Text Overflow: It's just a flesh wound

[tinstar]

[Continued from: here]

[Raylan took advantage of having several hours to bring his hotel room back into something resembling tidiness, as well as taking a shower and grabbing a nap - Sleep wasn't something anyone got a lot of around Malcolm Whitly, but he'd long learned how to live and work on smaller amounts of sleep.

Dressed but with his button up open and no shoes on his feet, Raylan answered the door with a pull of a smile.] Managed to make it one piece I see. C'mon in. [ He shut the door behind him as he continued.] Flight okay?

Comments

[tinstar]

I rile him up by existing in his space. [Raylan said, picking up his water and leaning back against the counter, ankles crossing.] But that's not gonna help my case. If Boyd thinks I'm sniffing around something, he'll shut it down or run again. That's why we're using Ava. She's... Trustworthy enough.

[abrightboy]

Fair enough.

[He held up his empty jell-o cup.] Where's the trash?

[tinstar]

Over there, [He indicated with a finger.]

Figure I'll call Bob in about 15 minutes. Gives us time. And I will need to change. At least my shirt.

[ Boyd wasn't special enough to see Raylan all sweaty and work pretty anymore. But Raylan wasn't rushing to call Bob either. No, his attention was more fully focused on Malcolm wandering through his childhood home.]

Unless you wanna go shooting first.

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm found the trashcan and dropped the cup in it, getting distracted by a picture on the wall before Raylan mentioned changing and he looked over, running a hand self-consciously down the front of his shirt.] I should go get my sweater off the porch. [He considered that.] Do you think I need a sweater? A t-shirt seems super informal. ...We could shoot first? Will we have to rush it to leave on time?

[tinstar]

[Probably a picture of Raylan when he was boy. Helen liked keeping that stuff. Raylan didn't pay much attention.]

I think you should be comfortable. There's no one to impress out here and formally speaking, I won't really 'be' there. Not unless someone gets shot and someone has to call Art.

As for time, well.. Bob isn't going to do it without me, so it's impossible for us to be late.

I'd rather put it off til never, but so long as we do it before it gets dark.

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm grinned.]

Okay! Let's do it!

[tinstar]

[Raylan couldn't help but grin back.]

Grab a couple of beers. You can put them in a plastic bag- [He gestured to a crocheted bag dispenser, looking like a multicolored sausage on the wall.]- so we can carry the other empties. I'll go get my revolver and some ammo for it and the 9mil. We're gonna have to take a walk so if you have to do anything else while you're here before we go, nows the time.

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm grabbed the bag and the beers and headed out on the porch, scooping up his sweater and throwing it back into the livingroom. He was ready.]

[tinstar]

[Instead of lingering and working on that itch in his palm, Raylan slid his hat back on and headed out to the car, returning with a small duffle bag and his once abandoned overshirt.]

Toss this in there and shut the door, huh? [He pitched the shirt at Malcolm before collecting his empties and once Malcolm had shut the door, started them off between the trees and into the open field that lay beyond it. The trees almost hid it - people could see through them if they wanted but rarely did.]

We'll be going almost to the edge of the property. Might even see a cow. There's some tin cans there too, so you're not looking at just four or five shots either. If you think I'm going to let you slack.

[abrightboy]

[He did as Raylan asked, pulling the door shut behind them.]

Good. I didn't come here to slack.

[He glanced around.]

This is... delightfully remote.

[tinstar]

When I said there wasn't anyone around for a good mile, I meant it. This property backs a pasture that's pretty sizeable itself. Last time the Givens property got inspected, I think the paper read some 7 acres. Mighta been eight.

[It wasn't an unsubstantial bit of land.]

Got any curb appeal tips for this? [The question came with a grin. You couldn't really landscape fields. While Raylan was no farmer, nor was Arlo, it was clear that that's what the land was used for, at one point in time.]

[abrightboy]

You can't see this from the curb. [Pointed out reasonably.] But I imagine land is as valuable here as it is anywhere else. If the house and yard look nice, it'll increase the value and the likelihood to sell.

[tinstar]

Only if you can do something with it. Harlan is here because of the mining industry. Farming didn't take well enough to stick around, since most everyone was in the mines, so all it's really good for is being a pain in my ass and pasture.

That's how the Givens got the land. One of the first families to snap it up when the mining started. I know it's not old New York Money, but we used to have some. Not ever in Arlo's time, or in his daddy's time, or his daddy's time but.. Once upon a time.

[Raylan wasn't bothered by it either. He'd long gotten over being poor in such a way. Bank poor, land rich, which was only worth it if the land was working somehow.

He pointed out ahead at a small barn in the distance, a good 5 minute walk at the pace they were going. Long legs made short work of it all anyway.]

Welcome to the gun range.

[abrightboy]

All you really need is a buyer with the imagination to develop it.

[Everywhere could be made into something. The trick was to figure out what was needed there.]

Is the gun range the outside wall of the barn or have you kitted out the inside of it?

[tinstar]

If you can find me one...

[ Raylan had to double take at Malcolm, before breaking out an honest proper laugh, adjusting his hat.]

Neither. It's the fence on the other side. I might put a few holes in Arlo's house, but I like that barn. [It was said with an endearing affection.]

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm watched his expression with interest.]

So... the house has bad memories but the barn has good memories. [He's surmising, at any rate. He could hear that vocal affection. He could see its corroboration in Raylan's features.]

[tinstar]

Barn's got better memories than the house, I'll tell you that. Made a good place to hide too. When I was young and stupid, I'd steal whiskey or beer from Arlo and light out here to listen to him yell and scream and carry on only to peel out to look for me in all the wrong places.

Helen knew, though. She always seemed to know.

[abrightboy]

[He smiled at that story.]

Well. You weren't really hiding from her.

[He glanced over.]

It doesn't seem like you always had any kind of direction in mind. How did you get one, suddenly?

[tinstar]

Normally, I was running for her. [The admission came with a little glance over at Malcolm.]

Chose it the day I decided that Arlo wasn't going to determine what I was or wasn't anymore. It was the Marshal's Service or dying in a mine or worse, turnin' into him. Harlan does that to people. Wears 'em down. Makes them tired and angry and bitter. The Marshal's service got me out of Kentucky and into Georgia. Anywhere is better than here.

[And Raylan meant it. Not even sentimentality could tarnish that idea. He slowed them to a stop as they came around to the far side of the bar, and the fence, as promised. ]

[abrightboy]

I know what it's like. Returning to what you ran away from and running face-first into everything you promised yourself you were never going to be. It's a special kind of pressure cooker.

[He surveyed the fence.]

How far back do you stand?

[tinstar]

[Raylan considered Malcolm's profile. He'd left Washington after getting kicked out of the FBI and returned to his father, his family and the roots of his problem. Special kind of pressure cooker indeed.]

Do you mean me personally? What'd they teach you up at Quantico?

[abrightboy]

FBI training shoots on a course ranging from 3 to 25 yards. [He looked at Raylan.] I bet you stand further away than that.

[tinstar]

You'd win that bet. [Raylan smirked as he dropped the duffle bag and squatted down over it.] I'm certified as an expert marksman and an expert quickdraw. Top of my class in ballistics and firing.

[The smirk got a little wider as he looked at Malcolm from under the brim of his hat.]

I can do a hundred. Revolver or service pistol?

[abrightboy]

I was top of my class in several things, but never marksmanship. I guess because I was never much interested in even having a gun. I passed proficiency because it was required.

[He could, after all, throw an axe with above average accuracy.]

You're making it a lot more interesting though. I'll take the service pistol. As a qualified instructor, how far back do you think I should start? It's been over eight months since I shot.

[tinstar]

[ Pulling out the revolver, Raylan unsnapped his holster and kicked his gun out with a flick of his fingers and letting it rotate over the one stuck in the trigger cage so the weight of it flipped the handle towards Malcolm.]

Start at seven. Most things happen from that distance. Start with one of my empties,[As he spoke, Raylan pulled out the rounds for it and with a flick of his wrist, snapped the cylinder out to pop in his rounds. As he stood, another flick set the cylinder back into it's place and with a swift motion across his leg as he strode forward spun it around.

Yes, he'd practiced that. A lot.]

Let me see how you do with that first. [It wasn't just how close Malcolm got to his target, it was also how the man fired.]