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

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)

Oh. You thought I meant romantic love. No, no. You're clearly overwhelmingly straight. [An assurance that was clearly meant as humouring him.] But platonic love and fraternal love are love too, and the betrayal of a brother... [He considered Boyd's face around Raylan's shoulder.] People kill people for less, is all I'm saying. But sometimes they can't. Sometimes they just try to cling sadly to the past.

[Raylan turned his head towards Malcolm like perhaps the man had grown a third head, Boyd leaning out a little further with a hike of his eyebrows, while the other three men in the bar collectively stopped breathing.]

Boy, you must not know where you ar- [As Boyd stepped forward, eyes lit up, Raylan quickly turned back around to snatch Boyd up by the collar and swung him back against the bar, pulling his weapon in the same motion to train it on the goon with the hand gun. The bartender pulled the shotgun and Bob pulled his service weapon to cover that, all within a half second.]

Put it down. [Raylan's tone was easy and calm as he glanced at the bartender.] This doesn't have to go sideways because of a flare in tempers. [He looked back at Boyd.] Now I'll handle that for you, I understand. But play time is over, hmm?

[Boyd seethed under Raylan's hand and gestured with his own for his guys to set their guns down. Raylan nodded with a tight, faint polite smile as he slowly retracted his gun and slipped it back into his holster, letting Boyd up with the motion. Boyd adjusted himself, furious before snapping at the bartender.] Well get me a goddamned pen.

Right here, [Raylan supplied, pulling one out of his jacket pocket. Boyd glared at him as he snatched it out of his hand and scribbled, messily and angrily on the paper.] Better set your friend straight Raylan, 'fore the hollar does it for him.

[Raylan's eyes narrowed slightly as he collected the papers and glanced at Malcolm long enough to nod his head towards the door before turning back around to address Boyd.]

The hollar knows where the house is, if the whole place wants to come visit.

[Raylan tipped his hat and headed towards the door, making sure he was the last one out.]

It was nice meeting all of you. [Politely, before stepping out the door in front of Raylan.

Once they were outside, Malcolm looked at Raylan.]

It was something I said, right?

It was definitely something you said. [Raylan took a deep breath, eyes widening a little with it at Malcolm as he turned to address Bob, holding out the papers.]

Gun ended up getting pulled on you anyway, sorry about that Bob.

Ah, you know I'm used to it Raylan. But thanks for coming along and helpin' out anyway.

[Raylan nodded.] You let me know if he gives you any shit because of this too.

I will, Raylan, sure thing.

[Raylan nodded again and turned Malcolm and himself towards the car with a hovering hand.] Once we're in the car.

[Malcolm let himself be shooed into the car. It wouldn't be the first time he got caught up and went too far nor likely the last. But Boyd really was a sad, scared little man on the inside and it was written large all over his face. He turned to Raylan once the door was shut.]

I wasn't expecting him to be broadcasting like that. His issues are just out there.

[Raylan started with his hands on the wheel - they weren't going anywhere yet, he had to deal with this seed in his caw, but he had to do something. It was clear he'd decided to start when one hand came out, his face turning slightly but not all the way towards Malcolm, letting his eyes do the rest.]

Boyd is a pain in my ass because we were friends. At most, he is pissed that I got up outta here for a good number of years. He and I? We weren't ever the same.

[He started to lean back but continued.] Doesn't matter what kinda love you're talking about out here, we do not talk about our feelings. Especially with strangers. Either someone's friendly or they ain't. You know how many young kids get beat to death out here because someone outs them or runs a rumour around that they're gay? That shit is damaging to reputations and soft power of grown men, and the insinuation can get you shot.

[Now he started the car, and rolled them out and back towards the main road.]

When you said poke, I thought you meant poke, not try to gut him.

Okay. Good feedback. ...Gut him, huh. Is that what I did? [He looked out the front window, because he was concerned that if he looked at Raylan, he'd see he was mad at him.] In fairness, this is why I don't have any friends. People do not like what I do. [He looked down at his hands.] And I have a hard time not doing it. [A confession, not an excuse.

Something occurred to him and he did look at Raylan suddenly.]

They're not going to.... try to assassinate me or something.

Not assassinate you but we're sure as hell not going to any bars in the nearby counties. They don't have the balls to come down to the house, and if they do, we'll deal with it then.

[Yes, that was a very real by-product of Malcolm's brand of poking.]

These people aren't ever going to understand what it is you do. Or.. what you are. The stereotyping goes both ways.

You don't want friends from out here.

[Malcolm looked out the window, then looked at Raylan again.]

I'm sorry. For making trouble. I think... it's a good idea if we just stay at the house. ...Or go back to Lexington. I wasn't trying to make your job harder.

I promised genuine Kentucky experience. Can't have one of those without a tussle. [He assured with a bit of softness in his voice and a curl of his smile.]

Plus, we've already got you installed at Arlo's. We're not wasting my blood, sweat and tears. And the hotel will charge me for extra holes.

[He looked over again, less concerned about what he'd see with that reassurance. Things looked promising. Maybe he could ask a question.]

...So are you less... emotionally challenged than they are because you lived in Miami or... is that just... you?

[Raylan looked over at him and scoffed, genuinely amused.] Am I?

I'll admit I've already told you more than I have most people but I blame you. You're the most open book I've seen. You.. aren't ashamed or shy about what you've suffered, due to most people in New York knowing. Or how you feel. I imagine it's quite nice.

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