"Suppose Dentists count as any kinda Doctor when there ain't one around," he reasoned. All Raylan knew is that he wasn't going to be asking for any dentistry. He knew what kinda goods were used back then or, at least, that they killed or made ill half of who took 'em. No fault of the doctors, he was sure, but cleanliness had a long way to go from the time of Doc's training.

Raylan would rather have other people talking then talk himself; him talking is what led to situations like this, where he could feel more bits of him being slowly pulled out like bait on fishing line. Always Be Cool was a motto that Boyd had said often enough that it echoed around the back of Raylan's mind now and then. This was one of those times.

"I was born after Arlo came back from 'Nam. Doesn't matter how they come back. Doesn't give 'em any right." Yes, Doc was starting to skirt an emotionally dangerous line, even though his tone stayed at the same casual level.

"It's the whiskey - it's a natural preservative. You're.. what, like.. 35 when you got dropped into that well?" He looked it, for all his hundred fifty plus years. Raylan smirked and shook his head. "Nah, none of us change for the better after a point. We normal people now just get.. Older and crabbier and more assholish til we grow a cancer until we finally give up the fight and die."