Dallas Winston was by no means subtle. The word “subtle” wouldn’t even register to even the most uneducated in his antics. Subtly didn’t show in his actions to his words, this much would be true when he ended himself up in a sticky corn-syrup mess, fizzy Coca Cola dripping from his deep brown hair to the battered leather of his favorite jacket.

How did he get into this predicament? Most people wouldn’t have the courage to ask. As Dallas and Ponyboy made their way to the local drive in, Dallas had an itching to cause problems. It was like an urge he was never able to suppress. When he saw you, he just knew he had to get his kicks with tormenting you. Being a Soc just made it that much better for him, that much more of a feat.

Slipping into the seat directly behind you, he pressed his hands against your backrest, hoisting himself forward to glance at the side of your face. “Hey, i got a question.” He spoke softly, almost like he was trying to draw you in before causing the havoc he so desperately craved. “Your hair…..does the color extend to other parts?” He asks, earning a cackle from the likes of PonyBoy and a slap from Soda.