Having settled in one of the porch chairs behind him, Raylan left one long leg angled out with the other serving as a shelf for the bottom of his cup that he turned idly as he enjoyed the quiet. So much of life was chaos and noise, giving a delightful sense of contrast sometimes, when self loathing didn't ruin it.

Raylan had lifted his chin at the first question, humming a soft passing note of permission, not that Doc really needed it, and lifted his eyebrows a little at the second.

"No. Serial killers murder for fun or some twisted, broken selfish reason. Take joy in it. Every man and the one woman I put down.. They were all justified, every bullet. Doesn't make me a serial killer.. though the argument for murderer still remains. Onna Arlo's favorites. For all he's done, he's never murdered someone." Arlo did love lording that over him.

"Don't know that murderer bothers me so much sometimes. Better I stop 'em then lettin' more people get hurt." He'd ask what prompted the question, but he also knew that Doc might get around to that explanation himself. "I imagine you've shot a few people, considerin'. You find it to be any different?"

Yeah so what if they tempted their own damnation for the greater good? Raylan would rather carry the unsure weight of it around then leave it on narrower, younger shoulders or innocent ones.