[fic] Jezebel; Watchmen; Sylvia
Title: Jezebel
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters/Pairings: Sylvia (with palate-cleansing Dan+Ror at the end)
Rating: D for depressing
Warnings: Nothing explicit, but keep in mind that Sylvia is neither a pleasant person nor a good parent; tread lightly if you have issues in this area.
Summary: The life of Sylvia Glick.
Originally written 5/21/09 on the KM, for the prompt: Why didn't Walter's mom abort him when she was pregnant? Did she love him at all, ever?
Sylvia Glick was a good girl. It didn't matter that all her older brothers were meaner than snakes or that their house had peeling paint on the sides or that her daddy had a crumpled-up leg. She was good, and she knew it all the way to her bones. She combed her hair all by herself and could write ABC and was the best at yo-yos even if she was a girl.
Best of all was James. James was her very own dog because she had found him and because he hated her brothers just like she did. Sometimes Mama looked at her with big round eyes and said don't tug on James like that, don't climb on him like that, don't hurt him like that, no no no. But James wasn't hurt because he always panted his hot breath in her face and smiled his doggie smile. Mama didn't understand. All Mama ever did was stand in the kitchen and flap her thin hands and say, "what's to be done, what's to be done." Sylvia always wanted to be outside rather than in the kitchen even though outside gives you a tan and makes you look common.
One time they were walking to synagogue and there were girls with short short dresses and short short hair stumbling down the street and laughing. Their arms and legs were long and white and they had the very reddest lips. Daddy said bad words about them after they passed. Holding his big hand with her little one, Sylvia was glad she was such a good girl.
She didn't feel bad at all the first time she hit her brother Cecil. The look on his ugly freckled face made her laugh and laugh and she laughed again when Mama whupped him for not telling her who he got in a fight with. Daddy looked stern but Sylvia knew it was right because she was good and Cecil was bad and bad people should get punished.
Andrew was her oldest brother. He had lots of red hair and he was dirty all the way through. She caught him one time in the pantry naked and groaning with a wide-hipped girl and they were clawing at each other like monsters and she was sick everywhere.
When the blood came, she thought it was because of bad nightmares about the pantry and bad thoughts. But a stupid girl she sometimes played marbles with said her older sister told her all about it: it happens all the time to women because of original sin and you can't stop it. Her older sister had also said what s-e-x was like, that it hurt a lot and then it was really good.
Father wasn't fun anymore ever since they let drinking be legal again. All he ever did was sit and cry. All Mother ever did was count out dollar bills on the kitchen counter with shaking hands, one two three. It was boring and it made her want to go outside and rip up the vegetable garden just to see the look on everybody's faces. But she didn't because that would be bad. Instead, she dug hard in the dirt with her sturdy stick to look for pirate treasure and be rich. She was way too old for pretend, but sometimes she went to her room and wrapped a sheet around her shoulders like a cape and imagined being the Queen, richer and better than all the Rockefellers, Dreibergs, and Carnegies combined.
There was a boy in the neighborhood who always liked to walk next to her. She supposed he had a handsome face so she let him bend his head and slobber on her mouth. When his hand slid down to a dirty place she felt sick and hot and awful and she wanted to vomit and she hit him as hard she could and he never came back.
Moving in with Uncle Wendell was simply atrocious. He had the tiniest, dingiest house and Aunt Lillian always managed to smell like burnt cabbage soup. Sylvia thought sharing a room with her terrible pug-nosed brothers was already bad enough, but hearing the squeak squeak squeak of a mattress through the ceiling while she lay awake at night was even worse. The only good thing about the arrangement was that her aunt and uncle had no children of their own. Mother glared and hushed her when she asked why, but Sylvia already knew it was a punishment for a transgression. Sylvia also knew that one day she'd have tons of children and they'd all be perfect.
Sylvia was the most beautiful girl in town and she knew it. She had soft dark hair (like her aunt's, but straighter), long limbs (like her mother's, but healthier) and the very reddest lips.
Sometimes it took a while for other people to notice, but not too long once she learned how to make them notice. She liked to go to the talkies with extra nickels leftover from her typing job (she didn't tell the family about it; they would have just taken her money). Sometimes there were newsreels about the Minutemen and she learned to stand tall and wear skirts skimming the middle of her thighs just like Sally Jupiter.
After that, they all noticed. Sweating and panting in the back alley behind the theater, she knew she wasn't good anymore, but beautiful was better.
One day there was a boy a little older, maybe 21, who sat next to her in the theater. His name was Peter Kovacs.
Peter was the second creature she ever liked in the world after her poor dog, long gone now. She didn't even care that his family was probably a bunch of immigrants. He was straight and tall and had convictions. He had black hair and a low voice. He was smart and good all the way to his bones. He said, "I'm going to marry you, Sylvia Jo."
She had a white dress and felt new and clean. He took her to New York City. He joked about a baby girl and she joked about twin baby girls.
Her father couldn't go off to war on account of his leg, but he died anyway.
Peter went off to war and didn't die. When he came back he looked at everything differently, especially her. Sometimes he slept up against her crying pitifully and sometimes he wouldn't even be in the same room with her. The water from the vase she threw at him splattered against the wall, butterfly-shaped, and then seeped down, evaporating, fading.
After Peter was gone Sylvia hated New York, hated its pollution and ugliness and rotting corruption. She especially hated her little apartment when the awful cabbage smell seeped up from downstairs, but she had a good secretary job where the boss recognized her talent and her beauty. He had dark quick eyes and silky black hair and looked like a villain from the movies. When he locked the door and pushed his fingers up past the clasp of her garter belt, all she could gasp was Charlie Charlie Charlie.
His wife found out and it was exactly how she wanted because then they moved in together. He said, "I'm going to marry you, Sylvia Jo." He didn't.
A snub-nosed girl from the typist's pool gave her a place to live for few months and told her about this guy her sister knew who could help with her problem, it was real safe, and it hurt at first but then it was all okay. She curled her arm around her belly and said she wouldn't do that because she wasn't a whore. But what she really thought was maybe it could be a girl, new and clean and perfect, who would have watery black hair and who would love her more than anything.
It was a boy but she didn't care because he would love her more than anything and he was the third creature in her life she had ever liked. The slutty little nurse sneered and judged when she had no father to put on the birth certificate, but she did have a name. She didn't know anyone named Walter so it was fresh and clean and new. Walter would be the president or a movie star or a superhero and everyone would know what a good mother she was.
She knew she wasn't beautiful anymore, but being needed was better.
He was so warm and small when she held him, his face so wrinkly-pink and funny. He was all hers, didn't belong to anyone else, not Peter or her mother or her brothers or even Charlie.
Walter was the most perfect and smartest and best baby, even if he had red hair instead of black. The book said he wasn't going to smile for a few months yet, and even though she had thought all newborns smiled for their mothers she could be patient.
He was always hungry and always angry and he screamed screamed screamed like he could see the end of the world.
Figuring out what to do for money was easy, her new landlord knew all about it and could show her the ropes and would even give her a higher cut for a while on account of her baby. It was just like going behind the movie theater again and maybe it hurt at first but after a while it didn't feel like anything at all.
Her son was a slow walker, all stumpy steps and wobbles and she bit her tongue hard to remind herself to be patient. But when he finally reached her he smiled his baby smile and she hugged him tight like she used to hug her dog when he was good.
Walter was always wanting her to read to him, but she didn't have that many books and he always seemed to want more. She could see it in his eyes, his judgment of her, even though she was doing the best she could.
He was growing up to look like her brothers, all runty and awkward-eared and ugly as sin. Mean too, some mornings he didn't even say I love you or so much as look at her while he brought in the milk and newspaper and started his chores. He was much more content to go crawl under his bed with his blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape. But even that was better than all the questions he had later, so many she had to crawl into her own bed and hide her head under the pillow.
She was counting money out on the kitchen counter one two three and goddamn if that last asshole hadn't stiffed her. Walter was mewling something pathetic about wanting sugar for his cereal because he saw it on a commercial and how much did he think a fucking dentist cost?
There was a special "Where Are They Now" feature on Sally Jupiter, healthy and beautiful and married with a perfect baby girl. Sylvia heaved the television set through the paper-thin wall and they had to move. They couldn't take their dog to the new apartment and Walter cried and cried.
They sat together under the bare light bulb hanging over their table. The smoke from her cigarette curled up in sinuous tendrils. Walter was eating some kind of shit from a can with a spoon too big for him, scrape scrape scrape.
The Lillian Charlton Home sounded like the stuffiest name for anything she'd ever heard. She walked by it only once and never walked by again.
She knew she wasn't needed anymore but being good was better, and Sylvia Kovacs knew she was good all the way to her bones.
It was the first time Rorschach had ever accepted Nite Owl's offer to come back and "hang out" (as Nite Owl put it) after they finished their patrol. He should never have accepted but he was tired and his leg hurt and he could see the other man's eyes as hopeful as a puppy's even through the goggles.
The kitchen was modest but clean, just as tidy as the rest of the home. Rorschach almost felt too dirty for it, but Nite Owl was smiling in shy triumph.
The coffee was hot even through his gloves and the thick mug. When Nite Owl set out the sugar, an old memory stirred in his head and he found himself staring in disbelief, fingers clenching against the table before he nodded, taking two cubes for his coffee plus two more for his pocket by sleight of hand.
They talked tactics and plans and adversaries, two men dressed up in costumes together in a warm kitchen.
Without warning, Nite Owl pulled his goggles down and his cowl back, self-consciously straightening the mess of brown hair which resulted. He looked so kind and good it almost hurt to see.
"Daniel Dreiberg." He had pulled off his gauntlet and was now holding out a bare hand. Trust. Brothers-in-arms.
For the first time, he was at a loss for words.
Carefully joining his hand with Daniel's, he said, "Rorschach," because Rorschach was the one good enough to be his friend.
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters/Pairings: Sylvia (with palate-cleansing Dan+Ror at the end)
Rating: D for depressing
Warnings: Nothing explicit, but keep in mind that Sylvia is neither a pleasant person nor a good parent; tread lightly if you have issues in this area.
Summary: The life of Sylvia Glick.
Originally written 5/21/09 on the KM, for the prompt: Why didn't Walter's mom abort him when she was pregnant? Did she love him at all, ever?
Sylvia Glick was a good girl. It didn't matter that all her older brothers were meaner than snakes or that their house had peeling paint on the sides or that her daddy had a crumpled-up leg. She was good, and she knew it all the way to her bones. She combed her hair all by herself and could write ABC and was the best at yo-yos even if she was a girl.
Best of all was James. James was her very own dog because she had found him and because he hated her brothers just like she did. Sometimes Mama looked at her with big round eyes and said don't tug on James like that, don't climb on him like that, don't hurt him like that, no no no. But James wasn't hurt because he always panted his hot breath in her face and smiled his doggie smile. Mama didn't understand. All Mama ever did was stand in the kitchen and flap her thin hands and say, "what's to be done, what's to be done." Sylvia always wanted to be outside rather than in the kitchen even though outside gives you a tan and makes you look common.
One time they were walking to synagogue and there were girls with short short dresses and short short hair stumbling down the street and laughing. Their arms and legs were long and white and they had the very reddest lips. Daddy said bad words about them after they passed. Holding his big hand with her little one, Sylvia was glad she was such a good girl.
She didn't feel bad at all the first time she hit her brother Cecil. The look on his ugly freckled face made her laugh and laugh and she laughed again when Mama whupped him for not telling her who he got in a fight with. Daddy looked stern but Sylvia knew it was right because she was good and Cecil was bad and bad people should get punished.
Andrew was her oldest brother. He had lots of red hair and he was dirty all the way through. She caught him one time in the pantry naked and groaning with a wide-hipped girl and they were clawing at each other like monsters and she was sick everywhere.
When the blood came, she thought it was because of bad nightmares about the pantry and bad thoughts. But a stupid girl she sometimes played marbles with said her older sister told her all about it: it happens all the time to women because of original sin and you can't stop it. Her older sister had also said what s-e-x was like, that it hurt a lot and then it was really good.
Father wasn't fun anymore ever since they let drinking be legal again. All he ever did was sit and cry. All Mother ever did was count out dollar bills on the kitchen counter with shaking hands, one two three. It was boring and it made her want to go outside and rip up the vegetable garden just to see the look on everybody's faces. But she didn't because that would be bad. Instead, she dug hard in the dirt with her sturdy stick to look for pirate treasure and be rich. She was way too old for pretend, but sometimes she went to her room and wrapped a sheet around her shoulders like a cape and imagined being the Queen, richer and better than all the Rockefellers, Dreibergs, and Carnegies combined.
There was a boy in the neighborhood who always liked to walk next to her. She supposed he had a handsome face so she let him bend his head and slobber on her mouth. When his hand slid down to a dirty place she felt sick and hot and awful and she wanted to vomit and she hit him as hard she could and he never came back.
Moving in with Uncle Wendell was simply atrocious. He had the tiniest, dingiest house and Aunt Lillian always managed to smell like burnt cabbage soup. Sylvia thought sharing a room with her terrible pug-nosed brothers was already bad enough, but hearing the squeak squeak squeak of a mattress through the ceiling while she lay awake at night was even worse. The only good thing about the arrangement was that her aunt and uncle had no children of their own. Mother glared and hushed her when she asked why, but Sylvia already knew it was a punishment for a transgression. Sylvia also knew that one day she'd have tons of children and they'd all be perfect.
Sylvia was the most beautiful girl in town and she knew it. She had soft dark hair (like her aunt's, but straighter), long limbs (like her mother's, but healthier) and the very reddest lips.
Sometimes it took a while for other people to notice, but not too long once she learned how to make them notice. She liked to go to the talkies with extra nickels leftover from her typing job (she didn't tell the family about it; they would have just taken her money). Sometimes there were newsreels about the Minutemen and she learned to stand tall and wear skirts skimming the middle of her thighs just like Sally Jupiter.
After that, they all noticed. Sweating and panting in the back alley behind the theater, she knew she wasn't good anymore, but beautiful was better.
One day there was a boy a little older, maybe 21, who sat next to her in the theater. His name was Peter Kovacs.
Peter was the second creature she ever liked in the world after her poor dog, long gone now. She didn't even care that his family was probably a bunch of immigrants. He was straight and tall and had convictions. He had black hair and a low voice. He was smart and good all the way to his bones. He said, "I'm going to marry you, Sylvia Jo."
She had a white dress and felt new and clean. He took her to New York City. He joked about a baby girl and she joked about twin baby girls.
Her father couldn't go off to war on account of his leg, but he died anyway.
Peter went off to war and didn't die. When he came back he looked at everything differently, especially her. Sometimes he slept up against her crying pitifully and sometimes he wouldn't even be in the same room with her. The water from the vase she threw at him splattered against the wall, butterfly-shaped, and then seeped down, evaporating, fading.
After Peter was gone Sylvia hated New York, hated its pollution and ugliness and rotting corruption. She especially hated her little apartment when the awful cabbage smell seeped up from downstairs, but she had a good secretary job where the boss recognized her talent and her beauty. He had dark quick eyes and silky black hair and looked like a villain from the movies. When he locked the door and pushed his fingers up past the clasp of her garter belt, all she could gasp was Charlie Charlie Charlie.
His wife found out and it was exactly how she wanted because then they moved in together. He said, "I'm going to marry you, Sylvia Jo." He didn't.
A snub-nosed girl from the typist's pool gave her a place to live for few months and told her about this guy her sister knew who could help with her problem, it was real safe, and it hurt at first but then it was all okay. She curled her arm around her belly and said she wouldn't do that because she wasn't a whore. But what she really thought was maybe it could be a girl, new and clean and perfect, who would have watery black hair and who would love her more than anything.
It was a boy but she didn't care because he would love her more than anything and he was the third creature in her life she had ever liked. The slutty little nurse sneered and judged when she had no father to put on the birth certificate, but she did have a name. She didn't know anyone named Walter so it was fresh and clean and new. Walter would be the president or a movie star or a superhero and everyone would know what a good mother she was.
She knew she wasn't beautiful anymore, but being needed was better.
He was so warm and small when she held him, his face so wrinkly-pink and funny. He was all hers, didn't belong to anyone else, not Peter or her mother or her brothers or even Charlie.
Walter was the most perfect and smartest and best baby, even if he had red hair instead of black. The book said he wasn't going to smile for a few months yet, and even though she had thought all newborns smiled for their mothers she could be patient.
He was always hungry and always angry and he screamed screamed screamed like he could see the end of the world.
Figuring out what to do for money was easy, her new landlord knew all about it and could show her the ropes and would even give her a higher cut for a while on account of her baby. It was just like going behind the movie theater again and maybe it hurt at first but after a while it didn't feel like anything at all.
Her son was a slow walker, all stumpy steps and wobbles and she bit her tongue hard to remind herself to be patient. But when he finally reached her he smiled his baby smile and she hugged him tight like she used to hug her dog when he was good.
Walter was always wanting her to read to him, but she didn't have that many books and he always seemed to want more. She could see it in his eyes, his judgment of her, even though she was doing the best she could.
He was growing up to look like her brothers, all runty and awkward-eared and ugly as sin. Mean too, some mornings he didn't even say I love you or so much as look at her while he brought in the milk and newspaper and started his chores. He was much more content to go crawl under his bed with his blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape. But even that was better than all the questions he had later, so many she had to crawl into her own bed and hide her head under the pillow.
She was counting money out on the kitchen counter one two three and goddamn if that last asshole hadn't stiffed her. Walter was mewling something pathetic about wanting sugar for his cereal because he saw it on a commercial and how much did he think a fucking dentist cost?
There was a special "Where Are They Now" feature on Sally Jupiter, healthy and beautiful and married with a perfect baby girl. Sylvia heaved the television set through the paper-thin wall and they had to move. They couldn't take their dog to the new apartment and Walter cried and cried.
They sat together under the bare light bulb hanging over their table. The smoke from her cigarette curled up in sinuous tendrils. Walter was eating some kind of shit from a can with a spoon too big for him, scrape scrape scrape.
The Lillian Charlton Home sounded like the stuffiest name for anything she'd ever heard. She walked by it only once and never walked by again.
She knew she wasn't needed anymore but being good was better, and Sylvia Kovacs knew she was good all the way to her bones.
It was the first time Rorschach had ever accepted Nite Owl's offer to come back and "hang out" (as Nite Owl put it) after they finished their patrol. He should never have accepted but he was tired and his leg hurt and he could see the other man's eyes as hopeful as a puppy's even through the goggles.
The kitchen was modest but clean, just as tidy as the rest of the home. Rorschach almost felt too dirty for it, but Nite Owl was smiling in shy triumph.
The coffee was hot even through his gloves and the thick mug. When Nite Owl set out the sugar, an old memory stirred in his head and he found himself staring in disbelief, fingers clenching against the table before he nodded, taking two cubes for his coffee plus two more for his pocket by sleight of hand.
They talked tactics and plans and adversaries, two men dressed up in costumes together in a warm kitchen.
Without warning, Nite Owl pulled his goggles down and his cowl back, self-consciously straightening the mess of brown hair which resulted. He looked so kind and good it almost hurt to see.
"Daniel Dreiberg." He had pulled off his gauntlet and was now holding out a bare hand. Trust. Brothers-in-arms.
For the first time, he was at a loss for words.
Carefully joining his hand with Daniel's, he said, "Rorschach," because Rorschach was the one good enough to be his friend.