Not that I've found in the whole wide world. [Raylan was no poet, but he could spin some pretty words about Whiskey given the chance and general inclination.
He steps in with a tip of his head and a glance around, nodding approvingly with a downturn pull of his lips as he looks it all over, chairs included. Good - a safe place to sit.]
Glad to see the Admiral followed through on general quality of life provisions. How's it treatin' ya?
[As he finishes the question, he points at the chair with a lift of his eyebrows, the silent It okay if I sit in this one?? It being Collins space, Raylan was going to respect that.]
[He smiled wryly at his reference to their earlier conversation and nodded at the chair in acquiescence. He would take the other after Givens sat and he had poured two glasses of whiskey.]
It's been better fer sleepin' that's fer certain. [He said with a gesture at the bed.] The record player is nice. Been puttin' it ta use.
Care fer an record on? [He laughed as a thought struck him.] I shoulda told ya ta bring yer fiddle so I could hear ya play yer live music before it's gone.
[He sits and nods his thanks as he claims one of the glasses, leaning back into his seat with all his quiet confidence. This was all starting civilly enough - why did these men insist on being feisty while they're paired and cordial when they're not, Raylan still didn't understand - but he knew Collins wasn't for a lot of the common small talk and pleasantries.
Still, he'll take what he can get while he can get it and maybe their little romp wasn't exactly nothing to the Irishman.]
Dependin' on how this conversation goes, you walk me back to my floor and we can arrange that. It'd be good to get an opinion on how I'm doin'.
[He nods at the record player with a curl of a smile.]
Yeah, put somethin' on. Your favorite outta what he gave you - I'm assumin' you've already listened to 'em all.
[The part about listening to the music, the critiquing of the lawman's playing, or joining Givens in his room was up for debate on which he meant the most.]
Of course. Got a few good ones in there.
[In the original provided collection of records, he meant, which he went over to pick carefully through until his fingers landed on one of his liking. He pulled out and put on some Hoagy Carmichael for them to listen to while they talked for a bit.
At first it seemed as though Collins might get caught up in the music. It was clearly his passion. But he did eventually settle down into his chair opposite Givens and take a sip of his whiskey.]
Not too disappointin' what selection tha bastard gave. It's a nice start. Tha library has plenty more ta choose from when it all gets old.
[Raylan lifts his eyebrows a little at what comes out from the record, smile curling again as he quietly takes a drink of his whiskey, giving Collins the time and more importantly, the silence, to come around to his seat.
Of course, to his modern ear, it sounded like something that should come out a Victrola or a silent movie, but that didn't make the music itself any less nice. Simpler, perhaps, but still good. Modern music was either going to rock Collins world or overwhelm him.]
And you got eighty some odd years of music to make your way up through. I think you're really gonna get a kick outta jazz. Big Band.. Told ya it wasn't all bad, askin' for things. Sky didn't fall down or nothin'. And I'm gussin' things ain't gone exactly well with Taylor. Good that we got you at least this while we could.
['We' and not 'I' because Raylan had only facilitated, he hadn't done any real work.]
[Collins gave the lawman an amused look. And while he wasn't dismissing the rest of what Givens said, he had to set the record straight when it came to music.]
You don't know much about tha history of music, do ya? Tha Jazz Age started well before tha 1920s, bull. And who do ya think plays most of that jazz? Big bands. Or did ya think they only played tha newer swing music? Oh, if I had tha time, you'd learn more than just tha basics like that, boyo.
You gonna teach me to read music, keep time? ['Boyo' huh? A step up from 'Bull' to be sure.] What you got playin' now is the top layer on a many level cake to what it gets up to Collins, I'm tellin' ya.
Besides, where I come from, the area didn't... get out much, you might say. We got our own music. [And that musical history was easier and shorter a tomb to have kicking around his proverbial mental shelves.]
What? Someone finally find a way ta outclass Mozart? Did someone come up with a more complicated time than 5/7? What makes ya think it's so much better in tha future? Smaller bands, individuals beltin' out tunes ta three, fours instruments at most? Is that yer future you speak so highly of?
[He has listened to the Beatles and maybe a few other things. What was so impressive about that? It was just... catchy.]
Better, who said anythin' about better? [This kind of banter her understood in his soul. It was called having a chinwag, shooting the shit, easy as breathing.] Just deeper. More to it. New ideas, new layers. Can't tell me that it ain't evolved and expect it to not continue to evolve.
[But to the question.]
I, personally, like country, but that doesn't stop me from listenin' to or enjoyin' other genres. Bluegrass, and the Appalachian music, I suppose you could call it folk music. It's why I picked up the fiddle, actually. Shit, maybe I shoulda brought my fiddle. [ He says with a little huff of a laugh. ] Don't have much practice in articulatin' differences like this.
[He didn't talk about music generally and most people had the similar kind of musical context shorthand as he did.]
Oh, is that what you've been tryin' ta play, bull?
[He laughed. If Raylan thought he didn't know what country music was, the lawman was wrong. The old folk country originated from his time, too.]
I heard it called hillbilly music. [He was grinning as he spoke.] Southern music. American folk. Good bit of music ta play on yer fiddle, that's certain.
[He bobs his head, one hand lifting to wiggle on an axis, grin crooked and unashamed. Yes and no.]
'Southern' music has evolved too, though I'll take American Folk. Hillbilly music is now specifically banjos in dark swampy marshes or woods where the Hills have Eyes and'll kill you, you get too far onto their land. Suppose that ain't too different from what you know.
You branch out much from this kinda music, or do you stay in this wheelhouse? [he gestures slightly towards the record in reference.]
Hmm. [He absorbed the information and then smiled before he answered.]
Whatever I get me hands on, whatever sticks. My favorites are tha folk and shanties, fun ta sing, but this and jazz are easy listenin'. Ol' classical music, tha full orchestration... love a good concert of that, too.
[So yes, he liked all kinds. He'd try anything at least once. Though the further out he got into the future music the harder it got in some cases. He figured he'd take it slow, learn the history with it to help swallow some of the more crazy stuff.]
Always good to keep a few doors open for new sounds and experiences. I still think, even in modern day, live music is the best way to hear somethin'. [It's granted with a bob of his head and a slight lift of his glass before he takes another drink, teeth bearing a little as he swallows it down.]
An' not that there's anythin' wrong with it, but did you invite me over just to chew the musical fat?
[Said to the tone of 'you don't like my small talk, huh.' A little offended but not enough to get angry over.
He didn't say anything at first. Experience taught him that the lawman would wait. The bull had the patience of a saint when it suited him. Collins preferred the other side of the man: the sinner eager to draw blood and violence. But both had their places.
He took a quick drink from his glass before he finally got his thoughts squared away enough to put them to words.]
Never did thank ya fer me music back. It means a lot ya me, me music. People don't understand...
[He shook his head dismissively. He was either holding back something, or this whole segue was really just another way to buy more time. He fell silent as he watched the liquid in his glass swirl as he rotated his wrist. The thoughtful look on his face stayed in place as he waited for something.]
That's what I just said. Nothin' wrong at all. [The reassurance comes with it's own tone; music was great and wonderful to talk about, but Raylan also knew how easily some newly random small talk was a good cover for Larger issues that no one wanted to rush into. And honestly, he was surprised that Collins had reached out in the first place, all things considered.
Goodbyes had largely been had.
He could almost hear the gears turning over in Collins head, and as expected, Raylan waits. Sometimes men just needed the space and the silence to come around to what was crawling up the back of his throat. If the Barge gave everyone one thing, it was time. And Collins had asked for some of that, after all.
Raylan's head tilts a little in his curiosity.]
You'd already been under that yolk for a month. What Ulla was lookin' for wasn't gonna come, and while you're right, I don't understand, I imagine not bein' able to hear somethin' from yourself that you've always had might lead you a bit towards insanity. Lead anyone towards it, left to suffer it long enough.
[A beat passes and when he continues, his voice is softer. Quiet and genuinely curious to see if Collins would really answer the next question.]
[Collins looked contemplative as he listened to Givens, right up until the last question. The softness of the query kept the hitman from outright bristling but there was an obvious shift in demeanor from Collins. The subject was a sore one. People judged for it.
Normally it didn't bother him. Of course, normally he killed people that heard him talk about anything private.
That wasn't the case here on the ship. He couldn't simply get rid of anyone who might ridicule him.
Maybe the bull's opinion didn't matter. The man was leaving soon anyway. Collins looked at Givens when he spoke.]
How I hear music all tha time. A song is always playin', Marshal, always changin' but never endin'. And when I hunt, that's when tha music takes on it's most beautiful melodies. When it rises, so does my heartbeat.
[Raylan kept his general energy exactly where it was. He wasn't going to bat an eyelash out of step and risk Collins clamming up again. It didn't matter that Raylan was leaving - Collins opening up even a little was foundational work that hopefully someone could work on.
Almost a shame that he's leaving, Raylan's pretty sure he could make some headway, given the time.]
And her curse messed with the pitch of that? [He nods a little, glass turned back and forth on his knee by a quarter inch, eyes steady on Collins. He kept his voice that smooth warm velvet, nonjudgmental, slow and easy.]
[He replied and his voice was modulated, quiet but firm. His eyes bored into Raylan as he studied the lawman with intense purpose. Any little give or sway to catch a reaction, a judgement or an emotion. He watched for them carefully in the way only a practiced man could.]
Her curse messed it all up. A never-ending cacophony of noise meant ta be somethin' beautiful, turned inta tha worse sound ya ever heard. [Hence the lack of sleep, of course.] All me life it's been playin'. Long as I remember anyway.
You got any idea what it is? What.. I dunno, causes it? Any accidents or anythin' when you were a kid?
[Collins was already well left of Crazy; Raylan knew that. The task here was to figure out the best way to get Collins to handle that impluse, those urges. That and Collins was from the same place Arthur and JD were. Only God knows what forces and powers were moving there.]
[Collins had never questioned his music before, and he didn't look pleased to be doing so now.]
What makes ya think I wasn't just born this way?
[The same way he perceived his lack of care as a birth defect. The way he considered his skill as a killer to be a gift. It was simply the way he was born.]
Science. You woulda had to hear music to have it playing in your head, or to even comprehend what those noises are. [He shrugs a little with the answer. The question of it all wasn't a jab at Collins - he'd presented something and Raylan's curiosity itched to understand the whys.]
My next question would normally be what's your earliest memory, but that's edgin' into psychology and the turn of the century wasn't exactly the brightest future to be born into.
So huntin' man's the only thing that makes it swell, huh? That somethin' you test against slaughterin' animals or somethin'?
Music is universal, bull. Ya don't have ta comprehend it ta hear it. [He was a little offended anyway. Even the little birds sang their songs without being told.]
People are just animals with enough sense ta comprehend what's happenin' to 'em. Watchin' that end is tha best part. Findin' a clever game is worth even more than that. Makes things interestin'.
[Otherwise it was simple slaughter, which he found easy even hunting human prey. The thrill was still there, the music still swelled, it gave him pleasure, but there was another level when the unpredictable occurred. The unseen melodies that changed the music and gave it real meaning.]
Mm. [He wasn't going to chase that point of view down much further; Collins didn't have to agree with him and it wasn't important for Raylan to make Collins understand where he was standing.]
I won't argue with some people bein' animals, but I think that's about as far as my agreement can go. Here, you're contained and, try as you might, you can't actually hurt someone in any meaningful way. ['But' hung unsaid, as did what would have followed. But but but.]
You know it's objectively wrong though. You just don't give a shit because it makes you feel good for a minute? [His brow furrows questioningly, one lanky finger lazily half pointing at him over the small table.] How long's the high of a kill last for you? Ten minutes? Twenty? Go home and jack off to how it looked and felt to watch a life fade in front'a your eyes?
[Collins smiled dangerously at the lawman but the way his lip curled briefly at one end made it appear for what it really was: a sneer.]
Memento mori. Nothin' wrong with death, bull. It's natural.
You don't have ta understand me any more than tha next fellow. [If that's disappointment lacing his tone, you're just imagining things. He doesn't care about any of this.] You can try ta fit me into yer box, pretend ya know what I do, but it don't make a lick of difference.
[He smiled again and it almost looked genuine. His tone went light and airy, too.] What are you goin' ta do when you get home, cowboy? Find a good hunt ta keep ya occupied? Wear yer hat on yer head and pistol on yer hip, and go out rustlin' up some wayward cattle? Does that make yer blood pump? Does it make you happy?
What utter bullshit-[Raylan scoffs and shakes his head a little, emptying his glass in one go and grabbing the bottle to pour himself another few fingers as he lets Collins go on. His eyes narrow a little, lips thinning as Collins gets around to a tired trope that Raylan has heard more than enough in his life that's given a double punch at the very last question. More than enough from people self proclaiming themselves one word action verbs, accent or not.]
You mean wayward assholes. I rustle wayward assholes, though if you'd like to call the class you're in as cattle, that's your prerogative. I find it a bit diminutive myself, but that's your bread and butter.
I don't understand you, that's at least true, but there's no logic or insanity that's gonna get me around to the point of view that killin' innocent people is 'natural' or right. That's got nothin' to do with you, or the box you put yourself in. I am the way I am because of people like you, think that everyone else's life around you doesn't mean shit unless it's makin' you feel better or lettin' you get out whatever made you this way.
Murderers ain't born, Collins. They're made. And that's a point that doesn't matter an iota when I have to pull my gun and put a man down.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He steps in with a tip of his head and a glance around, nodding approvingly with a downturn pull of his lips as he looks it all over, chairs included. Good - a safe place to sit.]
Glad to see the Admiral followed through on general quality of life provisions. How's it treatin' ya?
[As he finishes the question, he points at the chair with a lift of his eyebrows, the silent It okay if I sit in this one?? It being Collins space, Raylan was going to respect that.]
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[He smiled wryly at his reference to their earlier conversation and nodded at the chair in acquiescence. He would take the other after Givens sat and he had poured two glasses of whiskey.]
It's been better fer sleepin' that's fer certain. [He said with a gesture at the bed.] The record player is nice. Been puttin' it ta use.
Care fer an record on? [He laughed as a thought struck him.] I shoulda told ya ta bring yer fiddle so I could hear ya play yer live music before it's gone.
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Still, he'll take what he can get while he can get it and maybe their little romp wasn't exactly nothing to the Irishman.]
Dependin' on how this conversation goes, you walk me back to my floor and we can arrange that. It'd be good to get an opinion on how I'm doin'.
[He nods at the record player with a curl of a smile.]
Yeah, put somethin' on. Your favorite outta what he gave you - I'm assumin' you've already listened to 'em all.
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[The part about listening to the music, the critiquing of the lawman's playing, or joining Givens in his room was up for debate on which he meant the most.]
Of course. Got a few good ones in there.
[In the original provided collection of records, he meant, which he went over to pick carefully through until his fingers landed on one of his liking. He pulled out and put on some Hoagy Carmichael for them to listen to while they talked for a bit.
At first it seemed as though Collins might get caught up in the music. It was clearly his passion. But he did eventually settle down into his chair opposite Givens and take a sip of his whiskey.]
Not too disappointin' what selection tha bastard gave. It's a nice start. Tha library has plenty more ta choose from when it all gets old.
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Of course, to his modern ear, it sounded like something that should come out a Victrola or a silent movie, but that didn't make the music itself any less nice. Simpler, perhaps, but still good. Modern music was either going to rock Collins world or overwhelm him.]
And you got eighty some odd years of music to make your way up through. I think you're really gonna get a kick outta jazz. Big Band.. Told ya it wasn't all bad, askin' for things. Sky didn't fall down or nothin'. And I'm gussin' things ain't gone exactly well with Taylor. Good that we got you at least this while we could.
['We' and not 'I' because Raylan had only facilitated, he hadn't done any real work.]
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You don't know much about tha history of music, do ya? Tha Jazz Age started well before tha 1920s, bull. And who do ya think plays most of that jazz? Big bands. Or did ya think they only played tha newer swing music? Oh, if I had tha time, you'd learn more than just tha basics like that, boyo.
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Besides, where I come from, the area didn't... get out much, you might say. We got our own music. [And that musical history was easier and shorter a tomb to have kicking around his proverbial mental shelves.]
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[He has listened to the Beatles and maybe a few other things. What was so impressive about that? It was just... catchy.]
What sort of music are you used to then?
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[But to the question.]
I, personally, like country, but that doesn't stop me from listenin' to or enjoyin' other genres. Bluegrass, and the Appalachian music, I suppose you could call it folk music. It's why I picked up the fiddle, actually. Shit, maybe I shoulda brought my fiddle. [ He says with a little huff of a laugh. ] Don't have much practice in articulatin' differences like this.
[He didn't talk about music generally and most people had the similar kind of musical context shorthand as he did.]
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[He laughed. If Raylan thought he didn't know what country music was, the lawman was wrong. The old folk country originated from his time, too.]
I heard it called hillbilly music. [He was grinning as he spoke.] Southern music. American folk. Good bit of music ta play on yer fiddle, that's certain.
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'Southern' music has evolved too, though I'll take American Folk. Hillbilly music is now specifically banjos in dark swampy marshes or woods where the Hills have Eyes and'll kill you, you get too far onto their land. Suppose that ain't too different from what you know.
You branch out much from this kinda music, or do you stay in this wheelhouse? [he gestures slightly towards the record in reference.]
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Whatever I get me hands on, whatever sticks. My favorites are tha folk and shanties, fun ta sing, but this and jazz are easy listenin'. Ol' classical music, tha full orchestration... love a good concert of that, too.
[So yes, he liked all kinds. He'd try anything at least once. Though the further out he got into the future music the harder it got in some cases. He figured he'd take it slow, learn the history with it to help swallow some of the more crazy stuff.]
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An' not that there's anythin' wrong with it, but did you invite me over just to chew the musical fat?
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[Said to the tone of 'you don't like my small talk, huh.' A little offended but not enough to get angry over.
He didn't say anything at first. Experience taught him that the lawman would wait. The bull had the patience of a saint when it suited him. Collins preferred the other side of the man: the sinner eager to draw blood and violence. But both had their places.
He took a quick drink from his glass before he finally got his thoughts squared away enough to put them to words.]
Never did thank ya fer me music back. It means a lot ya me, me music. People don't understand...
[He shook his head dismissively. He was either holding back something, or this whole segue was really just another way to buy more time. He fell silent as he watched the liquid in his glass swirl as he rotated his wrist. The thoughtful look on his face stayed in place as he waited for something.]
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Goodbyes had largely been had.
He could almost hear the gears turning over in Collins head, and as expected, Raylan waits. Sometimes men just needed the space and the silence to come around to what was crawling up the back of his throat. If the Barge gave everyone one thing, it was time. And Collins had asked for some of that, after all.
Raylan's head tilts a little in his curiosity.]
You'd already been under that yolk for a month. What Ulla was lookin' for wasn't gonna come, and while you're right, I don't understand, I imagine not bein' able to hear somethin' from yourself that you've always had might lead you a bit towards insanity. Lead anyone towards it, left to suffer it long enough.
[A beat passes and when he continues, his voice is softer. Quiet and genuinely curious to see if Collins would really answer the next question.]
What don't we understand?
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Normally it didn't bother him. Of course, normally he killed people that heard him talk about anything private.
That wasn't the case here on the ship. He couldn't simply get rid of anyone who might ridicule him.
Maybe the bull's opinion didn't matter. The man was leaving soon anyway. Collins looked at Givens when he spoke.]
How I hear music all tha time. A song is always playin', Marshal, always changin' but never endin'. And when I hunt, that's when tha music takes on it's most beautiful melodies. When it rises, so does my heartbeat.
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Almost a shame that he's leaving, Raylan's pretty sure he could make some headway, given the time.]
And her curse messed with the pitch of that? [He nods a little, glass turned back and forth on his knee by a quarter inch, eyes steady on Collins. He kept his voice that smooth warm velvet, nonjudgmental, slow and easy.]
That somethin' you been hearin' for a long time?
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[He replied and his voice was modulated, quiet but firm. His eyes bored into Raylan as he studied the lawman with intense purpose. Any little give or sway to catch a reaction, a judgement or an emotion. He watched for them carefully in the way only a practiced man could.]
Her curse messed it all up. A never-ending cacophony of noise meant ta be somethin' beautiful, turned inta tha worse sound ya ever heard. [Hence the lack of sleep, of course.] All me life it's been playin'. Long as I remember anyway.
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[Collins was already well left of Crazy; Raylan knew that. The task here was to figure out the best way to get Collins to handle that impluse, those urges. That and Collins was from the same place Arthur and JD were. Only God knows what forces and powers were moving there.]
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What makes ya think I wasn't just born this way?
[The same way he perceived his lack of care as a birth defect. The way he considered his skill as a killer to be a gift. It was simply the way he was born.]
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My next question would normally be what's your earliest memory, but that's edgin' into psychology and the turn of the century wasn't exactly the brightest future to be born into.
So huntin' man's the only thing that makes it swell, huh? That somethin' you test against slaughterin' animals or somethin'?
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People are just animals with enough sense ta comprehend what's happenin' to 'em. Watchin' that end is tha best part. Findin' a clever game is worth even more than that. Makes things interestin'.
[Otherwise it was simple slaughter, which he found easy even hunting human prey. The thrill was still there, the music still swelled, it gave him pleasure, but there was another level when the unpredictable occurred. The unseen melodies that changed the music and gave it real meaning.]
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I won't argue with some people bein' animals, but I think that's about as far as my agreement can go. Here, you're contained and, try as you might, you can't actually hurt someone in any meaningful way. ['But' hung unsaid, as did what would have followed. But but but.]
You know it's objectively wrong though. You just don't give a shit because it makes you feel good for a minute? [His brow furrows questioningly, one lanky finger lazily half pointing at him over the small table.] How long's the high of a kill last for you? Ten minutes? Twenty? Go home and jack off to how it looked and felt to watch a life fade in front'a your eyes?
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Memento mori. Nothin' wrong with death, bull. It's natural.
You don't have ta understand me any more than tha next fellow. [If that's disappointment lacing his tone, you're just imagining things. He doesn't care about any of this.] You can try ta fit me into yer box, pretend ya know what I do, but it don't make a lick of difference.
[He smiled again and it almost looked genuine. His tone went light and airy, too.] What are you goin' ta do when you get home, cowboy? Find a good hunt ta keep ya occupied? Wear yer hat on yer head and pistol on yer hip, and go out rustlin' up some wayward cattle? Does that make yer blood pump? Does it make you happy?
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You mean wayward assholes. I rustle wayward assholes, though if you'd like to call the class you're in as cattle, that's your prerogative. I find it a bit diminutive myself, but that's your bread and butter.
I don't understand you, that's at least true, but there's no logic or insanity that's gonna get me around to the point of view that killin' innocent people is 'natural' or right. That's got nothin' to do with you, or the box you put yourself in. I am the way I am because of people like you, think that everyone else's life around you doesn't mean shit unless it's makin' you feel better or lettin' you get out whatever made you this way.
Murderers ain't born, Collins. They're made. And that's a point that doesn't matter an iota when I have to pull my gun and put a man down.
(no subject)