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.

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[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.