Gabriella
Success. Not that Max harbored a great deal of doubt in the outcome. Still, it *Was* Real sweet how much pride Dallas took in undertaking the task. 

Max gave a nod and walked with Dally along the trail, back in the direction they'd first come from. When he suggested the shooting lessons, Max laughed so his nose crinkled and the smile lingered, but he nodded all the same.

"Sure, Dally, you can give me shootin' lessons. I don't think I'm much made for killing, though. I can't even stomach it with the chickens." Truly couldn't stomach it. The process left him ill in a way that even Max found objectively mismatched to the task. Just wasn't in him, he figured.

"I'll have to think of somethin' else new to teach in return, too. Gotta keep things fair."

He wondered how long they could go on like that, trading skills big and small back and forth. Wondered what else about Dallas Sinclair might crop up that'd surprise him. Wondered, too, if Dallas might still want to spend time together some days after all the teaching had wrapped up. 

Max was getting ahead of himself. They could start by addressing Dally's ability to make biscuits that wouldn't double as bricks.
Julie
"In all that's fair, I think shootin' something and havin' to kill chickens is total apples and pears," He said. "You take a gun and shoot a deer, Yer yards away from it. With chickens, it's all different. Ya feed em everyday, raise em from chicks, and then yer expected to put 'em down and chop their heads off. Not everybody's got the stomach for it," He said, kicking a stone along the path. His eyes followed it, and as they approached it, he kicked it further along. 

This was the most Dallas had talked in a single breath in a damn long time. He usually saved his breath, using nonverbal cues like grunts and head jerks to communicate what he needed to. 

"I ain't ever liked it when I was a kid." He said. "My pop always did it, until he said I was a— well. He ain't never had a nice thing to say when I ain't do what I was supposed to." He cleared his throat and shrugged. 

"But you don't gotta teach me nothin. Besides, shootin' is for self defense. I'd hope you'd have enough sense in that skull to shoot a bear if it was comin' at ya." He gave Max a look, nudging him with his elbow, as if a silent question of *Well, do ya?* 

Actually, he was enjoying his company a lot more than he'd anticipated. "You can teach me how t'... I dunno, I bet you know how to patch up clothes or somethin' else handy."
Gabriella
It was generous of Dallas to outline the differences. He didn't need to do that. It was thoughtful in a genuine way - the sort of thing Max thought he might offer up himself. 

Max's expression faltered when Dallas touched on (and quickly evaded) the topic of his father. And gee, if a boy like Dallas couldn't live up to all the expectations of a son, what hope was there for anyone else? Wasn't Dally all the things a father hoped a son would be? Strong and broad, good with a rifle, someone who labored with his hands... 

"I hope you don't take it too personal - about your pa. That's just how they are, I think. I don't know if anybody turns out the way their pa wants 'em to."

Max was distinctly aware of the mundane contact of Dally's elbow against his side. His mouth went a little dry and his gaze fell to the ground and he couldn't quite place why. 

"I could manage it then, maybe. I s'pose it'd be different in a life or death scenario that way."

The spacing of the trees grew sparser as they walked and approached the trailhead, the place where the deer had carved out the path from off the main road.

"Mhm, that's somethin' I can manage alright. Have you been letting your clothes get torn to shreds out in the lumber yard and letting 'em stay like that?" Max asked. "Ya'know, I figure it's pretty good luck we ran into each other out here this morning. Don't know how either of us has been gettin' by, what with me unarmed and you with your biscuit bricks."
Julie
He supposed his father had always been a little rough round the edges, always a bit of a hardass. The man had seen war in his time, had been hardened by it. He'd been raised by a mean old asshole, and that had only been passed down to him, and then down unto Dallas. It had only gotten worse after Mama died; that was when Pop started drinking, and he became a nasty old shit. Towards the end of his life, it was a miracle if he said more than a few words that weren't swearing. 

But that was besides the point. Dallas didn't wanna dwell on his dead parents or none of that. "Never did," He said to Max, shrugging a shoulder as they walked along. He was mostly following him, anyway. If Dallas was leading, they'd surely be lost, cuz he wasn't paying much attention to the directions they were taking. He was just scanning the area, more focused on any movement than the physical path they were taking. 

"Pop always had a lotta shit to say, none of it worth much. I ain't never took it too serious." He shrugged again, before looking over at Maxwell. "You certainly ain't gonna sweet talk a bear down from maudlin' yer ass, so I think rifle lessons are in order." 

A joke, which was rare from Dallas Sinclair. Max was pulling a lot of surprises out of him today. 

"On the clothes situation, yknow, I just wear em til they're worn out and then get new ones," But to be fair, all his clothes had holes in them. His socks were about as hole-y as a church, and his trousers had rips and tears that he'd managed to crudely patch up with what looked like... Fishing line? It seemed to be doing the job, though just barely. 

"And you leave my biscuit bricks alone," He said, nudging him again. "Or I'll make 'em for ya and you'll have t' eat em then to be polite."
Gabriella
If Max had the full context on Dally's family, he would have *Ached* At their shared and bruised connective tissue. Except Max hadn't been the one to whom responsibility fell when his mother died and his father turned to drowning in his drink. Max had been the blight, Sawyer the balm. The shield. The anchor. Sawyer had all but raised him up. 

Had Dally been all that for Addie? Had Addie still left her brother alone all the same?

Dallas moved them away from the tender spots of his father, of his family, like all of it was par for the course. Stuff that happened. Nothing to linger on.

Max might have gently guided them back to the topic, if only Dallas didn't make him laugh and forget himself. 

"Sweet talk! That sounds a bit like an accusation, and I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by it," He said, tone light with feigned offense. If it was an accusation, it was as on the money as Dally's follow-up: that Max wouldn't dare refuse food placed in front of him, for the sake of common courtesy. 

They couldn't have been more than fifty yards from the mouth of the path, the place where it spilled back open onto the main road. Before Max could fire back a quip of his own, he caught sight of a flash of movement at the base of one of the trees. His first thought was a deer or a squirrel - but there was only *Movement,* No crunch of displaces leaves, no snapping twigs in the underbrush.

He stilled his movement, nodding for Dallas to do the same.

From behind the tree, a figure emerged. A girl, her hair long and damp and strawberry blonde, her dress in tatters, no shoes on her feet. A moment later, she tugged the hand of another child. Younger, a boy with darker skin and darker hair, though he still looked somehow, paradoxically, *Pale.* Or... Something *Like* Pale. Like, if you focused your vision real careful, you might see straight through the pair and on to the path ahead.
_ _

Max took a half-step forward, following his instinct to check them both for injuries and ask where in the *World* They'd run off from; he'd never seen either of them around town before.

But something stopped him.

It was the sight of their eyes. Their pupils were too wide. Hardly any whites lined the edges. And they stared without *Blinking*.
Julie
Their quips and jokes, something so lighthearted for someone so dull usually, quickly came to an end. As he was about to fire back an *I told ya so* About Max's politeness, the other stopped walking and nodded. Dallas' eyes flickered and he squeezed the barrel of his gun. 

Not that he could shoot through something like that— he wasn't stupid. Whatever these things were, they weren't quite... *There.* They were wispy amongst the trees. Dallas had always thought kids were a little *Weird* With their big eyes and uncanny ability to needle your insecurities. 

But these kids were creepier than anything he'd come across. Those big, soulless pools in the middle of their face, staring them down. Their feet moved in the ground, but no leaves rustled or crunched. 

He put his arm out in front of Max, as if to subtly put himself in front of him. "Shit," He hissed. "Alright," He kept his voice low. "Just our damn luck. Let's just..." He glanced towards the mouth of the path. "Maybe they're just them haunts that ain't do nothin," He said. "You got any fancy flowers that ward off spirits?" He asked him as he was urging him down the path, not taking his eyes off the children. 

The little boy dropped the hand of the little girl, and began to move closer.
Gabriella
Max was frozen.

Haunts?

"You mean like the deer? On two legs?" He asked, but Max thought his voice sounded like it'd come from someplace else, like he was underwater or someone was covering his ears or -

It wasn't that he didn't *Believe* In them. Somebody'd have to be touched in the head to live in Briar Ridge their whole life long and not believe the veil here was downright threadbare, patched up about as well as Dally's clothes: with fishing line and a prayer. 

But these were... Well, the visage was so *Clear*, nothing at all like the fuzzy lights Max saw sometimes that weren't lightning bug but were *Something* And - 

Children. These were *Children.* The girl, her hair was dripping. Both their clothes looked soaked through.

...Oh, bless them. 

"Dally. They drowned."

Both apparitions looked hollow and *Angry*, but some of the color returned to Max's face regardless. His pity outweighed his fear. He could believe that these spirits were mangled with anger and even that they were *Dangerous*. Well. Wasn't that true of all children in the middle of a tantrum? And how many long years had this pair gone without a change of dry clothes?

The boy approached, steady and unblinking, and Dally's voice found him from the faraway, distorted place. 

*You got any fancy flowers that ward off spirits?*

And bless Dally.

Max looked at the bundles in his arms and shoved a fistful of chamomile and goldenseal into the other man's hand. The first was for protection. The second for luck. Dally wouldn't need to do anything special to reap the benefits. The plants knew Max's meaning.

The boy stopped moving. He opened his mouth - too wide, the way a snake might - and let out a sound that was unlike anything Max had ever heard from anything alive, human or animal, and it sent a chill through his whole self as he stumbled backward, but still Max found himself calling back with, "Shhh, hey, *Hey* Now - quit that! That ain't helpin' neither of us!"
_ _

Max snapped his head toward Dally.

"Dallas, I think you oughta set down the rifle! We can grab it after; I think maybe they're scared!"
Julie
Honestly, he had only half expected Max to shove something in his hand, and when he received a bundle of assorted plants, he was sure Max knew what he was talking about with all this herbal stuff. 

*Drowned.* That would make sense, accounting the dripping hair and the way the kids looked a bit like a drowned muskrat. He sorta felt sorry for em, honestly, but clearly he didn't have nearly as much pity as Max did. It seemed the other man had very little sense of awareness when it came to *Danger*, especially since he was yelling at the damn things like they were a couple of... Well, rambunctious children. 

The little girl was walking forward now too, opening her mouth wordlessly as water spilled out, forming a small puddle around her feet. Frankly, it was disturbing. 

"Scared? Of *Me*?" He scoffed a little and glanced at Max, seeing how earnest he was and sucking his teeth in exasperation. He shed the Winchester and slowly lowered it to the ground. "Now look, we ain't gonna hurt you none..." He said, trying to use as gentle a tone as possible. "We just wanna get on home, now."