tinstar | Slingin' from the hip, never the heart.

He made a frustrated noise that sounded an awful lot like a vicious growl. "You think I don't know that? That it wouldn't be easier ta just get rid o' you and not worry about it, ever?"

He released his hold on one end of the wire and slipped back in place to be in Givens's face. His eyes burned with a murderous rage and if the earlier noise didn't make it clear how irritated he was then the obvious frustration in his expression certainly did.

"I could go back to tha way things were. To how simple and rewardin' it was. I never asked fer any of that crap. I never wanted ta change." He was breathing hard, the tension in his muscles clear from his grip still on one end of the wire. "I never wanted any... connections... or- I didn't need any of that then! And it would be easier ta sever that thread, right here, right now!"

Raylan knew Collins could do that, there were no delusions about how on the impulsive edge his fate rested right now, but all that matters is that the wire wasn't at his throat anymore - even if that was temporary, it was a reprieve. Striking out wasn't an option either as that would absolutely get him killed.

So he focuses instead on what Collins is choosing to say. A lot of past tenses. 'I never wanted connections, didn't need any of that'. Most importantly: 'its hard to kill you'. Even under the hard breathing and the obvious frustration, those weren't small things.

"Except if you not wantin' it, not needin' it factored into this, I'd already be bleedin' out. It scare you? Grip you with a concern that I'm gonna reject you and swear you off, promise to ruin your life, treat you the way you feel you oughta be treated-" Collins had earned a particular way of being treated and even though they weren't on the Barge anymore, Raylan could see the possibility in Collins. What he could become if he put in a little work and self reflection. What he could become if he had someone who understood, who might be able to support him.

This was not Raylan's natural way of thinking about things, but the time on the Barge had it's own effect. He knew progress could be made. He just had to make sure he didn't die in the midst of it.

Collins went still at Raylan's words. Another shot hit it's mark dead center. Only this one hurt much more than the last. Rather than deny it, Collins decided to accept the truth.

That didn't mean the lawman was off the chopping block.

"You already did," he accused huskily.

The Butcher yanked on the wire in his angry frustration and it tightened around Raylan's neck--briefly, as it snagged against itself then miraculously slipped through the unintentional knot and came completely away from Givens's neck. It threw the Butcher temporarily off balance and he almost stumbled, catching himself quickly. But it gave the lawman more time nevertheless.

"No-" was all Raylan got out before Collins yanked and as soon as he sensed the man was off balance, Raylan was throwing his weight into him and knocking himself and the chair over in the meantime. These chairs weren't much to look at - wood, yet to be replaced by the metal fashion chairs yet to come - and all the better for it as one of the arms cracks in its supports as it slams into the floor. Raylan wrests the broken piece from the rest, gaining enough freedom of movement to wield the piece.

He was surprised even more by the lawman throwing himself forward, chair and all. He knew the bull was a fighting man. This should have been expected. It was just the timing-

The chair broke and Butcher growled in realization that he couldn't just take it leisurely. Ignoring the pain, he fought back. He needed to subdue the arm that was free and wielding a piece of wood as an improvised weapon now. He reached out to grab it.

"Fuckin' stop," he snarls, punching at Collins' face with everything he had. All he could hope was that the wood beneath his fingers would add enough weight to stun the Irishman.

He missed as Raylan moved through the motions of the punch and his hand went past the target. He grabbed at the lawman's shoulder but the punch landed and he grunted painfully as his head snapped to the side. His grip was weak. But he wasn't going to take a punch and just stop like a good dog when he was told.

"Make me," he growled around the iron tang in his mouth.

Someone was going to end up dead at this rate and Collins has pushed Raylan to bare survivalism, a million miles away from reason and whatever connection he was hoping to make.

Raylan bashes his hand down on Collin's elbow and uses the angle that it puts his hand to try and jam the point of the wood into the tender flesh just below Collins jawline. He wasn't looking to spear the man but if there was a little blood, he wouldn't mind.

He cried out, muffled and quiet from his own need to keep control, but clearly in pain from the strike to his elbow. His opposite hand came up to gain control of Raylan's before-

He froze with the sharp point of the wood in his neck, fingertips barely brushing against the lawman's wrist. It was a risk and he hesitated to act on it. Maybe he wasn't ready to die (again) just yet after all.

"Do it," he hissed. "Finish it."

"I oughta," he snarls again, hair just as wild as his eyes. There shouldn't be any doubt in his willingness to do it but he wasn't gonna be just stuck to a fucking chair after it was over.

"Untie what you can reach. Now."

Collins was still instead even after the command. If he waited long enough maybe Givens would do it out of frustration. He could go out in defiance instead of obeying like a good dog. It seemed reasonable to him.

The train of thought didn't hold for long against the weight of time. He wasn't suicidal no matter how much he talked about death like he was in love with the concept. His hand moved slowly at first until it hit the ropes and then automation kicked in, and he untied the knots around Givens's wrist, the other on the chair arm that was still intact.

As soon as his off hand is free, he's using it to untie his other hand free of it's unmoveable grip from the bit of wood he was using as a weapon. He couldn't help the talking out loud that followed, the first burst of actual free speech that didn't directly shoulder the responsibility of keeping him alive. Collins has already heard him in various levels of pissed off, but the venomous one sided conversation that followed was with a noticeably heavier Southern accent, things rounded and stretched out while others were cut short. Honestly, words got out faster this way somehow.

"Gave you so many goddamn doors; you stubborn jackass of a man - 'told you no' my ass. A soft touch of pushback and you swing back into insanity and try to tell me that I said no, like what - like your feelin's are more important than my drawin' air? And you want a connection," he scoffs in condemnation, swapping his improvised spear holding hand so that he could reach down and work on freeing one of his legs, eyes staying locked on Collins, the half mutter of true thoughts tumbling out of his mouth.

"Come here to kill me because I somehow made you feel a thing; don't tell me I popped your fuckin' cherry because you knew what you were doin'. Gotta be joking."

Edited 2024-03-11 01:18 (UTC)

"No, I want it gone," he snarled at Raylan but he was brought up short by the threat to his throat. Otherwise, the tension that surged through his body most assuredly would have meant him retaliating with physical violence. All he had instead were words so he glared angrily at the lawman and growled at him.

"None of this bullshite. Shoulda killed you and gotten rid of the only person who knows I even exist in this world. Back to business." He lifted his head, pressing the piece of wood so far into his flesh that it bit in and he bled. "Don't act like you care about everyone you fuck, bull. Ain't hard ta charm and get back on tha road tha next day. Certainly ya know that."

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tinstar - 2024-03-11 22:09 (UTC) - Expand

Raylan knew Collins could do that, there were no delusions about how on the impulsive edge his fate rested right now, but all that matters is that the wire wasn't at his throat anymore - even if that was temporary, it was a reprieve. Striking out wasn't an option either as that would absolutely get him killed. He had to calm down and control that twist of panicked survivalism coiling tightly in his stomach.

So he focuses instead on what Collins is choosing to say. A lot of past tenses. 'I never wanted connections, didn't need any of that'. Most importantly: 'its hard to kill you'. Even under the hard breathing and the obvious frustration, those weren't small things.

"But you don't want to do that. Go back to the way things were. If so, you wouldn't be here. I wouldn't ever know you were in this world, save for this. So give us both a chance to get you what it is you're lookin' for here, Collins. This don't have to go sideways."

There was a blitz of emotion that passed over Collins's face in confusion and disbelief and anger and annoyance over the situation and every little word that Givens said. His expression finally settled on frustration, his jaw set in an angry line as he huffed in response.

"You don't want-"

He started and stopped abruptly with an annoyed noise.

Collins hadn't come here for this in the first place. Tying up Givens hadn't been on the agenda so much as it had come out of the opportunity. He hadn't even planned on punching the man until he had seen him and the impulse struck him. It felt right at the time. But the lawman had gone down so easily, and then he'd had an unconscious body and everything he needed for an old bit of fun. It was so tempting.

A part of him hungered for it. An undercurrent in the music whispered to him in a familiar leitmotif that proceeded this type of entertainment for him. It was a tantalizing call, hard to resist.

Yet when he gazed at Raylan there was an unfamiliar song that sneaked its way into the harmony. It started off low, bleak, hard but somewhere in there a handful of major chords hit a higher note and the hope was undeniable. The slow tang grew on him until he had to admit the sounds were quite peaceful in their own way and he could get used to them being around more. If he concentrated on that theme hard enough, it began to form its own melody that drowned out the other tantalizing song.

He'd reached out to wrap his hand around Raylan's neck and for a moment the tension implied he would squeeze--then it ebbed out of him, and the Irishman slowly slipped the limp line of wire away from Raylan's neck. Collins stood there, quiet and with a war inside, staring at the lawman stoically, the emotion bled out of him.

"It would be easier," he repeated. His voice was low and quiet. "Than standin' here listenin' to you pretend to want to help me." The corner of his mouth ticked upwards slightly, but his eyes took on a hurtful sheen. "But you do talk a good game, even if it's only for yer own benefit."

His hand fell to rest on Givens's wrist once more, but it did not linger for long and eventually the ropes fell loose as the Butcher released his prey for the first time.

Raylan couldn't help but try to finish the rest of that sentence in his head. Don't want Collins? Don't want to help Collins? He didn't let any of that change his face beyond a tightening of his eyes, the slight shift making his gaze more focused, a subtle eagerness to hear what would follow. He could still see the war in the man and had been doing his level best so far, so any shift that wasn't towards ultra-violence that had just left his neck was a win. The eagerness in his eyes turned to self-steeling, a readiment, a reason to let loose the internal monster he hauls around called his temper as Collins thinks over squeezing. He didn't want this to go south but he was running out of angles and he expected to be further along in this than he was.

Best laid plans and all.

Collins hasn't said anything yet but the tension made Raylan think he would, give him enough room and space to do it. Not going and saying something stupid that turns this. And then he watches Collins deflate into that stoicism and the very thing that Raylan warned him about at the start. He wasn't going to say 'I told you so'.

But the ropes coming free, Raylan's brow twitched towards a furrow, not quite making it for fear of giving Collins some reason to change his mind. He waits until they're all loose, helping pull them off as he stands up and steps away, rubbing his wrists and watching Collins carefully. He needed the space, the control over self, needed to not be on the edge of getting murdered, but he'd let Collins keep the weapons, the hat, the control over that and that side of the room. Compensation. Compromise in it's own type of respect.

"I'll be honest with you Collins - I want to be alive more than I want to help you." But that's just nature. You put a man on the edge of death, most will chose their own survival from it. "But I meant what I said. I'm not a stranger to men in your position. Nomads from the past finding themselves in the modern time. I don't want you to fail here. For your sake and mine." He points at the small fridge and cabinet across to his left.

"I'm gonna get a drink. If you wanna.. check anythin' first." See? He could be reasonable and talked to. But he was still an alcoholic.

He stood away and watched Givens with a flat expressionless demeanor as soon as the last of the ropes were untied. He gave the lawman a grim smile at the confession as there was not much else to do in response to that. There was no man on Earth that wouldn't say the same, or else be lying. It was a simple truth. He left it at that.

Collins's eyes flicked towards the small fridge across the opposite way but he shook his head and indicated that Givens go for it. He didn't want to check it out first.

He remained positioned near his bag, the bed, and the items he had taken off Raylan stacked in a pile near his bag.

"You mean you don't want me ta put a blight on yer name or cause trouble in a manner that you hear about later. You feel responsible fer me, bull?" Like yer lost fuckin' puppy, he didn't say aloud but the thought did cross his mind. His voice was steady with a hint of disdain under neath.

Nodding a silent bob of appreciation, Raylan steps forward and gets into the cabinet, pulling out a half empty bottle of Jim Beam and a plastic cup. With a glance over - Not reaching for anything dangerous - he nabs the hotel's coffee mug and dumps out the prepackaged coffee that he hadn't gotten around to using yet.

"Neither, and no. You're grown, your decisions are your own; ain't my responsibility. I don't own you a thing since leavin' that space yacht and you ain't my dog." He remembers how fond Collins is of that analogy. He spins the cap off the bottle and pours them each a few fingers before setting it down in favor of picking up both cups and walking towards Collins to hold the mug out.

"Don't change my not wantin' to see you fail this place if something could be done to help. Or the fact that I'd rather not have to put you down, if I can help it. Call me sentimental." It was all a series of first steps and once Collins takes the mug, Raylan will step back and take a sip of his own, openly sighing in enjoyment as he eyes the cup.

"Last man I tried to help here was my husband. Much as it pains me to admit it, I failed. And maybe some part of me is tryin' to make up for that." He looks back over with the admission, nothing on him soft persay, but it was a carefully constructed 'easy' expression. Raylan hadn't been open on the Barge once James had left; most people didn't know about the union, even less knew what had come from it. His tone suggested that he'd already gone around all the barbs and self flagellation that could come from the shame of it all; digs weren't gonna bother him on a surface level, should Collins go that direction.

The grim smile returned with Givens's answer. The lawman remembered the dog bit, because of course he did. He accepted the mug without reluctance and held it in one hand, close to his chest, as he listened to the marshal continue. It was after the word 'sentimental' that he shook his head in wry amusement.

He could have said words then but Givens beat him to it. So he listened some more.

It was plain as day that he hadn't expected the story. There was plenty of information to unravel in such a small set of sentences and Collins fell thoughtfully quiet. He met the lawman's easy gaze with a cool one of his own. It wasn't quite as hard as it had been two seconds before.

"You brought someone from tha Barge here to yer home?" His voice was carefully modulated to hold neither bite nor pity. He didn't want to convey either of those things. He didn't want to pretend he felt them, or discover if maybe he did for real or not. "Was he an inmate?"

"He was," Raylan says with a nod, taking another drink deep enough to empty his cup and despite his deep and stark desire to have another one, it was better that he didn't. Too much to still be handled. The cup is considered and, as he talked, set on the cabinet and abandoned by a few steps away, least he get tempted again.

"A pirate captain from the early 1700's. You wanna talk bein' unfamiliar with modern times," he huffs with a wry smirk that didn't stick around long, hands propping lazily, one on his hip, the other sprawling long fingers on the top of his thigh.

"Didn't last but six months before he was anglin' down a path of rage, poor choices, and an inability to understand how the social structure of the two thousands had changed from what he was used to. I'm hopin' that the latter of those might be easier for you than it was for him."

If Raylan felt anything about it, it didn't show. The more important point behind what Raylan was saying was that despite Collins previous almost acted threat to kill him on the table, all his offers so far were still on the table. Anything else would have to come after original offers had been considered.

Collins moved in the fashion of a nod without quite seeming to. His expression remained thoughtful. That was quite the leap in years and Collins could see where a man from an older time like that could go seriously wrong. Considering the fact that the man was a former inmate and a pirate captain, it wasn't hard to see where that path had led.

Unlike a social outcast, Collins knew how to move through a crowd. He knew how to keep his head low. He blended in easily with his nondescript looks and demeanor. But would this society be as easy to disappear into? He thought it wouldn't be that hard, certainly not as hard as it had been for poor Givens's husband. Strange thought that. Collins let it slide so he didn't have to think about it at all.

"My condolences," he said with little affection but with a slight bow of his head to convey the attempt at earnestness. "I can manage ta survive tha people, bull. It's tha not havin' anything ta keep me occupied that you should be worried about." That he was worried about. He could do menial jobs that no one asked many questions about without having to worry about his lack of documented life here. But that would never satisfy a man like him. Sooner or later something would go wrong. He needed something more challenging to do with his time in this new world.

"Mm," is all Raylan says to the condolences, politely accepting them with a faint nod of his head in return, but it wasn't something that he was going to focus on. He'd like to think Collins meant it, but he didn't know enough of the man yet. Coulda done some good with him, Raylan thought, if we'd had some time.

"That is what I'm worried about. Some people get a hobby, find a job that lets them get a little cruel and bloody - slaughter houses are still around, if that's your kinda thing; racin' cars, gamblin', I could go on. And I'm not ignorin' what else you said. What else you might want. But I also know I got a job to do. One that puts me well outta reach for helpin' you find any consistant kinda.. enjoyment." Therein lay the consequences. Raylan caves to his baser needs that had a thin connection to reason, leaves for a job, comes back to have his life blown up because the guy he fucks around with can't help his impulses. Not to mention the ever looming possibility that Raylan will have to shoot him. Or the possibility that Collins gets bored with him and decides to kill him outright instead.

He wasn't blaming Collins. Collins was what he was, just as much as Raylan was what he was.

"I'm sure we can find somethin' but that'll be it's own work, on your part."

Edited 2024-03-19 02:15 (UTC)

"Yer cars are strange," he said with a flat tone but a small smirk. He sighed loudly and glanced back as he suddenly decided to sit. The bed bounced with his weight. To his left was the pile on the ground of armaments and other tools. Raylan ahead of him with the fridge and cabinet to the other side. The statement wasn't meant as anything so much as a facetious comment about nothing and a blatant refusal to address the slaughter house issue. Givens damn well knew he didn't care for slaughtering animals. There was no purpose nor joy in it.

So here they were together again after all this time and Collins had to admit that this was not a conversation he wanted to have but was necessary. He could have done this on his own and kept well clear of Raylan. But what would have been the point of choosing the lawman's world if not to see the man. It may have been a foolish decision made with no other choices of appeal yet it was still what he had come up with as a decision and there had to be a reason even if it was just whimsy.

"I haven't lived without tha hunt since tha war. I know how ta find people, ta get them ta talk, ta procure things on occasion that people don't want ta give up. That's been me life fer a long, long time." He looked up at Givens and gave a faint smile. "I found you. Dumped close by, but not on yer doorstep, you know. This ain't even where you live, ya said, but I still managed."

He almost sighed again, instead took a breath and held it as he gazed at Raylan silently for half a moment. Then, "I know tha call of tha job. I never liked stickin' in one place too much. Travelin' keeps things fresh. I could always still find ya when I wanted..." He said, addressing the issue of whatever it was they could have. He wasn't the settle down type anyway. Maybe there was nothing there and it was pointless, or maybe the bull would cave if there was no predictability, no commitment, just random fun when the opportunity arose.

Collins sitting down let Raylan relax his shoulders some, more of the tension that had been built up slipping away. There was no forgetting what just happened, but it felt like they were further away from an exploding edge. They could get back into the grey of calmer emotions, less starkly black and white like the fight for life always was. The Irishman look, in a word, tired as he talked about himself, like the weight of it was sinking him down a little. Raylan was sympathetic, but didn't pity him. Everyone had their weight to carry.

Four or five decades of life always came with some weight, no matter where you came from, no matter what you did.

"Plenty of wet work to be found. People willin' to pay for things I can't endorse-" But generally, he understood. Passions were what they were, greed was what it was, hunger - Well, they all knew what side of the line Raylan had dedicated himself to. He knew it happened, he couldn't recommend it, but it was still an option for Collins. A hard and dangerous road, but no one could make Collins choices for him.

He ambles forward, close enough to be in Collins reach, a concession of space. A concession of possibility, however fucked up it might be to entertain it. But he couldn't bring himself to really poke and dig now, to try and pry up Collins' pavestones and make the man drag out whatever was underneath them.

"An' killin' me?"

Collins looked up at Givens and there was a moment where his eyes seemed to search for something in the other man. Whether he found it or not was up for debate but eventually he answered.

"It was never really tha reason fer comin' here," he admitted, "but you already deduced that. It could be a fun filled night..." He closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side as if listening to something. "...but it would only be one night. It would only be one song and gone." He opened his eyes and stared directly into Raylan's gaze. "I like yer song, bull. It would be a shame ta silence it anytime soon."

He didn't know if it was the right answer, or even if it was what the lawman was trying to get out of him. But it was what he felt. It was what stayed his hand this time. Maybe it would continue to stay his hand in the future. Or maybe it wouldn't. He could give no better answer than that as he didn't know himself. He only knew that he could try.

Slingin' from the hip, never the heart. | Open Post

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Short short tag bc I don't know what kind of openings this will give him.

Re: Short short tag bc I don't know what kind of openings this will give him.

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