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

The days were long for Maggie, even longer now that she found her self starting her life over again, New town, new bar to sit at peeling the lable off a long neck bottle. It was easier to be out than it was moving more boxes into the apartment above the tattoo shop that soon enough would be her business.

She looked out of place with her flame red hair and heavily tattooed body. Her style of dress was even different from the other patrons. She'd been sitting at the bar for a good 20 minutes, watching the beads of sweat build on the bottom of the bottle of beer, that was about the time that one of the more drunk men in the bar stumbled up to her.

He was acting way to familiar bringing his hands up touching her hair, Maggie appeared to be trying to ignore the man up til he was putting his hand on her thigh. It was then that she shoved him rather hard back and away from her, but drunk and rejected didn't ever look good on some folks and so the man swung back.

All sorts of people got into bars - Raylan was used to seeing a wide and varied sort of folk but he was polite enough to mind his own business and the two fingers of whiskey that he had been nursing for 15 minutes after slamming down two to start. He was here for a little peace; okay, fine and some time to think over Winona and her most recent act of fucking insanity. He'd asked her that explicitly, more than once.

The whiskey helped, but it didn't erase the world around him like a porch did. He was still very much aware and present in the moment, even as he drifted into his own thoughts. So the ruckus stirring up a few stools down from him drew his attention, as much as everyone else in the bar.

He hadn't paid attention enough to know what started it all but what mattered was the energy of it. She was upset, had shoved him. He swung. Regardless of if it hits, Raylan is moving before he thinks about it, snatching the man back by his collar and punching him in the face as the man falls. But Raylan's grip doesn't loosen in the fabric and the man rolls to his side, giving up a weak protest, a push of his hands under a flurry of slurred curse words, but Raylan paid him no mind and drags him from the bar with a long stride and enough power to get it done without much practical or effective argument.

Once the guy was out on the sidewalk, Raylan pointed a finger at him. "Come in again, and I'll break your nose."

With that, he turns and walks back into the bar, attention focused on the tattooed redhead.

"You okay?"

She took a bit of knuckles to her lip before Raylan stepped in. Maggie could feel the bite of split skin and taste copper in her mouth, yet she seemed to be shocked that anyone had come to her aid. though everything happened so fast up until Raylan had dragged the guy out of the bar Maggie was watching with a parted lip owlish expression.

What the fuck just happened? That was the question bubbling around her mind. the trash taken out and the man with a cowboy hat heading back her way, she finally did find a second to close her mouth.

" Yeah." she said bringing her thumb up to wipe away any blood that might be on her face. "Thanks." she added offering a smile. It was then she tapped the bar to get the bar tenders attention. " Hey Hey, this sexy mother fucker here drinks on me tonight." she said grinning wildly.

He steadfastly ignored the eyes of everyone else that had moved to pin on him as he strode back in. Anyone who had heard his threat was chilled - it was cool and low and dripped with promise to fulfill if the guy was stupid enough.

"Ah," he sounds, expression turning a bit sheepish as he shakes his head slightly. "Maybe just one or two." The half grin he gives her is turned to the bartender as he slides Raylan's abandoned glass over and refills it back to it's two finger depth.

"Some ice in a towel too, if ya don't mind." Hazel eyes fall back onto her. "It'll keep the swellin' and the bruisin' down a bit. I imagine you get a lotta guys like that; cocky and thinkin' they deserve your attention without havin' any idea what fuckin' manners looks like. Sorry to say there's more like that around here than I'd like. Some people just weren't raised right."

Raised right meant respecting women and not being a rapey dick about it when a woman told you to piss off.

" Atta boy." she said clapping his shoulder as he accepted the offering of drinks. the words he spoke next earned a long look from her. Almost as if no one had ever spoken to her like that before. Maybe that was it. There still may be a little hope yet that not all of humanity was a giant bag of dicks after all.

She lofted her eye brows as if mildly impressed. " Welp, people are people. And most of em are shit bags no matter how they were raised." she said lifting her freshly filled shot glass towards him. " Aint the first time I got popped in the face, won't be the last I am sure."

Huffing a chuckle at the clap on his shoulder, he takes a sip of his whiskey, bearing his teeth a little a he swallows it down. Leaning onto the bar on his elbow, he turns his attention back onto her briefly before the bartender returned with the towel full of ice. Raylan takes it and pauses to lift his glass with a bob of his head.

"Here's hopin' tonight is otherwise 'pop free'." His glass is lifted a little, and he takes another drink because he did, oddly, sort of believe in the superstitions around cheering and not taking a drink, but it was followed by the towel of ice being held out to her.

"We don't get many tattoo'd redheads out here; where you comin' from?" No body who looked like her came from here; he'd know.

There was a sheepish grin and a light shrug. " Nights still young. no promises." she said lifting her own long neck bottle off the bar. " Doesn't seem to be a whole lot of tattoo'd anything around here, red head or other wise. Part of why I landed here." she said.

" New Jersey." she said taking a drink from the bottle and pointing her finger at him. " and don't you go calling me a Yankee, I know that's southern talk for asshole." Technically she wasn't even from there, but the question was where she came in from. " You must be from around here?"

He bobs his head in agreement and settles down properly on his barstool.

"Landed, not passin' through? And trust me, the Yankee days are over. Though we do still employ the term carpet bagger if we smell some bullshit. But never to your face. Sothern talk and all."

That was to say, Southern Politeness.

"Born and raised in Kentucky, though I'm here for work. I don't live here." How long does he have to live in the state to say he lived here?

She laughed around the towel with the ice she was holding to her lip, before setting the towel on the bar top to take another drink from her beer. " In direct approach to calling it like it is." she said.

Her shoulder lifted and fell " Haven't decided if it's going to stick or if I'll move along sooner or later. I was born in a little Irish town called Kinsale." she said setting the bottle on the bar top and waving for another. " Ah, what's on the plate for your work?" she asked shifting her eyes to look to him her tongue poking out to poke at the damage to her lip as if trying to minds eye how bad it was.

"When we feel the need ta," he drawls with an easy smirk, teeth peeking through his lips for it.

"Irish, huh?" Add that onto the list of things that Kentucky just didn't see much.. Nevermind that some of the lowlands were settled by Irish folk in the early, early 1900's. 'McCreedy' didn't come from nowhere. "Hang around long enough and I can guess what the answer will be."

Run, run for any hills that weren't here.

"My work? Eh, you know. Chasin' down fugitives; stoppin' shitkicker on shitkicker crime when it tends towards blowin' up meth labs in the woods. That kinda stuff."

" Guilty as charged." she said putting her hands up. " My mom couldn't stay there after my dad took off. I never even met em. ut she landed us in Texas."

she nodded " so, you're DEA huh?" she took a guess but didn't seem bothered by his job at all.

"Not a bad landin' pad, Texas. Even if they are annoyin' as hell with that 'Everythin's bigger there' bullshit. It's not, by the by. Pretty country though."

He'd grant Texas that and not much else. Sorry Texas.

'DEA' made him chuckle and shake his head. "No. Deputy US Marshal Service. We don't care about the meth so much as the bombin' that took place with it. DEA doesn't much like us steppin' on their toes and drug infractions are a State level thing, not Federal." He hoped his badge wasn't going to scare her off. A lot of people shut down when they hear that he's a Federal Agent.

There was a chuckle from her, " Well, 32oz is still 32oz, but.." she said bringing a finger up " There is something to be said about those steers and cows down there." she said.

" Oh, impressive." she said before looking at him. " I heard DEA has a bunch of sticks right up their asses anyway, and you..." she leaned over very blatantly looking at his ass. " Clearly have an ass, a right nice one if I might say. By the jeans you got on I can't see any sticks either."

"Even if we're only talkin' about steak," he laughs.

The laugh was conducive to leaving a smile on his face, one that stretched a little further under a lift of his eyebrows as she looks him over. His ass wasn't something he got a lot of looks over - he worried he didn't have one enough for anyone to bother noticing. Quite flattering to have a woman like Maggie doing it.

"Nah, sticks tend to get in the way of drawin' my gun.. and havin' a good time when I can afford the hours for it. You gotten much chance to see what Lexington got to offer or you more focused on..." He lifts his chin a little. "What do you do for work?"

A small smile still played over her lips as she straightened up on the bar stool. " Seen a few gas stations and motels, that's about it." she paused looking to him again " Also you." she said tapping her empty bottle on the bar top and holding it up to signal for another.

" Tattoos." she said answering his question about work. " Dabble in a little art for decorations murals things like that but inking up skin is where the cash flow is best."

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

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