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

[tinstar]

Raylan's job took him everywhere, from Harlan to Los Angeles to Paris. The Marshals service was demanding but Raylan leaned into the work, traveling as needed to get to get his man.

[Use this post to start threads or PSL'S!]

Comments

[tinstar]

Sitting still for his health has never his strong suit. Ask him to stake out for four days in a clown car, he would, without argument. Tell him to sit down and take it easy? Never.

Raylan smiles crookedly at the dark humor, eyebrows bobbing in a 'what are ya gonna do' kind of way as he turns and leads Henry in towards the living room where he stops to let Henry hit up the Kitchen countertop connection to free his hands. His hands prop lazily on crookedly set hips and he was full of questions, per usual. But it sounded an awful lot like Doc might mean for this to be a longer than what the formalities might call a 'sufficient' visit and time was just about the most valuable thing to him right now. He should feel worse about how pleased he was to hear that. He doesn't.

"I'm not sure we got 'inns' anymore. Just shitty motels that'll give you a rash if you're not careful. But no, there's no one else here and no one expected to show up." Not that it ever really stopped them.

"Plenty'a room, work, and blood to go around to another set of hands. Though it's terrible manners for me to be puttin' a guest to work, the sooner I get this place properly serviceable again, the sooner I can sell it for a decent price.. How is it you heard about my gettin' shot? You got some older than dirt secret on American hills and how to listen through 'em?"

[thering]

He don’t got nowhere else to be so either Raylan is in luck or he’s down and out of it, depending on how unwanted this particular guest is. Though, he’s gotta say, he don’t feel like much of a guest, much as he hasn’t set foot in and around this house or left much of his mark on anything in a hundred miles of this vicinity. Comfortable company, familiar habits, minimal small talk, more interest in rolling his sleeves up and working on shit to get done - he’s just another hired hand who happened to hire himself and invite himself over.

“Shitty motels would have done me just fine too. But nobody takes money or the exchange of a day’s work anymore. Hell, nobody even takes a man on his word anymore. This country’s really gone to shits.” Not that he’s done an honest day’s work in a long time, but. Doc wouldn’t have believed a day would come where people would rather take a hard-backed playing card over cold, hard cash. But here they are.

“I called by your office - the cumbersome, legal way, mind - and flirted with the front desk.” Shameless, indisputably, but efficient, as men in hats are wont to be. And Doc has that old world southern man your man could smell like, drawl like and shoot like quality going for him on top of the hat. Before long there was talk about not needing to send flowers and they’d heard it wasn’t so bad and OK Corral jokes and the Givens’s family home address scrawled out on a bizarre piece of yellow paper that’s inexplicably sticky only on one part of one side.

“I am no guest, and I would insist on getting my hands dirty with haste - especially if it means you would take it easy on yourself. ‘tis the holidays after all and you, good sir, are meant to be on a Holliday.” The dad jokes get better every year, without a shadow of a doubt.