tinstar | Text Overflow: It's just a flesh wound

[Raylan took another bite of the eggs before grabbing up one of his pieces of toast.]

That's my plan.. for however well I actually do it. [Willa wasn't going to have to suffer the bullshit he did when he was little. Raylan would damned sure do better than that.]

The eggs are good.

Thanks. I learned from a cook that worked for my family when I was a kid. My mother was horrified by some of the interests I took, but I wanted to know... everything. I only learned a couple of things from her. She quit after my father was arrested.

[He ate a couple small bites of egg.]

I think you'll be good at it. Making the connection. You do that naturally with people.

I don't blame her. The cook, not your mother, [He clarified with a curl of his smile, tucking the rest of his toast slice away, before taking a swig of his coffee, leaning back in his chair.]

Only the ones that don't have to deal with me all of the time, and most people aren't exactly happy to see me. Being a Marshal, I rarely bring good news. [And was very much sometimes a pain in their respective asses. Raylan cleared the rest of his plate.]

But it'd be weird if they all liked me.

[Malcolm shook his head, smiling fondly.]

Your coworkers respect you - I think you know that - but they also like you a lot. I can tell.

Tim does. Rachel tolerates me. Art's alright, I guess. [He couldn't help the devilish curl of his smile as he watched Malcolm.]

I'd rather focus on the day to day. [He'd rather focus on Malcolm. Raylan tapped the meat of his palm on the table a couple of times, internally debating before pushing to his feet and heading towards the sink with his plates.]

I supposed we've lingered long enough.. Leave the dishes, I'll do them when we get back.

[He nodded, eating one more bite of eggs, about a third of what he had still left on his plate, then pushed to his feet.] I'll get dressed. [He headed upstairs.

Casual, casual... but not too casual. He didn't want to be too casual confronting criminals in their hideout or lair or whatever this was. He ended up choosing another pair of crisp black jeans, with a button down shirt and a dark red tie. Then he pulled a navy v-neck sweater over it to dial it back down a bit. He glanced around as he arrived back at the bottom of the stairs. His grey sweater from the previous day was still slung over a chair. He had to remember to grab that at some point, but not right then.]

You could--

[But Malcolm was already up and moving so Raylan didn't bother continuing. Instead, he followed Malcolm upstairs with an amused look and got dressed himself. It was amazing what a belt, a long sleeve gray, collarless shirt with darker plaid overshirt and his watch could do to pull Raylan into a decent looking person and not a sex bun walking around the house.

Collecting his gun, badge and phone, Raylan went downstairs and got his hat, dialing Bob up.]

Yeah, sorry about last night. Something came up... Uh huh. Yeah, about to head out now.. Twenty minutes? See ya then.

[Raylan looked over at Malcolm.]

A tie? You know this isn't a case right? [He just had to make sure.] We're both technically off.

[He laughed.]

I know we're pretty much confronting criminals for fun, but confronting criminals is technically work...

[He glanced down at his effort at dressing appropriately, though.] Is it all wrong?

For fun? [Raylan scoffed and clicked as he adjusted his hat, looking back at Malcolm from under his brim with a hint of amusement in his face.] What makes you think that?

[No, Malcolm was completely and totally right. Raylan was happy to help because it meant he got to be an asshole. To an extent.]

It's definitely you. C'mon.

[Raylan turned towards the door and headed towards the car, spinning the keys on his finger as he went.]

Is...is that a good thing or a bad thing? [Asked as he followed him outside, but with a grin.] How are they going to react to you showing up there? They all know who you are, I assume.

It's a thing, [He admitted over his shoulder with a curl and lift of his features as he rounded the front of the car and slid himself into the front seat.]

They're not gonna be happy to see me, but they'll put on a good show. Like I said, [he continued as he threw the car into drive once Malcolm had gotten in and buckled,] I don't often come with good news.

[Boyd's bar was only 15 minutes away, though Raylan made it in ten. No one was going to stop his town car, out here, and he knew it.]

Just don't pay any attention to Boyd's comments. The man likes to lord himself up above us lowly simple minded people.

Everything he says is going to tell me something about him. [Malcolm looked at him before getting out of the car.] I expect his guesses about me won't contain anything I've never heard.

[He looked at the outside of the building, sizing it up, not approaching until Raylan drew alongside him.]

Ain't much there to be interested in, I assure you.

[Raylan turned as he closed the car door, adjusting his hat in the early midday sun as Bob and his shitty pinto drove up. Raylan was grateful Bob wasn't honking his arrival, though the man certainly looked like he could, with the expression on his face as he got out of his car.]

Hey thanks again for doin' this Raylan. It's just a citation for a lapse in Boyd's liquor licences, but you know. [Raylan nodded.] I know, [he assured. With a glance back at Malcolm, Raylan bobbed his head and led the way into Boyd's badly lit bar.

The underlighting of the bartop made it feel a bit cheaper, the place not being much more than the bar and the walls that surrounded it, save the decorations that someone, at some time, had put up in an attempt to make the place feel some kind of cozy. Four men were in the bar - one behind the bar, one in front of it and two at scattered tables.

The man at the bar turned around with a creeping smile that was, somehow, all teeth. He was sharply dressed, as lean as Raylan was, and with his waistcoat and pocket watch, dressed in a hillbilly suit.]

Well Raylan Givens. As I live and breathe. And Constable Bob- [Boyd continued, gesturing wildly at the shorter, stouter man as he shuffled in. Malcolm however got a curious look and Boyd looked back at Raylan without moving his head for a half moment before swinging his one hand wide in gesturing alliteration.] Shoulda told me you were coming Raylan, I woulda had Ava make some of that fried chicken I know you like so much. And with guests? Oh what a momentous day. You finally find someone able to tolerate your shit?

[Raylan took it all with a passive look, lifting his head with a faint crinkle of poile amusement that didn't reach his eyes or more than barely surface deep. He knew it was better to indulge Boyd his showmanship.]

Just here to back up Bob, Boyd. Apparently, you've lapsed on your licences and owe a fine. Bob'll tell you the details, [ he offered cordially with a bob and downturn of his head.] You just gotta sign them, pay the fine if you don't wanna take the drive to the court house, and we'll be outta your hair.

[Malcolm looked faintly interested as he glanced around, wandering a short way away from the group to look at one of the pictures on the wall. He looked over at Boyd when Raylan was done talking, before Boyd could reply.]

I only came because I wanted to see why a liquor licence violation needed backup. There are only a few neighbourhoods in New York where you see that and... well, people dressed like you tend to pay their licences up there because their bar is a front for shadier things and they don't want cops and marshals and feds poking around there.

[It would feel like everyone in the room swung their eyes towards Malcolm at the 'Dressed like you' comment, gazes swiftly returning to Boyd to see his response. Raylan lifted his eyebrows. Man had a point.]

A simple mishandling of paperwork, stranger. I don't believe I have seen you around these parts before, friend. Raylan, who've you brought to us today?

Ain't none of your business Boyd, we're here for Bob. [Raylan was desperately trying to keep the lid on this can of worms, but Boyd had no interest in Bob, despite Bob's failed stuttering attempt to lift the papers he had clutched in his hand.]

Don't be /rude/ Raylan, introduce us.

[Raylan sighed the sigh of those put upon and gestured as he spoke.]

Boyd Crowder, Malcolm Bright. Bright, this is Boyd Crowder. Simple bar owner and apparently, bored asshole.

Edited 2020-05-03 02:08 (UTC)

[Malcolm stepped over and offered his hand.]

Nice to meet you. [Politely, of course.] You know, if you did use the bar as a front for something shadier, you'd probably be less bored. [A beat.] Probably not less of an asshole, if that's the case. I have to take the marshal's word for it.

[Boyd grabbed and pumped it with a half wondered look. He didn't even mind the insult and grinned a charming innocent smile as he pulled back.]

Why I can't imagine what Raylan has been telling you. This is a legitimate business, despite our bureaucratic failure, and I think the good Marshal has a bit of a bais on account of our history. [Which he clearly thought was off the table. That was between him and Raylan.

Raylan lifted his eyebrows slightly, a faux surprised amusement at Boyd's insinuation.]

What brings the big City down into the backwoods of Harlan? Not much work for your kinda people out here in our bea-u-tiful hills.

[Raylan slow blinked at Boyd, but let it all happen passively. Might as well let Boyd has his fun - Malcolm could handle Boyd. Likely with one metaphorical hand behind his back.]

What work do you imagine my kind of people do, Mr Crowder? [Asked with polite interest.]

I'm sure I don't know Mr. Bright but if I were to hazard a guess.. [The sweater and tie were given consideration.] An accountant.. or a professor. [He lifted a finger to stop any response.] But those aren't the kind of people that our boy Raylan here tends to deal with. [Boyd tapped the side of his nose, grinning again.]

No missing that crisp, federal type smell. RAYLAN, [He sounded, like they were at a tent revival as he turned on his heels towards the cowboy, hans spread wide.] I do believe this might count as harassment.

Does that mean I get a VIP tour of the back of your magnificent 'facility'? [Raylan asked, face pinching.] We're here. For some papers.

[He held out his hand behind him without breaking eye contact, one hand propped on his hip and once Bob put them in his hand, he held it out to Boyd.]

Just sign the papers Boyd, I'll get outta your hair. Won't even ask your man behind the bar to put the shotgun that he's palmin down. [Raylan's expression and gaze was challenging, jaw tight.]

You know what your problem is, Raylan, [Boyd started, turning to move himself towards the bar, earning a roll of Raylan's eyes as his jaw shifted again, angrily.] You're always in such a rush.

I'm actually a forensic psychologist. [He tilted his head one way and then the other.] I work with law enforcement. I'm not a cop. [He looked at Raylan.] If we're not concerned about the guy with the shotgun behind the bar, we're not looking at the guy over there with the handgun under the table either, right?

A for-ensic psychologist. [It was followed with a whistle and a half bob of his head as he slid back into his barstool.] Step up from us rednecks, ain't it Raylan.

[Raylan ignored that, rolling his eyes towards Malcolm with a dry annoyance at Boyd's antics.]

He ain't gonna draw, he's fine. He knows better than to shoot at a Federal agent. Don't ya... I didn't catch your name.

Mungo. [Raylan hoisted his eyebrows again.] Really?

[Shit the names these people gave out.]

That being said, it seems like there's lots of work in these beautiful hills for my kind of person. No shortage of crime. [The last sentence was a little pointed in tone.

He stepped towards Boyd, his gaze suddenly assessing only him.]

Why are you obsessed with the Marshal? I know you'll say you aren't, but the rest of us have only existed in the context of him since we arrived. You must know the constable. He's from here too. But you haven't even spoken to him.

Edited 2020-05-03 08:25 (UTC)

[Had Malcolm not continued, Boyd would have but the narrowed attention changed things a little and Boyd turned on his barstool to eye Malcolm again.]

I don't see that it's much of any of your business, Mr. Bright, who I do or do not choose to bestow my attentions upon. Don't you know who that is? The big bad Marshal who has no problem putting people into the ground or shootin' his own daddy. Considering his- [Boyd's hand danced at his him like he was going to quickdraw something that wasn't there.] Tendencies. Man could find himself dead if they're not careful out here.

Boyd, [Raylan cautioned him, eyes moving between the two men.]

Since you seem keen to not be forgotten in the dust up, what /does/ bring New York down here into our blessed little hollar? Not a lot of forensic psychologist needs down here - we're a simple people, Mr. Bright.

[Well, no, they weren't but Boyd was aimming at his own specific points, ambling the long linguistic path to getting there.]

In my experience, some people's daddies need a good 'shootin''. But I'm sure nobody here needs an expert to tell them that. [His tone was light for a heavy subject and he gestured to encompass the room when he said 'nobody here', like they were all in on the joke.] At any rate, it's not about who you're bestowing your attention on. It's about why you want his attention on you. In your.... alleged line of work, and I admit I'm only familiar with the briefest summary of your jacket, I wouldn't think you'd be so desperate for a law enforcement officer to pay attention to you, but you clearly really want that. Me? I'm interested in how people tick and what makes them do what they do. In the grand decision-making matrix of risk, reward, consequence and certainty, this behaviour doesn't make sense. So that means there's an underlying emotion there that's overriding sense. The two emotions known for that are love and hate. Which one is it? Or is it a bit of both? [He watched Boyd's face, not waiting for him to answer with words.] Both. That's betrayal. He betrayed you by leaving and then he came back and he was different but you were the same. That's hard. [he acknowledged with a nod.] You know what? I get that. I get why you're upset by that. But needy cries for attention every time he shows up to do his job isn't accomplishing anything. Why don't you just sign the papers and we can all get on with our day?

[Malcolm's words weren't ineffective, slowly eating away Boyd's friendly showmans mask as he shifted on his feet, thumb finding a hook in his front pocket. He waited for Malcolm to finish, face filling with amusement as Malcolm came to his end and Boyd chewed over how to handle this for a half second of good silence before laughing openly.]

Well hell. [Boyd looked over at Raylan.] What've you got him thinkin', Raylan? [He swung his gaze back to Malcolm.] Now, I'm willin' to be flexible. Understandin', even - You're not from around here and Raylan has obviously given you some incorrect idea of what I am. [Something in his face hardened with his intent.] What I am not, is used to strangers who have no business in my business, speakin' to me like they have some idea of how I feel or what things are like out here in the country. Now you're a guest-[He continued, tone lifting back into an affable one, as he raised one hand and took a half step back. See how kind and reasonable a person he is? It would be Malcolm's only real chance.] -and I'd hate to spoil hospitality.

[Boyd looked back at Raylan with the clear expectation that Raylan was going to calm his intense little friend down. Raylan walked forward, between them and set the papers on the bartop harder than was probably strictly necessary.]

Then don't. [The sheer irritation in Raylan's jaw and eyes were unmistakable. Boyd looked near delighted by it, head tilting a little.] Stop fuckin' with me Boyd.

Edited 2020-05-03 18:41 (UTC)

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