Make Damn Sure (Bob, Steve, open for Outsiders)

[yolanda7h]

Dally drove into the gas station in his black 2004 Acura, windows down, his car blasting some Papa Roach song. His arm rested out the window, a cigarette between his fingers, as he pulled up to the auto repair area. It was a fuckin' sauna out, and all Dally had on was a grey wife-beater shirt and jeans. But because it was hot out, that meant everyone was out doing some shit and causing some trouble, and Dal was no exception. He hadn't heard an ear full from Sherlock or Watson and he was feelin' pretty damn confident he got away with the good bit of cash he stole from them.

So he decided to stick around for a bit, at least until he got tired of Sylvia's bullshit - which will probably be soon. In fact, Dally eyed the girls at the station in the short shorts and low neck t-shirts - it was the best part of summer. The girls just threw their clothes off like it was nothing. He stopped his car and stuck his head out the window.

"Hey!" he shouted at one of the girls putting gas in her car. He leaned out the window a bit. "You know how work that thing?" He teased with a smirk.

"Get lost, asshole," she snapped at him.

"What? You just look like you could use some help. You know if you bend over you can --"

"Oh my god! I dont need your help just get outta here!"

"Whatever you say, chick." Dally grinned to himself and suppressed a laugh as he drove off. A bunch of idiots were blocking the pathway to the garage Steve worked at and Dally obnoxiously honked his horn at them, causing somewhat of a scene. Sticking his head out the window he shouted "Get outta my fuckin' way, you dumbass!"

[trae]

It was hot. Like, hotter than hot. Like, hotter than hell. Steve hated being too hot. He was wondering why in the hell he was working in the garage where there's heat and no air circulating, on a day like this. And, he was also wondering why it was so damn hot in New York. It wasn't supposed to be hot in New fucking York. Unfortunately for him, Steve had a dress code to abide by. Apparently people coming to a gas station expected the workers to wear shirts. And pants, too. So, to cool himself down, Steve often bent the dress code. He opened the button up shirt he was given, rolled the sleeves up, and almost 'forgot' to wear shoes.

Steve walked out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag that was too dirty for it's own good, and stood where there was actually a breeze. He sighed, wiping his face with the dirty rag.

Then, he heard a very distinctive voice coming from a very distinctive car. Dallas Winston.

"Get outta my fuckin' way, you dumbass!" he heard coming from the car, along with the horn blaring.

"Hey!" he yelled right back, not caring if Dally wasn't talking to him. "Shut the hell up! People are workin' here!"

He grinned, then noticed why Dally was screaming so much. A car was blocking his way. So, since he kind of worked there, Steve walked up to the car and rapped his knuckles on the side of the car.

"And you can just move yourself out of the way. People are tryin'a get in here."

Service with a smile, his ass.

[maggiewritersblock]

At that moment there was nothing more annoying to Bob Sheldon than the sound of the lowerclass yelling. Specifically Dallas Winston's yelling and a retort from some other greaser. His car was supposedly a sound barrier--sound barrier his ass.

Bob really just wanted to leave, but he was trapped between two cars in line for the gas pump. This gas station probably wouldn't have the quality gasoline that his car was used to, but, alas, he was running extremely low. If he didn't get to the pump soon, he'd have to shut off the air conditioning. On a day like that one, that was Bob's worst fear.

The sound of Dallas Winston calling him, Robert Sheldon, a dumbass made Bob's nerves snap. He would have yelled right back at those two greasers, but that would involve rolling down the window. Rolling down the window would bring humidity into his nice, cool car. Humidity made Bob sticky. Bob detested being sticky.

[yolanda7h]

"Hey! Shut the hell up! People are workin' here!"

Who the heck was that? Hand still on the steering wheel, he moved his head and half of his body out the window to make sure who ever said that shit could see and hear him. Steve fuckin Randle. That son of a bitch. Where the hell did he get off talkin' to him like that? And people were working there? Could've fooled the heck out of him.

"Tell me to shut up again and I'll run you the fuck over, Steve!" Dal shouted right at him. "I'll have your ass stuck to the fuckin concrete!"

Steve might not have had the opportunity to respond to Dally because he was trying to talk to who ever was in the car in front of him. So Dal quickly diverted his attention back to the douche in the way. The car looked real nice, and real familiar too. He'd seen it around before and it looked like something a Soc would drive. Then again, it wasn't like there weren't other people besides those on the West side of Windrixville that drove nice cars. Still, Dal didn't really care who it was at this point. It could've been a greaser for all he cared. Instead, he honked like a maniac, still half way out of the window.

"You call that doin' your job? What's the fuckin deal?" He shouted at Steve in between honks. He had about enough of this shit. He stopped his unproductive honking, and got out of the car, slamming the door. He approached Steve and the car that was front of him with his usual calm but confident stroll. Giving Steve a slight shove out of the way, he banged on the window of the car obnoxiously with his fist, not even looking to see who it was.

"Move or I'll move the damn thing myself" Dal said, in all seriousness. The back of that car wouldn't be in tact when he does either.

[trae]

When the man in the car didn't even have the decency to reply much less move his car, it made Steve a little mad. He was asking very politely for the guy to move. Just doing his job. But, the guy wouldn't have any of that and kept himself locked up in his car, where Steve was sure he was enjoying his air conditioning. Asshole.

Dally must have thought the same thing, because before he knew it, he was right there, shoving Steve out of the way. Normally, Steve would have shoved right back, but they were both working towards the same thing right then, and he couldn't care less.

Dally was knocking on the car and screaming, so Steve settled on standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glaring from behind.

"It'd be best for you to do what he says," Steve said in that certain tone of voice that would usually get him punched across the face. "Hurry up and move it."