Away From it All [Various]

All it had taken was one rage fueled beating against another boy for him to be on a bus headed for who knew what kind of place. His parents had been at a loss, it had started fairly tame, Harley getting into minor scuffles in school, which elevated into full blown fights, which elevated into skipping school entirely to smoke under the bleachers, to coming home drunk and angry. Then one day, the 15 year old hellraiser beat a kid nearly to death, and that was the final straw for his distraught parents. Harley had been on a slippery slope, one peg above drug use and murder, hanging by a thread.

And he was somewhere between excited for this, and dreading it. It wasn't that he didn't want to change, it was more that by the time he realized he needed to change, he was what felt like too far down the rabbit hole to change.

The tall teen had his legs propped up on the back of the seat in front of him, tight worn denim tucked into tall heavy boots, his eyes were half concealed by a mess of extreme frizzy curls that hung down to his shoulders, He had a suitcase tucked beside him filled with clothes and other necessities, and a cigarette held between two fingers, feeling secure as he'd sat on the back of the bus.

He glanced up when the vehicle whined to a stop, blowing out a long puff of smoke before clenching it in his teeth as he grabbed his bag to head to the front. The bus driver made a quiet protest to his smoking as he hopped out, glancing around until his eyes rested on some hodunk looking farm dude, approaching him with a dry expression, "you Sam?"

Sam watched the handful of people get off the bus, this was hardly a tourist destination after all. The last one was a....tall mess of hair in dark jeans and a leather jacket...his first thought was he looked kinda like the hairy guy from the Addams Family...not that he'd say it to the guy's face but the thought still made him smirk a little. The kid approached him, and honestly was the only one that looked even close to someone who'd be coming out to his place, so this had to be the guy.

"Yeah, that's me." he stood up from the car, stepping closer. "You must be...Harley?" He peered at him a little. "You there under all the hair?" he couldn't quite bite back that comment. "Well. welcome to Wyoming." he offered a hand in greeting.

"You need anything from town before we leave?" He offered. "It's not a quick run down to the corner store...so if you want anything we can grab it first."

Harley took in the town that he'd landed himself in with curious eyes, making sure to get a quick idea of where everything was, it was important in a new area to learn the lay of the land, in the event that he got himself into trouble and had to make a quick exit, running with the wrong kinds of people had taught him that.

He glanced at the man with a critical kind of look, taking him in head to toe to try and get a grasp on the kind of person he was. Growing up in the time that he was in had taught him to be wary of this sort, and there was an air of nervous tension as he regarded him, "yeah, I'm Harley." The crack about his hair caused an involuntary bristle, and he pushed it back with a hand before shaking the one that was held out, "Mmhm. Well I'd say please to be here but. Well I'm not fuckin' pleased to be here." He gave him a cocksure smirk.

He shook his head at the question, "nah I'm set. Just ready to get going with this, y'know?" It wasn't that he was entirely against being here, but taking orders from someone like him seemed like the least enjoyable thing to do.

Sam gave off the air of a fairly easy going man of good humor and reasonably calm manner, but under that lay a core of steel, a man that would be gentle and friendly until it was time to not be any longer, a man not to be pushed too far. But for today, he had a laid back smile, and didn't seem at all disturbed by Harley's less than enthusiastic response.

"It's alright, most aren't. But hell, you haven't taken a swing at me yet or tried to run for it so I'd say you're ahead of...oh...half'a them that come through here." He grinned a little. He was used to kids who were hell-bent on hating every moment of this, this guy at least seemed willing to give it a shot, even if he wasn't excited about it. It was a start.

"Fair enough." He gestured to the old, worn truck. "Put your stuff in the back and jump in, we can get outta here." he climbed behind the driver's seat, firing the engine up and once Harley was settled started to drive out of town. He let the quiet settle between them for a few minutes, he'd offer some small-talk in a bit if he didn't say anything, but he usually liked to give them a chance to talk first, they'd often end up saying stuff that gave him a better idea what he was dealing with with each case, and how to best approach them going forward.

Harley gave a somewhat amused smirk at that quip and shrugged, "I could take a swing if you wanted?" He gave him a sly face, then shrugged, dropping the butt on the ground and stomping it out before going around to climb in, "well it ain't like I wanna be a piece of shit all my life." He shrugged, looking out the window as they started to drive, "just didn't know how to get out of it." He glanced at him with a meaningful expression, "hard to be anything but a piece of shit when that's all white folk think you're gonna be." He cleared his throat and looked to the side, "uh...no offense...but you get what I'm spellin' out right?" He figured he did, it sounded like he'd had a lot of people come through.

After a while of silence, Harley glanced over at him with a serious expression, "Listen." He pushed his hair back to be able to look at him directly, "I ain't gonna promise I'm gonna be an angel. Because I ain't." He looked ahead again, "but I don't plan to go out lookin for trouble." He snorted, "But I ain't gonna stand down and take it if you or any'a whoever you got workin' for you start doin' be wrong 'cause I don't fuckin' look like you." He looked out the window, "I've gotten enough of that shit living int he city...Are we straight?" He glanced back at him with a serious expression.

Sam rolled his window down and drove with one hand on the wheel, other elbow resting out the window to let in the warm breeze as he drove. "Suppose you could go out lookin' for trouble 'round here but you ain't really gonna find it. We're pretty much your boring small-town-America types." He was proud of it though, he'd spent enough time in cities to know they weren't for him.

He let Harley speak, then glanced over, letting his gaze linger for a long moment before looking back at the road. "There's always gonna be people who are assholes." He finally answered. "But far as I'm concerned...you get just as much of a shot as anyone else comin' through here to prove yourself...I don't give a shit if you're purple with green polka dots...you show respect and act like a decent human being to me and mine...that's what you get in return. And anyone gives you shit for any reasons like that...you let me know. Ain't gonna tolerate that 'round my place."

"Being a good man has nothing to do with what color your skin is. Or what you wear. Or any of that shit that's on the outside. It's in how you act. How you treat yourself and other people. That's what I care about."

He paused a moment to let that sink in. "So. We good?" he asked with another side-long glance.

He looked over at him when he spoke, shaking his head with a wry smirk, "might be nice, not being surrounded by fuckin' trouble for a change." He knew he would end up finding trouble anyway, that was what he was good at, "well, here's hoping I don't manage to find it out here." He rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window, only looking up when Sam spoke again.

He took in his words with careful consideration, finding himself relaxing a bit as he went on. It was surprising coming from this man, but the words lifted a weight off the boy's shoulder that he hadn't felt lifted around anyone else thus far, "Thank you. We good." He glanced up at him, then laughed and looked out the window on his side, "sorry if it sounded like I's jumpin' the gun...Y'just...You never know, right?" He frowned, "you deal with this kind of shit so often and so much you just expect it." He ran a hand through his long hair, pushing it back a bit out of his face, "if people are gonna judge me I'd rather it be because I'm genuinely an asshole." He gave the man a cheeky grin, "not 'cause my skin's a different color." So far so good, he almost felt comforted by how smoothly this was going, of course he hadn't seen the worst parts of harley yet, his tune might be different then.

"It's alright." Sam assured him. "Sometimes it's easy to start to feel like you're best off to start in the defensive, until you know what you're up against."

He'd been through some rough things in his life, but couldn't imagine what it was like for kids like Harley, before you even got a word out to have people look at you and decide you were trash. Some people sneered and called Sam some kind of bleeding heart for it...but it was something he'd never understood. Instead he'd always been someone to look to a person's actions, those were what told him of a man's measure.

"Just a thought though...probably wanna pull the hair back when you get to work. Don't give a shit if you keep it...but you wouldn't have a lotta fun getting it ripped off in a machine neither." He couldn't help but give it another side-long glance, he couldn't remember a time he'd seen that much hair all over the place on anyone, he found he kind of had to wonder how he saw anything.

The thought made him smirk just a little, but he didn't say it, content to settle in for the drive back as he reached over and clicked on the radio, guitar and the melancholy strains of a country song filling the cab.

Harley knew he's probably have his lapses with Sam, where he showed his bad side and fought and dug his heels in, but the man had already managed to earn a modicum of respect from the teen for his words. It was rare that he ever heard these kids of things from people, but it was all he could ask for from the man. He wanted to be treated like shit because he was acting like a piece of shit, not any physical reason, "world needs more people like you." He looked to him with a genuine expression, and a ghost of a wary smile. He was willing to give this place a chance at least, he only hoped everyone else saw things the same way Sam seemed to.

He glanced over at him when he made the comment on his hair, running his hands through it, "yeah? I'll keep that in mind." He smirked at him, "least you ain't demandin' I cut it." He snorted softly, "my dad's always trying to make me cut it off." It wasn't even long solely for the style, beyond the fashion choice he just liked it this way, it was just luck that it fit the punk fashion he adopted. When Sam switched on the radio, Harley let out a soft, sort of dramatic groan, clunking his head against the window, "now I know you're trying to fucking kill me, man...Do we gotta?" He smirked in his direction.

Sam just shrugged a little. "World's already goin' crazy out there. Everyone seems to get themselves more spun up every day. I just try and keep a little bit of peace and sanity going...that's all." It was hard to put into words the things he felt, what he wanted to accomplish with his place, what it meant to him to help these lost people the world had already given up on before they even reached full adulthood. But he wasn't good with feelings, or talking about them, especially to people he barely knew. So he left his explanation just at that.

"Long as it don't keep you from doin' your work you look how you want. People'll probably give you shit over it...but it's your damn hair, do what you want with it." A sidelong glance. "Wouldn't take too kindly to it if someone else started tellin' me how I had to look is how I see it." He'd already done his share of that back in the war, look like this, dress like that. When he got out, he found himself glad to return to some of the small freedoms he'd realized he'd always just taken for granted.

At Harley's sudden and strange reaction Sam paused and looked over at him, not understanding what had caused this reaction. "Why am I killing you? I haven't even done anything." He seemed genuinely confused for a moment, not sure what he'd missed.

He nodded and looked down, pursing his lips thoughtfully, "Mmhm, everyone killing everyone else." He shook his head, "I coulda' became part of that. Almost did." He looked up at him, "almost beat some fool to death...Don't even remember why." He'd always had a dark streak, and anger issue that was quick to trigger and difficult to work through. He could hope and pray all he wanted that it wouldn't flare up here, but it was an empty desire, he knew better than to expect that. He only hoped he didn't royally screw up when it did happen.

"I'll tie it back, getting it caught in a machine don't sound too pleasant..." He laughed softly, resting his cheek against the window, only to look back over when Sam seemed confused by his complaint, "this music is awful, man!" He laughed and leaned his head back against the seat, "I shouldn't be surprise, we are in square dance central, but damn...This is killin' me." He was mostly being over dramatic, though he really didn't like what was droning out on the radio.

Sam just let him talk at first, he knew enough of the boy's history to know he had anger issues, the extent of which, and how easily provoked they were he was sure he'd find out soon enough. It was a tough subject though, and while he could comment on other things...he left that one alone until he understood it better. He seemed to be gaining at least a beginning hint of his trust, and he wanted that to continue.

The comments about the music and the land around them brought a slight chuckle though. "Careful there, them's fightin' words out here." He was only partially kidding, people took things like their lifestyle pretty seriously here, and having it implied to them that they were backwards or 'podunk' or anything else of the sort would not be kindly met with by most.

Still, after a moment he decided to indulge him, and gestured towards the radio. "Alright. Show me what you think is not-terrible...might not find much else you like out here...but give it a shot."

Harley chuckled and stuck his tongue out, "Oh yeah? Well if anyone wants to fight." He shook his head, "only jokin'...Well sorta jokin'..." He knew he'd get into more than a few fights given time, but he didn't want Sam to peg him a trouble maker for offhanded comments before he even got there. He looked over at him for a moment after he waved to the radio, nodding and leaning forward to start dialing through stations with his tongue poked out as he listened, "damn you ain't lying there..." After a few more minuted of searching, he pulled back and shook his head, "okay so I'm in hell." He joked, tossing a playful smirk at the man, "Mmm but...Well hang on." He leaned down in front of him a moment.

"I'll show you this way." He chuckled, pulling out a obviously lovingly cared for guitar, "like it ain't gonna have the same punch without all the other instruments, but y'know..." He took a moment to get his fingers in the right place before he started to play, glancing over at the man, "I always kinda wanted to be in a band, you know?" He looked to the side, "just kind of...Got into the wrong kinda' shit I guess..."