[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.
Oh no, bull, I'm in a class separate from what you wrangle. Don't put me in yer cattle 'cause then you'll just be surprised when the wool's taken off and before you stands a wolf.
[Then he scoffed loudly, half a laugh at the lawman going the same route as Arthur that first time. He said the same thing he said then to the marshal.]
Are you innocent? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you've never committed a sin? Are you innocent? [His stare bored into the lawman. He went on.] No. Yer not. You draw yer gun, you said, and you kill tha man that gets in yer way. Yer no more innocent than me.
And no one I have ever killed... no one is innocent, bull.
You do yer job without battin' an eye, and I do mine tha same.
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no subject
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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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'?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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
[Then he scoffed loudly, half a laugh at the lawman going the same route as Arthur that first time. He said the same thing he said then to the marshal.]
Are you innocent? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you've never committed a sin? Are you innocent? [His stare bored into the lawman. He went on.] No. Yer not. You draw yer gun, you said, and you kill tha man that gets in yer way. Yer no more innocent than me.
And no one I have ever killed... no one is innocent, bull.
You do yer job without battin' an eye, and I do mine tha same.