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

[ Hell yeah! ]

All parents damage their children. It was something Raylan had seen or heard somewhere, offered up like it was a dark comfort meant to imply a collective suffering of children at the hands of their parents. A community of disappointed sons and daughters. That was nice enough on paper, he supposed but out in the real world.. Well. They hadn't had to suffer Arlo Givens in his prime. Hell even now the old bird was a credible threat, you put him in the wrong position - some things never changed.

Which was why Raylan was on his way to Boyd's Bar first and if that didn't pan out, he'd head over to Ava's. All that mattered was that Arlo had a warrent out for his arrest and Raylan aimed to be the one to bring him in. He couldn't say much about Arlo taking up with Boyd, old dogs don't learn new tricks, but that didn't mean Raylan thought it was a good thing. Not that Arlo gave a single shit about what Raylan thought either way.

Pulling up in front of the bar, Raylan stepped out and rolled in, half expecting Arlo to be sitting at one of the tables with a whiskey in hand, half expecting the place to be deserted for more profitable reasons. Reasons he could chase after.

It'd be a real good day if he managed to get Arlo and Boyd in handcuffs by the end of the day.

Raylan's mostly right on the second guess. The bar is empty, though it's difficult to tell if it's because it's just opened or if Boyd likes things that way, and he's particularly fond of not letting anyone know the answer.

Boyd himself is particularly fond of not letting anyone know much of the answers. Or the big game, or the play. Arlo swooped in earlier and Devil let him know, and Boyd had given instructions accordingly with mild annoyance that didn't show but stained his words, just a little. Arlo is becoming a liability.

Perhaps, Boyd thinks, Arlo ought to go. But that would mean he would miss one Raylan Givens, and on cue the other all but swaggers onto the scene, walking from the hip, a cross between a man's man and a real old fashioned cowboy.

When Boyd moves out of his office, his smile is genuine, the whiteness of his deeth sliding perfectly into place.

"Raylan Givens," he announces, all charm, arms open in a cross between a welcoming gesture and feigining surprise. "I would offer a drink, but the way your feet hit the floor suggest you're here on business."

He always did have good timing.

If anyone didn't know Boyd, the wide gesture and the warm smile might be taken as actual warmth and welcome but Raylan didn't much buy the store front dressing for whatever nefarious deeds it was covering in the back. He'd seen Boyd sling too much shit with an eerie sincerity that would almost hook Raylan if he wasn't so astutely aware of This Shit.

If he didn't know that Boyd cared about Arlo in some degree, he would almost wonder if his body was back there. Wonder, not worry.

He gave Boyd a superficial little smile, lifting his chin as he spoke. "I'm lookin' for Arlo. You got him in the back?"

A finger gestured that way with the question but even if he didn't, Raylan was heading that way anyway. Boyd was right. These boots were here for business, and that's just what they'll do.

Boyd's smile is smooth, barely changing as he watches Raylan all but glide across his bar floor and towards the back.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were accusin' me of something." His voice is light, jovial as he follows him idly by. he has nothing to hide. Arlo's not there, after all. No one is, just Boyd by his lonesome. Devil's the one who's squirreled Arlo away.

"Am I correct in ascertaining that this ain't friendly chat with your old man?"

"Gimme time, I'm sure you'll give me a reason," Raylan replied darkly in return as he looked over the back office and the boxes of stock that were being kept here instead of.. wherever the rest of it was. If Arlo was here, he'd likely be sat on that couch, looking like someone just shoved shit under his nose at the sight of Raylan.

Taking a deep breath, hands propped on his hips, Raylan turned around, one finger gesturing at Boyd's general direction.

"I know he's workin' for you and I ain't askin' on or about what, but I need to know where he is," he insisted, ignoring the question posed. "It's only gonna be worse for him if it's lookin' like he's runnin' from what's comin' to him."

Was there ever a friendly chat between Arlo and Raylan? Even if Boyd was almost never there for them, Raylan knew full well Boyd knew what the relationship was like and only god knows what Arlo had been whispering in his ear when asked. No, Raylan was sure Boyd knew exactly what talking to Arlo was like. Unless you wore a skirt, you weren't likely to get a differently toned one.

"Your daddy ain't here," Boyd says simply, cheshire grin full and wide as he crosses his arms. It's defensive, but made to look far more languid than he has any right to be, nonchalant. Boyd is correct, though his truth is only partial--he'd sent Devil to hide him for a while, purposefully leaving him ignorant to his exact whereabouts.

"May I be so bold to ask what he's gotten himself into this time? Last I checked, you weren't exactly jumping at the chance to have a meaningful fatherly reunion."

Of course he wasn't here. Goddamnit. The tense in Raylan's jaw turned to 11 as he stared Boyd down, debating the ask and knowing that answering would only send Boyd scurrying off into the brush to warn Arlo. Shit, maybe Boyd would be stupid enough to do just that and Raylan would get lucky.

"I wanna take him out for roller skating and ice cream, Boyd," he started sarcastically and afterwards, I figure we can take a stroll down to the office, have a nice long talk about what's been goin' on in this back room to start with," he said, finger jabbing towards the smaller man before he stormed back out towards the bar area to stop in front of the jukebox, hands on his hips and tounging his lip as he debated back and forth with himself.

Finally, he turned around. "What are you doin' with him, day in and day out anyway? What can't you find some other backasswards dumbass to do for you?"

That's a layered question. Complicated in the way only they can be--Boyd answers, having followed Raylan to the jukebox, with a slight flourish of his hands. It's quick, long fingers outstretched, midway to raising them like a man of god. Far more casual, though the smile is gone.

"Harlan's a small town," he reasons. There's more to it, there's always more--Arlo is skilled, if old, and his expertise and connections are things Boyd finds useful. There's another part, subconscious at best: Raylan. They'll always orbit each other, even if they're both playing with fire. He does, however, give as much of a straight answer as he can.

"Last I heard, he's recently enjoyed the fine dining that Diggers has to provide, most notably during happy hour." Boyd's going to be making one hell of a quick phone call after Raylan leaves--just in case Devil brought him there. But it's information and the type of information that Boyd doesn't give lightly. A gesture, of some sort. Or a ploy. "If you see him there, I do hope you'll be kind enough to remind him that our specials are infinitely better."

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

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Nancy Sinatra, Eat your heart out

[strums guitar]

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