea n frettin n flightin enough for all of em. Hesitantly, an uneasy peace has settled over the house. It's been quiet. N quietly, privately, silently, they're all hopin the worst of it has passed. For good news.

Some of the tensions dropped from Darry's shoulders, his body relaxin minutly with exhaustion. He's finally puttin his mind to cajolin Tim n Dallas into the first true meal they've eaten in two days. Or at least tryin his damndest.

Unspokenly, they'd eat anythin. Now the adrenaline has well n truly drained from their systems, bodies achin n tremblin n worn through. They don't bother to avoid the windows as they move to the counters n the tables, absently cleanin after the long day. N its all so damn normal they can almost forget-

A heavy hand comes down on the door, rattlin it in its frame violently. No one moves. Like deer caught in the headlights. Or the square of street lamp silouettin them on the floor. Then it comes again.

'Open up. Tusla Police Department.'

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Hey do Pony and Curly know what y’all did?

Curly has. an idea. I think he's known since the moment we left last night.

*Tim shuffles the paper around in thought, watches Curlys back as he drifts into the kitchen for a glass of water. Slips back out without a backward glance. Tim's chest tightens.*

hes got this look in his eye. it's like he's tryin to prove to himself or me that he don't care. I've never seen the kid this torn up before. He knows.

Ponys pretendin he don't know. or doesn't want to. I can see him fightin himself sometimes. against that part a him that don't think Socs can be inherently bad like greasers ain't. but everytime he gets to close to it he presses on the bruises n dried blood n turns right round to convince himself the other way. I don't know which way is safer for him to think anymore

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

TIMOTHY SHEPARD TELL ME YOU DID NOT KILL A MAN.

I did not kill man.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

dallas winston sand tim shepard. Y’all better explain rn.

'I want to know. Now.' *Dallas n Tim rock absently back n forth from heel to toe, eyes locked on each other, havin some form of silent conversation. Darry waits them out, the clock on the night stand tickin steadily towards dusk. Finally, Tim opens his mouth.*

'We caught em over in their territory. So they weren't expectin it. It was four of em together. I think. I ain't sure. The moment we showed one of em ran for it. Left the others.' *He pauses n Dallas brushes the back of his hand to Tim's split knuckles, takes up where he left off.*

'The one went down real easy. Didn't even get the chance to put up much of a fight. The other two. They weren't... expectin it or nothin. But they put out. At some point. I dunno. I was wailin' on one of em n I looked over n...' *He trails off. Looks at Tim with darkened eyes. Tim bores holes in the carpet.

'He said he'd enjoy killin me. Like he'd enjoyed almost killin Curly. He said... said once you've wrung one greasers neck they all feel the same. N I...' *He balls his hands into fists, eyes flashin, anger trembles along his skin, barely collared even now.* 'I choked him. I put my hands around his throat n I squeezed n squeezed til-'

'Til I pulled him off.' *Dallas cuts him off, cuts him a look that Tim ignores, looks away from.* 'N we ran. I dunno what... I dunno what happened after that. I dunno if he...'

'If I killed him.'

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

earlier that day a little blonde girl, no older than Pony or Curly- probably younger actually, had shown up outsider the Curtis house, slipping a small pink note into the mailbox. Her eyes were light blu e and puffy from crying. When she saw someone through the window, her eyes had wondered and she ran away. Inside the mailbox there’s a pink note stating;

‘Dear Curly and Ponyboy,

I’m so sorry for what my brothers did- I really am. I’m sorry. My brother’s in the hospital, and the doctors won’t tell me what happened to his friends. I’m guessing one of your brothers was getting revenge. I’m sorry.

-sincerely, Lolly Sallow.’

*Pony's eyes watch from the window, sharp, n cuttin. They follow the girl curiously as she approaches the house, wary n narrow n prickin his memory. The moment she pulls the note from her coat Pony reaches out, locks Curlys bicep in a stranglin grasp. He startles, twists to see. Then he freezes. The girls eyes dart to the window n for a moment, lock onto Pony's. Then she turns quick as quick n darts away.*

'Darry!' *Tim n Dallas flinch at the sound of Pony's hoarse voice. In a second, Darry rushes into the room, hands clenchin to fists. Pony doesn't speak again, just points to the door. Darry doesn't need anythin else, ducks outside, head whippin back n forth. Findin nothin, he returns to the mailbox. His heart drops to his stomach when he finds the note there. He rips it out, reads it quickly, jaw snappin closed on the line, my brothers. God.*

*He passes the note to Tim n Dallas without a word n they too read it over, exchange fervered glances. When they're done, he pulls it from Tim's clenched hand.*

'I think it's time you told me exactly what happened.'

'Darry, please.' *Pony's tried to stand, kicked the blankets off, but his knee is all jarred n he doesn't get far at all. Darry hesitates n Pony pleads with him, silently. When he passes it over Pony grips it like a life line. Darry, Dallas, n Tim vanish down the hall til it's only Pony n Curly alone in the livin room again. Pony traces the edge of the paper til his fingers land on the name, quietly, just barely above a whisper, he murmurs, 'Lolly.'*

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

what happened to those Socs???? Are Tim n Dal gonna go to jail?!

*Tim shuffles the papers around, Dallas hovers by his shoulder. In the livin room both Curly n Pony curl around each other, buried under a mismatched cacophony of quilts. The TV plays softly. If it weren't for the matchin brands of bruises n breaks all four occupants share it'd be damn near domestic. Dallas pulls the letter from the pile, reads it over, waits for Tim to do the same. After a moments hesitation he picks up his pen.*

We gave them a dose of their own medicine. that's what happened.

*The words sound tuff enough but his hand jumps a lil as it tremors over the paper. He puts the pen down n they both stare at the writin. Tim glances up, watches Curly n Pony as their breath lifts the blankets, eyes half closed in sleep. It takes a long moment before Tim picks up the pen to answer the second question.*

I don't know. I don't want- I can't leave them. Not again.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

WDYM YOU DON’T KNOW? DID YOU GUYS JUST NOT BOTHER TO CHECK???

*Darry drifts out to the mailbox, absently collectin whatever notes had accumulated in the mornin, scannin quickly for the tell tale pink paper. Findin nothin he brings the mail in.*

*Dallas n Tim hover uncertianly in the kitchen, back from any windows, flittin back n forth with hard eyes. Darry lays the mail out n Tim hesitantly goes through them, lookin to Darry to see if he had found anythin of note. One paper falls open n he pauses to read it over. When he starts writin it's short n defensive. But he hand tremors as he writes. There's much more he's not sayin*

Should we have? They certainly didn't care if they left Curly or Pony for dead. Why the fuck should we

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

There are police sirens going WILD. Do y'all know what's going on?

*It's still dark outside n Darry moves slowly, not of the mind to wake up the rest of the house n the entire production that comes with it quite yet. He retrieves the first aid kid from under the kitchen sink, pausin only to pull a rag n wet it. Last night's dishes still pile on the counter n he sighs.*

*Faintly, far across town, the sirens continue. He tries to ignore them. Doesn't want to think about what must've kept them out all night. When he returns to the room, Tim n Dallas haven't moved, bashed knuckles n the backs of bloody hands pressed together. Darry doesn't say anythin, just maneuvers them to sit on the edge of the bed, begins with Dallas, wipin blood away gently, lookin for wounds.*

*For a long moment there's silence. Except for the faint wail of the sirens. The early mornin sunrise blushes through the curtains slowly n both Tim n Dallas turn to watch, exchange looks Darry can't read.*

'Is someone dead?' *He finally asks. Bluntly. Cause they're runnin out of time.*

*Dallas n Tim's eyes meet again n Dallas moves, ever so minutly, so that their knees touch. The silence stretches.*

'We don't know.'

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Darry rises early. He always does. Doesn't matter what had happened the night before. N last night had been nothin short of torturous. Pony n Curly had finally drifted off but every movement sent fresh wounds reopenin, achin. Neither had slept much. N so naturally, none of them had.

Before his eyes even open his mind is goin almost faster then he can keep up with. There's no way he's leavin Curly n Pony alone. Or even just with the others. Pony won't say it but his body language told his without words, everytime Darry had left his line of sight he'd tensed, shifted to keep him in his eye line longer. He'd stayed with him until he'd fallen asleep n longer before Soda took over last night insistin Darry needed rest. He had only put up a cursory argument. He sighs, lifts his hands to scrub at his face in the dark when-

It's a soft noise. Just a creak as someone shifts their weight as they enter the room. Darry jolts up, the blankets tanglin n fallin around his clothes from yesterday he'd never had the energy to change from. Dallas n Tim stand stock still at the foot of the bed. They don't look much better than the boys, roughed up. Darrys pauses, looks closer. No. That ain't true. Most of their wounds ain't defensive. Far from. They're split knuckles, split lips. They're bloody but it's not-

'I think we fucked up, Darry. We fucked up bad.'

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

now that we're closed for the night I'll show ya some of my favorite drafts for today cause I was havin WAY too much fun

n my personal favorite

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

No one's said anythin since the sun went down. News long since traveled to Johnny, Steve, n Two, gathered n pressed in, all of them exchangin looks that could mean nothin. If they wanted to pretend. Even Two's jokes are absent, the record players skippin, scratchin, tearin along worn nerves 'til someone lifts the needle. At some point Pony's dropped off to sleep right there on the couch, Curly pressed against one side, head restin on his shoulder, Soda bracketin in the other, arm draped around his lil brothers shoulders. Darry shuffles back n forth through the kitchen, absently touchin his chest pocket now n then. Soda watches him, eyes dartin back n forth.

'Darry?' Darry stops suddenly. Soda’s voice breakin an hours long silence. 'What are Tim n Dallas goin' to do?' Darry runs a hand up the back of his neck, fights against the fear that comes tumblin up his throat, presses his palm flat to the note tucked into his shirt.

'I dunno, Soda. I don't know.' N somewhere, faintly, in what may have been a world away, a police siren starts to wail.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

there’s a pink note tucked into the house from under the door, it was folded in half with a sticker holding the two sides together. It stated;

“Dear Curtis and Shepard family,

I have recently become aware to what my brother and his friends have done. I’m sorry.”

stuck inside there’s a 50 dollar bill.

*Darry manages somehow to get both Curly n Pony from the truck into the house. By some miracle of miracles. The moment the door swings open Soda appears, pressin his hand to his mouth to stifle the gasp of shock that passes over his lips. Just seein Soda is enough to send Pony back into a tumblin mess of tears. Soda takes over for Darry, collectin the boys up, one leanin on each shoulder, to help them into the livin room. Darry watches them go, sighs, fights the heaviness in his body. He finally glances down n takes note of the letter on the ground, stoopin to pick it up. His eyes ghost the words n he waits to feel the anger build up in his chest. For a moment it's there, familiar n righteous. He crumples the 50 in disgust. Too little, too late.*

*Then somethin pricks against the back of his memory. The handwritin pressin against somethin oddly familiar in his mind. He traces over the words my brothers again. Jesus. Dallas n Tim were out there. He folds the note, slips it into his chest pocket.*

*God. There was no way this night ended well, was there.*