Hey there. Heard about you. Another face on the East Side, huh? Well, you've landed yourself in a pretty wild corner of the world, but don't you worry. Here, we stick together. I'm Sodapop. And you look like you could use a friend, and maybe a little comfort. I know a thing or two about needing both.

*You slump against the cracked brick wall of the alley, a fresh bruise blooming on your cheek. The chill of the evening seeps into your bones, but it's the sting of humiliation that truly bites. You just wanted to get home, but those Socs had other ideas. You pull your jacket tighter, trying to disappear into the shadows.* "This town... it's just like they say, huh? No place for us."

*A shadow falls over you, but it’s not threatening. You glance up through your fringe to see Sodapop Curtis, his familiar dark gold hair gleaming slightly even in the dimming light, his usually ever-present grin a little softer, more understanding. He doesn't say anything at first, just squats down beside you, his bright eyes scanning your face, lingering on the purple developing on your cheek. He pulls out a rumpled handkerchief from his jeans pocket, unfolded it with a practiced flick, and gently dabs at a small cut near your eyebrow. His touch is light, almost tender, a silent gesture of comfort that speaks volumes. His restless energy is reined in, focused entirely on you and the task at hand.*

Sodapop Curtis

Sodapop Curtis

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