[It wasn't a dig, of course, but Raylan says nothing in reply and follows him down the stairs. The room they're greeted with is massive in comparison to any other room of the Barge, a bit larger on the inside than out, but Raylan only gives Collins a few seconds to take it in before he's talking to the input device.]
Irish fields please, computer.
[The nicety, the Name was unnecessary but somethings were hard to break. Either way, the room begins to flood with color and smell and vibrancy, giving them a breathtaking view over a broad empty and green field with a forest on the horizon. To the right of them, the sound of sea over the edge of a cliff, barricaded with only a short stone wall.]
Like I said, [he continues as he moves to stand next to Collins.] Not of my makin', this is Sweeney's, but if there's anyone I trust to know what Ireland looks and feels like, it's him.
[The sensation was all new--and quite overwhelming. Collins almost took a step back into Givens as the lawman came up beside him but his steps stopped short, aborted before they got far. The sudden change, the magic of it all, was left behind as the sights and smells suddenly immersed the Irishman in a field of green and beauty. He didn't need his fading memories to know that this was as close an approximation as he was ever going to get without actually stepping foot in the isle itself again.
He was speechless for the moment as his sense took it all in. There was an eeriness to it, of course, how it was so real yet in his head he knew it to be fake. Yet despite that there was an awe of how terrific it was, a feeling of emotion that swept over him that was stronger still than the strangeness of it. An overwhelming sense of home. It washed over him like the waves he could hear crashing against the seawall not far off. It threatened to drag him down.
That wasn't really something Collins let himself do. After the initial awe struck, the thought occurred to him what a fool he was to sink into the illusion and let himself be bound to the place as if it meant anything more than an old memory. His eyelids drooped and his shoulders fell as his posture took on that singularly casual demeanor he kept in place over the surface of him.]
It's beautiful. [He said, but his voice was flat, forced.] Fer all his strangeness, he has a good memory of tha place. It looks like Éire. Even smells right.
So good enough to put outside your window. [He wasn't going to draw any attention to the halfstep back that Collins had taken.]
You see why I don't bother describin' it? Not enough good words to do it any real justice. [That and wasting the breath only to not be believed was exhausting.]
[Collins half glanced at Givens briefly, his eyes barely looking at the lawman before the wave of a breeze through the grasses caught and held his attention with the serenity of it all. He eventually nodded in agreement.]
Aye, it will do. [It would more than do but he's not admitting that. This whole place was still weird even if he did like the illusion of it.] I suppose so. It's very... immersive. It's more than it has any right ta be. Words may not do it any justice but it's still too much like-
[Magic. Untrustworthy. False. He hated that he liked it.]
Collins considered the comment about the air on the ship. This wasn't like a ship crossing the ocean to get from one country to another. The air above deck was fresh, wet and humid, with a salty tang. It could be overwhelming in its own right but it was real, full of nature. Below decks it often was musty and stale but there was the option of going outside. This ship wasn't anything like that.
He didn't get much further in his contemplation over the strangeness of this ship sailing through the darkness of the sky. Givens asked his question and Collins scowled softly at it.]
Tired of feelin' like I'm layin' on a wooden coffin every time I get my head pulverized.
[Death tolls, it would seem, could make even the most stubborn of assholes reconsider their life choices. Besides, he had wanted it from the beginning he just hated asking it. Especially from the wardens that he swore he hated. The lawman included.]
[Holy shit, an actual answer. Raylan couldn't help the faint curl of his lips that he was quick to school back out, though the effort did nothing to stop his eyes from halfmooning in his satisfaction with that small bit of progress.]
Radical idea to pitch at you - maybe calm down on givin' people reasons to put you down. Lot more reasons to enjoy about a bed other than the times it's holdin' you sick. [There was no snidness in it, no harsh edges or arrogant haughtiness, just given like someone might offer gardening advice.
He ambles forward and takes to a moseying pace, letting Collins choose if he wants to come along or not.]
Ain't a lass on board this ship worth beddin' so unless yer propositionin' me, bull, tha bed's just good fer sleepin' and seein' as how that means I'm unconscious, I ain't enjoyin' much more than tha dreams that come along.
[Raylan's face curls, one eyebrow pitching a little in amusement. Well. That's unexpected. If he were back home, his response would have started differently, but having been on the Barge for a couple of years and getting comfortable with what was accepted around here, (to say nothing of his thoughts of leaving and thus escaping anything he needed to), let him be a little more free. His lips end up breaking into a broad and cheeky grin.]
Wake up sore either way if I were. [But just like that, he kept going.]
I ain't talkin' about lazin' around or readin' books in bed, I'm talkin' about the joy of just layin' down at the end of the day, goin' limp for a few minutes. Sure, sleepin' usually follows it, but that's my point. Sure you've heard 'It's the little things'.
[Collins muttered something along the lines of 'damn straight ya would' before bursting into laughter at Raylan's response. He wasn't sure if either one of them were taking it seriously but he also didn't care either way.
He shook his head as his laughter died out.] Aye, I've heard it. Never thought too much of tha bed as one of 'em. Got better things ta do than laze in bed.
[Though he couldn't say he had never taken up with a good book and wasted half a day completing it.]
Ah, you do laugh, [he notes, grin staying just as broad as it was before. Of course Raylan wasn't taking it seriously, he naturally assumed that no one was really serious about it, not without some more signals. There was too much danger in assuming and he wasn't as confident as some of the others around here in launching himself into that area.]
Don't tell me we're gonna argue about how long it takes before one goes from enjoyin' not bein' upright to lazin'.
I want you to know that I'm gonna pass your request up to the Admiral for one very specific reason. Hazard a guess as to why?
[Collins gave the lawman a 'fuck you' for the comment on him laughing but the smile didn't die down for it. He couldn't, however, keep the roll out of his eyes at the next line about the semantics of lazing about. His mood still not ruined, he almost went into a speech about the topic--but Givens's last statement and question caught Collins's attention.
He hummed softly and cocked his head at the lawman.] I know yer gonna tell me whether I ask or not, so out with it, bull.
[Yeah, this kind of banter he understood. He bobs his head in a slight concession at the statement and keeps his pace.]
Maybe so, but askin' is half the point. Literally. I'm gonna do it because you asked. You gotta be willin' to advocate for yourself sometimes, Collins. Good things can come of it.
[He regretted his earlier decision to roll his eyes because this deserved it oh so much more. In fact, so much so that he allows for the duplicate despite the tackiness of it.]
Dear fuckin' Lord, bull. Don't give me that pocket full o' bullshite. What tha hell did I e'er do ta make ya think I'm a pushover? Go fuck yerself ya fuckin' twat.
[His jaw tightens a little and he shakes his head with a sigh out of his nose.]
Explain to me how darin' to ask to make the smallest fraction of your life more comfortable makes you a fuckin' pushover. You're not beggin' for basic rights, you're takin' advantage of shit that's freely given without any strings. Hell, a good conman? Would be takin' this ride for all its worth.
[Raylan stops and doesn't step back at the invasion of his space, his eyes sharpening and tightening around the edges - he might be a friendly type, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to scrap at a moments notice if he had to. But he didn't think Collins was really egging for a fight.]
[Collins blinked rapidly, taken aback momentarily. Then his head tilted slightly to one side like a wild dog considered its options. His lips twitched downwards but anyone with a brain could tell it was an attempt to keep them from going in the opposite direction.
He took a step forward and rose up on his toes to get into Givens's face.]
How 'bout you get that fuckin' bed and find out what else I have in mind.
[The playful suspicion of Collins flirting was completely confirmed with all that, the step in, the unveiled bravado in the offering, and Raylan flashes a grin and leans in, bringing their faces well within kissing reach. Fuck it, why not. He was on his way out anyway and he never cared much about the ethics behind the argument that others might make.]
Computer - Givens House.
[As the fields are hidden from view by sprouting walls, Raylan claims Collins mouth with a rough, dominate kind of passion, one arm wrapping around him as the rest of the room manifests. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean and the bed is large, and most importantly, there was a goodly number of doors between them and the 'outside' area of the Enclosure.]
[The rough kiss wasn't a surprise but the change in scenery was. Fortunately, he was too distracted to care about how strange it all was to watch the backdrop shift around them. It did occur to him that it was smart and convenient. They didn't have to go anywhere and there was much better than the dirt and grassy plains with the room that sprung around them.
Collins reciprocated the kiss hungrily--and as Raylan would quickly find, the Irishman was not the gentle type. His actions were aggressive and his passion was more like an attack than showing affection. He used his teeth to tease, nibble, and bite almost more than his tongue to taste the lawman.
He wasn't shy about moving into Givens's space as the arm wrapped around him either, pressing his body intrusively against the other man. More than that, he gripped Givens by the arms and began to force him backwards--it didn't matter if the bed was in that direction or the wall or some other sturdy structure, he seemed determined to put Raylan against it.]
[Part of Raylan had expected to get punched for it, but he didn't expect anything around or close to 'affection'. That wasn't what this was and if he was being honest, he missed the roughhouse push and shove of this kind of meeting. Collins wasn't the first murderous, domineering kind of man Raylan had kissed (and more), and he certainly hoped Collins wouldn't be the last.
He lets Collins push him back, hand fisting into his shirt as they move and hip catching on a small table, making him grunt into the kiss, the movement and ferocity of it introducing the taste of hot iron onto his tongue - a split lip that stung a little as his shoulders finding wall make him grunt softly again, the sound followed by a chuckle as he breaks the kiss so he can reach up, grab his hat, and toss it off to the side. The gun at the small of his back and the way it dug in was ignored; he doesn't hesitate in bending down to restart that kiss, hand unfisting to start pulling and pushing Collins jacket off.
He had no idea how far this was really gonna go, but goddamned if he wasn't interested in finding out.]
[The taint of blood was practically lapped out of Raylan's mouth whenever the Butcher tasted it. When his tongue found the split it lingered, and his lips sucked on Raylan's lip before biting sharply into it. The additional taste of iron excited the Butcher.
He growled as Givens pulled away, his pale blue eyes sharp with greedy lust and focused deadly on the lawman as the bull took the time to toss his hat aside. The response was instant whenever Givens returned, the Butcher moving to meet the lawman and resume the violent kiss.
Collins didn't shy away as Raylan began to undress him. He shrugged out of the suit jacket and it was practically thrown away once he got it off his last hand. He immediately began to take off his shirt as well--if they were doing this in a bedroom, they might as well do it right. Once that was done his hands were on Givens in an instant, starting at the stomach and pulling the lawman's tucked shirt loose, ripping the buttons off as he pulled the sections apart and eagerly put warm hands against bared flesh. His blunt nails raked down the lawman's chest, leaving streaks.
Raylan would find, through sight or touch, many scars on Dennis Collins's skin. His chest had a bullet hole near the shoulder and various cuts from what had probably been combat knives or a bayonet. His arms had smaller scratches on them, some recent but others much older and faint, almost disappeared. It was his back, however, that bore the brunt of it. The damage there was mostly old, too old, implying that most of it was from the man's youth. A litany of crisscrossing scars that were small enough to be from a thin switch to larger welts that were the size of a thick leather belt. There wasn't an inch of the Butcher's back that wasn't covered in these scars.]
[The nipping got a hiss that slipped into the chuckle the followed.
Collins's jacket disappears and Raylan's momentarily grateful for the fact that they're both wearing button ups of some type. He could replace the shirt, and he tore off his ribbed a line tanktop underneath. He shudders with another half snarled hiss of breath at the scratching, left hand reaching behind to the small of his back to pull the gun and discard it with a clatter on the side table that had no doubt left a bruise on his hip. He still had his service weapon on his right hip, but he'd get to it.
His right hand grabs Collins wrist, now empty left coming up to fist into the back of Collin's hair as he swoops in, breath hot against Collins's ear with his command.]
Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want this to go.
[He only gets a glance at the gallery of scars on Collins's chest but no matter the extent of them, he wasn't gonna stop and marvel. That being said, he hadn't felt Collins's back yet. He's only got three himself, one on his upper right forehead, half in his hairline, a gunshot wound on his lower left midsection, and a graze on his left bicep that was fresher than the rest.]
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Irish fields please, computer.
[The nicety, the Name was unnecessary but somethings were hard to break. Either way, the room begins to flood with color and smell and vibrancy, giving them a breathtaking view over a broad empty and green field with a forest on the horizon. To the right of them, the sound of sea over the edge of a cliff, barricaded with only a short stone wall.]
Like I said, [he continues as he moves to stand next to Collins.] Not of my makin', this is Sweeney's, but if there's anyone I trust to know what Ireland looks and feels like, it's him.
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He was speechless for the moment as his sense took it all in. There was an eeriness to it, of course, how it was so real yet in his head he knew it to be fake. Yet despite that there was an awe of how terrific it was, a feeling of emotion that swept over him that was stronger still than the strangeness of it. An overwhelming sense of home. It washed over him like the waves he could hear crashing against the seawall not far off. It threatened to drag him down.
That wasn't really something Collins let himself do. After the initial awe struck, the thought occurred to him what a fool he was to sink into the illusion and let himself be bound to the place as if it meant anything more than an old memory. His eyelids drooped and his shoulders fell as his posture took on that singularly casual demeanor he kept in place over the surface of him.]
It's beautiful. [He said, but his voice was flat, forced.] Fer all his strangeness, he has a good memory of tha place. It looks like Éire. Even smells right.
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You see why I don't bother describin' it? Not enough good words to do it any real justice. [That and wasting the breath only to not be believed was exhausting.]
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Aye, it will do. [It would more than do but he's not admitting that. This whole place was still weird even if he did like the illusion of it.] I suppose so. It's very... immersive. It's more than it has any right ta be. Words may not do it any justice but it's still too much like-
[Magic. Untrustworthy. False. He hated that he liked it.]
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Yeah, I understand that. I got a thing with the air all over the ship, though I grant that just might be me bein' too far into my head.
Can I ask you what made you change your mind? About askin' for better livin' quarters.
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Collins considered the comment about the air on the ship. This wasn't like a ship crossing the ocean to get from one country to another. The air above deck was fresh, wet and humid, with a salty tang. It could be overwhelming in its own right but it was real, full of nature. Below decks it often was musty and stale but there was the option of going outside. This ship wasn't anything like that.
He didn't get much further in his contemplation over the strangeness of this ship sailing through the darkness of the sky. Givens asked his question and Collins scowled softly at it.]
Tired of feelin' like I'm layin' on a wooden coffin every time I get my head pulverized.
[Death tolls, it would seem, could make even the most stubborn of assholes reconsider their life choices. Besides, he had wanted it from the beginning he just hated asking it. Especially from the wardens that he swore he hated. The lawman included.]
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Radical idea to pitch at you - maybe calm down on givin' people reasons to put you down. Lot more reasons to enjoy about a bed other than the times it's holdin' you sick. [There was no snidness in it, no harsh edges or arrogant haughtiness, just given like someone might offer gardening advice.
He ambles forward and takes to a moseying pace, letting Collins choose if he wants to come along or not.]
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Ain't a lass on board this ship worth beddin' so unless yer propositionin' me, bull, tha bed's just good fer sleepin' and seein' as how that means I'm unconscious, I ain't enjoyin' much more than tha dreams that come along.
Just don't like wakin' up all sore afterwards.
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Wake up sore either way if I were. [But just like that, he kept going.]
I ain't talkin' about lazin' around or readin' books in bed, I'm talkin' about the joy of just layin' down at the end of the day, goin' limp for a few minutes. Sure, sleepin' usually follows it, but that's my point. Sure you've heard 'It's the little things'.
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He shook his head as his laughter died out.] Aye, I've heard it. Never thought too much of tha bed as one of 'em. Got better things ta do than laze in bed.
[Though he couldn't say he had never taken up with a good book and wasted half a day completing it.]
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Don't tell me we're gonna argue about how long it takes before one goes from enjoyin' not bein' upright to lazin'.
I want you to know that I'm gonna pass your request up to the Admiral for one very specific reason. Hazard a guess as to why?
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He hummed softly and cocked his head at the lawman.] I know yer gonna tell me whether I ask or not, so out with it, bull.
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Maybe so, but askin' is half the point. Literally. I'm gonna do it because you asked. You gotta be willin' to advocate for yourself sometimes, Collins. Good things can come of it.
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Dear fuckin' Lord, bull. Don't give me that pocket full o' bullshite. What tha hell did I e'er do ta make ya think I'm a pushover? Go fuck yerself ya fuckin' twat.
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Explain to me how darin' to ask to make the smallest fraction of your life more comfortable makes you a fuckin' pushover. You're not beggin' for basic rights, you're takin' advantage of shit that's freely given without any strings. Hell, a good conman? Would be takin' this ride for all its worth.
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I'm not a conman. And I'm not here ta enjoy tha ride I didn't ask fer. Go ta hell.
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Answer my question.
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It ain't about 'advocatin'' fer myself. I take what I want, do what I want fine enough. Don't need you tellin' me how ta live my life.
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And what is it that you do want, Collins, maybe we start there.
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He took a step forward and rose up on his toes to get into Givens's face.]
How 'bout you get that fuckin' bed and find out what else I have in mind.
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Computer - Givens House.
[As the fields are hidden from view by sprouting walls, Raylan claims Collins mouth with a rough, dominate kind of passion, one arm wrapping around him as the rest of the room manifests. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean and the bed is large, and most importantly, there was a goodly number of doors between them and the 'outside' area of the Enclosure.]
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Collins reciprocated the kiss hungrily--and as Raylan would quickly find, the Irishman was not the gentle type. His actions were aggressive and his passion was more like an attack than showing affection. He used his teeth to tease, nibble, and bite almost more than his tongue to taste the lawman.
He wasn't shy about moving into Givens's space as the arm wrapped around him either, pressing his body intrusively against the other man. More than that, he gripped Givens by the arms and began to force him backwards--it didn't matter if the bed was in that direction or the wall or some other sturdy structure, he seemed determined to put Raylan against it.]
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He lets Collins push him back, hand fisting into his shirt as they move and hip catching on a small table, making him grunt into the kiss, the movement and ferocity of it introducing the taste of hot iron onto his tongue - a split lip that stung a little as his shoulders finding wall make him grunt softly again, the sound followed by a chuckle as he breaks the kiss so he can reach up, grab his hat, and toss it off to the side. The gun at the small of his back and the way it dug in was ignored; he doesn't hesitate in bending down to restart that kiss, hand unfisting to start pulling and pushing Collins jacket off.
He had no idea how far this was really gonna go, but goddamned if he wasn't interested in finding out.]
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He growled as Givens pulled away, his pale blue eyes sharp with greedy lust and focused deadly on the lawman as the bull took the time to toss his hat aside. The response was instant whenever Givens returned, the Butcher moving to meet the lawman and resume the violent kiss.
Collins didn't shy away as Raylan began to undress him. He shrugged out of the suit jacket and it was practically thrown away once he got it off his last hand. He immediately began to take off his shirt as well--if they were doing this in a bedroom, they might as well do it right. Once that was done his hands were on Givens in an instant, starting at the stomach and pulling the lawman's tucked shirt loose, ripping the buttons off as he pulled the sections apart and eagerly put warm hands against bared flesh. His blunt nails raked down the lawman's chest, leaving streaks.
Raylan would find, through sight or touch, many scars on Dennis Collins's skin. His chest had a bullet hole near the shoulder and various cuts from what had probably been combat knives or a bayonet. His arms had smaller scratches on them, some recent but others much older and faint, almost disappeared. It was his back, however, that bore the brunt of it. The damage there was mostly old, too old, implying that most of it was from the man's youth. A litany of crisscrossing scars that were small enough to be from a thin switch to larger welts that were the size of a thick leather belt. There wasn't an inch of the Butcher's back that wasn't covered in these scars.]
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Collins's jacket disappears and Raylan's momentarily grateful for the fact that they're both wearing button ups of some type. He could replace the shirt, and he tore off his ribbed a line tanktop underneath. He shudders with another half snarled hiss of breath at the scratching, left hand reaching behind to the small of his back to pull the gun and discard it with a clatter on the side table that had no doubt left a bruise on his hip. He still had his service weapon on his right hip, but he'd get to it.
His right hand grabs Collins wrist, now empty left coming up to fist into the back of Collin's hair as he swoops in, breath hot against Collins's ear with his command.]
Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want this to go.
[He only gets a glance at the gallery of scars on Collins's chest but no matter the extent of them, he wasn't gonna stop and marvel. That being said, he hadn't felt Collins's back yet. He's only got three himself, one on his upper right forehead, half in his hairline, a gunshot wound on his lower left midsection, and a graze on his left bicep that was fresher than the rest.]
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