» » » Marty’s cheeks puff up before a sigh is released, head suddenly tilting lower as a hand runs across the back of his neck. An obvious, inherited nervous habit picked up from his formerly anxiety-ridden father. ❝ Yeah, uha, the Doc doesn’t always go about things…legitimately. ❞ He flashes a small smile despite speaking such a damning fact. ❝ Sometimes you gotta go outside the rules to get things done, y’know? ❞ Again, he’s forced to look down at his vest. Leaning back a bit, smoothing left hand over it self-consciously now. ❝ Ah, no, it’s just, uh… duck feathers in there, or something…– I’m pretty good at improvising that kinda thing, though, so…I’m not worried about it. ❞ That was a lie – he still has nightmares on the regular about Doc & himself getting gunned down throughout random eras of history. But he’s quick to shove those memories to the wayside, looking more offended than anything at Dallas’ mostly joking accusation.
❝ What? No – never – I’d never do somethin’ like that. ❞ He scrunches his nose up a bit at the thought, knowing the time-continuum repercussions that would have in the first place let alone the moral dilemmas. ❝ I’m a hell’uv’a shot, but, I don’t wanna kill anybody… that’s just too heavy. ❞
He glances off for a moment as he watches the nearby waitress pass by, not to subtly checking her out as she passed. Slowly his eyes drag back toward Dallas, nodding somewhat. ❝ Yeah, a little longer…maybe a week or two. ❞ He shrugs, not really sure how long it was actually going to take to get the DeLorean up & running again. A shrug is offered at first as another answer, though he is eyeing Dallas up & down somewhat by hearing that he’s had trouble outside of Tulsa. What the hell kinda gang did he get himself mixed up in now?
❝ …Uha, well…whichever one is the biggest and baddest, I guess – New York? What happened there? ❞
He leans back again when the waitress came by with their drink orders. A chocolate milkshake sounded to hit the spot for Marty, & the aspiring guitarist was quick to flash a more sultry smile at their pretty waitress with a word of ❝ Thanks. ❞ when she passed them their orders. Careful to mind where his eyes rested, until she turned away.
Dallas watched Marty as he decided to continue building his palace of sugar packets without looking down at his hands. It took a strange concentration and a steady hand. Dallas was good at keeping his primary attention on one thing while usually a peripheral attention to give himself options. This trait transferred into many different situations he found himself in.
A colourful smirk as Marty spoke, he approved of this Doc whoever he was. “Well sure. Not all great things are achieved legally, man.”
At Marty’s next few comments he nodded. He recognized that look. Johnny used it as a mask. “Right.” And Dallas was used to offending people anyway.
Brows lofted and he finally looked back down at his precarious tower of sugar, nodding as Marty’s reaction. “Yeah, killing is... heavy...” He wasn’t familiar with the slang term, but he gathered enough. And heavy was an accurate term in his experience whether on purpose or by accident. His eyes flickered back up to find Marty’s face, “Helluva shot, eh? Where’d you learn to shoot if you don’t dig killin’? Tin cans with gramps or somethin’?”
Dallas’ gaze trailed Marty’s toward the waitress before matching again. “Well, you’re lucky then. I mean.. the guys here... they’re the most loyal...” family... “people a guy can find... but... I dunno-- things are rough all over. I guess it doesn’t matter where you go, whatever your damage it follows you no matter what. Keep running or face it. Go where things are best for you. Little less shitty.” He paused, “It’s not perfect here, but it’s less shitty for me. I hope where ever you go it’s the same.” Dallas shifted a bit. He didn’t like being... nice. He was never nice... but an odd sense of honesty was consistent in whatever foot he put forward-- for better or worse.
The waitress couldn’t help her cheeks turning a shade of pink in return to the attractive boy across from the trash that was Dallas. She smiled and looked away bashfully, wondering what he was doing hanging around with that kinda riffraff as she walked away.
Dallas chuckled, “Huh. New York. Why not the story that started it all....” His dad was a banker before he’d went down hill. Before the drugs and alcohol. Before Dallas developed a personality beyond being just a child. Before he found that true money wasn’t always found the traditional way. “I uh. I knew a thing or two about how banks worked. I was 10. A sorta hazing. I was on the streets a lot and this gang took me on, but I hadn’t proved myself yet. A few small heists but...” he shook his head, “So... they planed something big. An armed robbery. They knew I knew a thing or too about banks so I helped where I could. The day came and I was suppose to be the consult. We all packed heat, just the way they rolled.” He paused again, the thought playing back and he didn’t care for it. His gaze was far away. “I was the youngest. They had it all planned, but not everything goes to plan. You know, we almost did it. But you can’t account for every possibility, man. I panic’d. I feared jail more than death... and I shot. I shot.” He remembered his buddy smiling and coming toward him thinking they’d done it but a hostage had a gun and found an opportunity to make it known. His buddy went down so instinctively Dallas retaliated. He was a lousy shot, but the leader wasn’t. A seond shot rang from behind him. He remembered the look of the light leaving the man’s eyes. “And I was responsible for that man’s life. At ten.” He chewed the inside of his lip, “The guys took the loot and left me to take the wrap for a murder I didn’t commit. The guy that was shot got a light sentence, and I was only ten so all things considered it could been worse, but after two years in kid prison they ruled that their wasn’t enough evidence that this was me rather than this otherwise well-known asshole.” With a flick, he toppleded the sugar tower, “Damage was done though.”
