[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/CllpOun.png[/img][/center]

[color=6ecff6]"What, you don't like Newtypes ogling you? You should get used to it, my surly Marianne. We're a damned impolite lot by nature, always trying to look into people's souls and communicate on new planes."[/color] Dallas tilted his head back against the cool metal of his GM Juggler's leg and smirked. [color=6ecff6]"It's nothing personal. Or maybe it is. She [i]does[/i] look a bit touched, doesn't she?"[/color]

While the other Zeek's soliloquy buzzed in his ears, the French Newtype let his mind wander carefully. Rebekah certainly seemed onboard, which was good; that GM of hers would be handy to have on a sixty-hour voyage, and the company would be godsend; once Dallas started talking to himself in the cockpit, he was likely never going to be able to slow it down. They'd pull him out of the Juggler while he was still gibbering on about her tits, the poor French bastard, and how would anyone be able to sympathize without beholding the celestial spheres themselves? Having Rebekah along would solve far more problems than she posed.

These Zeon pilots seemed a relatively spineless, indolent lot, too. Unless they radioed in for some of their crueler comrades to take advantage of two wayward GMs, they would probably let them go on their way. If anything, Dallas was steeling himself for pleading about more Newtype understanding and the importance of working together in the harshness of war. He'd welcome suffocation in such an instance. There was nothing more boring than a flower child or a peacenik. Centuries past, Dallas' forefathers had fought under Lafayette for freedom in two great powers. The men who bore his name before him had died bellowing, with Nazi blood on their lips, before they let Hitler storm into France. They would be howling up at him from hell if he shed tears for fascists because he felt them whimpering before the killing blow. 

They may have just been teenagers, but the were [i]Zeonic[/i] teenagers. Before today, no doubt they'd all been proud of it, too. Once they were returned safely to the brigades of the Zabi family, with their mobile suits returned to full working order, they'd probably be proud to fight the Feddies all over again. At least whores lied with a little bit of grace.

[color=6ecff6]"You collect supplies. I'm sure you're more inventive with what constitutes rations than a spoiled [i]Parisienne[/i] like me,"[/color] the pretty boy teased, eyes still closed as his smile widened a notch. [color=6ecff6]"I'll keep them talking until we're ready."[/color]