Ah. A little less literal than Raylan had assumed and he dipped his head for a moment with his nod.
"Sorry." Too much TV or, more accurately, no idea where the metaphorical and physical line lie. "You guys have clearly gone through a lot. But I took what he said seriously. No one's got time for me to work through disbelief; I'd rather get on with the job and prepare myself for the worst. I was taking it with a grain of salt until the... spooks? Either way, I appreciate you both reachin' out. Elias isn't a guy I wanna be handlin' blind."
He took another drink from his glass, regrettably leaving it empty.
"And I thought comin' in at port with Giants and bat people was weird."
Tim and Bertha exchange a glance quickly, and Bertha gives a long suffering sigh, flapping onto Tim's head to reprimand him with her claws briefly, before she flies over to grab the bottle.
"Ahh, port wasn't all bad. Apparently the last one happened right before I arrived, something like five months ago? Six at the end of the month, I think. Something was sending people into murderous rampages." He finishes his own drink, and catches the bottle as Bertha returns with it and tries to wang it into his head. That gets her a kiss on the top of her head from Tim, still, before he tops up their glasses. "Breaches turn us into completely different people, last one was pirates. Floods aren't so bad, at least the Barge stays the same."
Oop- guess they were done drinking, but Raylan's covered surprise returned to Tim, only to snort a little too loudly at the braining attempt that was thwarted, and he manages to hide it behind a fist over his mouth and a soft clearing of his throat.
"So there's a set pattern, of sorts to all the.." Raylan waved his hand at the Barge, the daemons, the whole gig. "I've heard a run down of possibilities and know that it doesn't even scratch the surface; I gotta say, I wouldn't mind being younger again. The rest of it not so much but." Even he had his vanity. Collecting his glass with a quiet 'thanks', he leaned back.
"Gonna have to take it as it comes. Let me apologize ahead of time for any redneck hillbilly shit I might do." A murderous rampage? Raylan was too good at what he did and did it too easily. He didn't want to see what that would be like if it were let go.
"Best way to do it, really," he says cheerfully. "Just assume a quarter of every month is going to be a complete write-off and you'll be set for whatever weirdness happens. Pleasantly surprised if it's easy, even, like this one. One of my very first ones, everyone got turned into either animals or random monster species from people's homeworlds."
"Weirdest PMS I've ever seen, I swear to god. And I was married." Which means he's seen some mood swings. "What happens when someone accidently kills their warden or the other way 'round? I can't imagine there's no consequences for that, right?"
"During a flood? Usually people get a bit of a, uh." There's a slight grimace as he considers it. "I suppose a grace period, depending on if you get hit by whatever’s happening or not. Accidents and self-defence usually get a fair bit of leeway, it's the first degree murders that get people's attention."
He has a brief drink before he remembers. "Oh- warden murdering an inmate? Instant demotion, I'm pretty sure, but it might get circumstantial if it's self-defence. Inmates don't get any real repercussions besides what their warden puts on them. Like how Trevor turns into a ghost if he hits people now, thanks to Zack."
Look at Raylan, still thinking in a more 2D environment than he was in - Everything else that could happen was swept under 'Surely someone is going to kill someone else'. It was almost always the outcome, in his experience.
"I'll keep that in mind.." But his brow had furrowed again. "That's.. a very creative solution. So when it comes to consequences, it's really on us.." Can you hear those gears turning? This is why Raylan liked talking to people with experience and getting information. He already knew he was going to have to do some slight adjustments, mentally speaking.
"You said you've got your own inmate - is that a permeant situation for you? How long have you been on.." On the Case sounded weird, Minding them made the inmates sound like children - Made responsible had more sense, but Raylan abandoned the question with a shake of his head. "Shit, I need a dictionary for the action verbs here," he chuckled, taking another deep swallow of whiskey.
"'Paired' is the generally accepted term. Less demeaning to everyone involved."
"Unless they're being a turd, in which case it's babysitting," she adds dryly.
"We're paired with Daniel Jacobi and Marie," Tim continues, his only concession to the interruption a wider grin. "Raccoon daemon. And a pair of absolute arseholes. We were permanently paired right off the bat, so unfortunately my advice on wardening styles is going to be limited."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a grateful nod. He wasn't here to put people down, there were too many different situations to go with such a broad brush here. Raylan chucked at Bertha's addition. "I'm hopin' that's not what I've got with Elias."
At the name, Raylan's head pulled back a fraction with a nod, brow furrowing again. "The Bomb Bug. I met him and Marie in the hallways a few days ago. Spunky. We may have had a conversation about his body count, in full transparency. It didn't end poorly," he admitted with a shrug. "Kinda reminds me of Boyd Crowder. Likes to rob banks and blow shit up."
"Shameless," Tim corrects, "About his whole thing. Working as a corporate espionage demolitionist." He gives a soft hum of amusement. "I get the impression we're actually a bit of an atypical pairing, the way we make it work. We became fast friends when I arrived a month or so after him, and then we got paired. Most of my wardening comes from smacking him when he's being particularly obtuse or non-constructively destructive, as his mate."
"When you get a permanent Inmate you get a file with their life story, by the way," Bertha adds. "Which is why we're giving you updates on Elias instead."
He snorted out a soft laugh through his nose. "Oh good, so we're openly admitting to it."
And it was good. Raylan just hadn't been blunt about it because he was being careful about the shade of everything coming out of his mouth right now. But he hummed; Jacobi hadn't given him that particular detail about how or where he gained the skills to make homemade pipe bombs. Certainly an interesting edge to it all.
"Life story, huh? That'd be sure as hell more helpful than what I started with. Probably should have asked Jon how, exactly, Elias started down this path but the whole end game of it is.." Well, a fucking Lot Tim, honestly. Raylan took a deep breath and refocused on the point. "I appreciate it. The road would be rougher if I was going in blind. I'm a US Marshal, I'm used to having some information. Or room enough to gather it."
Which.. was a harder version of what was happening. Kind of nice to have the information come to him for once.
"I'm glad to hear it sounds like you take this all seriously too. Wedding invites not withstanding," he said, lips curling at the edges.
Tim gestures a thumb between himself and Bertha. "Researchers. I fully understand what a bitch it is trying to build a case from literally nothing. Or even worse, hear-say."
His fingers drum on his glass for a moment as he shifts in his seat, folding a foot over the other knee. "As for Elias, though..." There's a faint grimace on his face, mirrored in Bertha's annoyed little croak. "If the Admiral thinks there's something there to redeem in that black little cavity where a heart should be on him, then that's really the end of the matter. I don't like it, sure as hell don't agree with it, but I can't do anything about it short of keep to myself."
"Fair enough. History ain't exactly clear and people don't understand what needs to be documented until they're gone."
Raylan understood Tim's position. He was still trying to swallow Boyd graduating; it felt unnatural. Wrong, somehow.
"Not saying anythin' either way but.. He hasn't graduated yet. We'll see if the Admiral is right and if Elias is capable of understanding.. I really hate askin' this question but.. I know he's already put.. Martin? in a real life or death situation - did he make an attempt on you too? From what I've heard from you so far, he's been careless with your life but.. Any direct threats?"
Tim grimaces again, and Bertha climbs onto his wrist. "No. Not like-- here, sure, but not back home. He thought I was violent, and unpredictable, and entirely beneath his notice."
His eyebrows twitch up with a faint shrug. "A few of us went to stop a ritual from ending the world. More or less under his command, but it had a high enough chance of succeeding under its own merit that we couldn't really argue him on it. I was on that mission, and... didn't make it back." He smirks faintly, putting his glass down to bury his fingers in Bertha's feathers, stroking down her back. "Plastic explosives leave a pretty strong... impression."
Raylan ducks his head for a moment, nodding faintly. "Sorry to hear that."
That punch that Elias got was nothing compared to what he deserved. Raylan associated himself a little too much with violent and unpredictable to be wholly comfortable. He didn't respond well to that kind of open opinion about most anyone.
"Sometimes, violent and unpredictable gets shit done. Nothin' to be ashamed of there."
That gets a wry snicker. "I was the one with the detonator, in the end, so I suppose he was right. Still, I like to think I pull off being dead a bit better than he does."
Technically right in verbiage didn't make right in intent - a large enough point for Raylan personally. But it was Tim's death and he wasn't going to tell him how to feel or think about it.
"Considerin' you've both presumably got the flush of life to your face, you're both doin' fairly impressive," he reasoned with a huff. "I'm used to the dead stayin' that way. Makes my life a lot easier. I'm sure it'd do the same for yours too. Not that I've got any plans, mind you,-" Or a record and a body count that made good people look sideways at him, "-but.. how does that work here? People just.. wake back up in their beds the morning after their deaths?"
"For Wardens? Yeah, actually, but you'll have a raging hangover based on how you got done in. A friend of mine got shot in the head and had migraine symptoms for the whole week." So it's lose-lose either way. Survive and suffer or die and suffer. "Inmates have to get requested back to life, but same thing otherwise."
"Jesus. Well, that would make sense, anyway. I got shot in the head a few months ago, just a flesh wound, otherwise I wouldn't be sittin' here but.. I'll still take headaches over it hurtin' too much to draw." Life was suffering, in Raylan's experience. Most everyone was suffering all the time, except the few who had carved out a few minutes of peace somehow.
But they'd be back in the mess too.
"But that's ah.. An interesting dynamic for the inmates." No assurances unless your warden wasn't a complete asshole. He wouldn't ask where they were in the time between, that might be too much on top of everything else right now.
"Well, 'inmates' isn't exactly just a fun and sexy nickname for the folks that died getting here," he says dryly. "End of the day it's still technically a prison ship, it's just gussied up nicer. It's rehab, even if the exact nature of punishments people get for violating their probations tends to vary wildly between wardens."
"I don't think the possibility of staying dead unless someone else on board intervenes is particularly rehabilitating. There's a reason the legal system has protocols and regulations, and really, I'm not seeing much of any of that here. No real organization outside what a few of you are generous enough to do with your time."
IE, This.
"This might be a prison ship, yeah. But with everything else I've seen and heard, we're closer to working for survival under unknown Warden given freedoms on a tub that's havin' a hard time pullin' in reliable food sources. The curtains, the whiskey, it's nice. But it doesn't change much."
He gives a non-committal hum. "I've never heard of an Inmate staying dead for more than a few hours, really. Doesn't do them any good to stay like that and most wardens make a point to check in with theirs after someone goes on a murder spree, so it's hard to miss."
Reassuring? Probably not. But more or less accurate.
"You're not wrong about that survival stuff, still. But that's all a bit recent, we've had people here for some five, even ten years, this is new for them too."
"Life and death outta be the one fair shake we get as people."
He emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle, pouring himself another few fingers. He promised himself this would last him longer than the last.
"I don't know if that's a good thing or not. It's evolution in a place that's supposed to be static, or static choas, even if that idea is laughable with the kind of people that are brought on board. Evolution or death. It's either evolution or degradation, I haven't been here long enough to tell."
That gets a slight scoff out of Tim. "A permanent death's not a guarantee. It's just good luck.
"And far as I've been made aware, all these random shit periods are supposed to be therapy-adjacent. Make people explore things they never could back home, get their innermost secrets put on glorious hi-def display. If the ship's deteriorating or evolving, as you call it," he adds, with a tip of his glass to Raylan, "then it's pretty in line with the general theory. Put people under stressful circumstances, it's just extending the whole period."
"It's the way things are meant to be. Anyone who gets around that well.. I don't know that it's luck either way."
Death was a permeant solution in his toolbox that he was reluctant to let go of.
Raylan couldn't help the mirthless scoff under his breath, head shaking a little as he turned the glass on it's bottom edge.
"Therapy for them I can get behind. I'll tell you the same thing I told Marty; I'm here to do a job. One that didn't initially include my ass bein' effected by it." He sucked his teeth for a half second, shaking his head again. "Too late to argue the points of it now, I suppose."
His deal was worth it.
"Good to know that people are thinkin' about it. The alternative bein' too wrapped up in their therapy to really look around."
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"Sorry." Too much TV or, more accurately, no idea where the metaphorical and physical line lie. "You guys have clearly gone through a lot. But I took what he said seriously. No one's got time for me to work through disbelief; I'd rather get on with the job and prepare myself for the worst. I was taking it with a grain of salt until the... spooks? Either way, I appreciate you both reachin' out. Elias isn't a guy I wanna be handlin' blind."
He took another drink from his glass, regrettably leaving it empty.
"And I thought comin' in at port with Giants and bat people was weird."
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"Ahh, port wasn't all bad. Apparently the last one happened right before I arrived, something like five months ago? Six at the end of the month, I think. Something was sending people into murderous rampages." He finishes his own drink, and catches the bottle as Bertha returns with it and tries to wang it into his head. That gets her a kiss on the top of her head from Tim, still, before he tops up their glasses. "Breaches turn us into completely different people, last one was pirates. Floods aren't so bad, at least the Barge stays the same."
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"So there's a set pattern, of sorts to all the.." Raylan waved his hand at the Barge, the daemons, the whole gig. "I've heard a run down of possibilities and know that it doesn't even scratch the surface; I gotta say, I wouldn't mind being younger again. The rest of it not so much but." Even he had his vanity. Collecting his glass with a quiet 'thanks', he leaned back.
"Gonna have to take it as it comes. Let me apologize ahead of time for any redneck hillbilly shit I might do." A murderous rampage? Raylan was too good at what he did and did it too easily. He didn't want to see what that would be like if it were let go.
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He has a brief drink before he remembers. "Oh- warden murdering an inmate? Instant demotion, I'm pretty sure, but it might get circumstantial if it's self-defence. Inmates don't get any real repercussions besides what their warden puts on them. Like how Trevor turns into a ghost if he hits people now, thanks to Zack."
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"I'll keep that in mind.." But his brow had furrowed again. "That's.. a very creative solution. So when it comes to consequences, it's really on us.." Can you hear those gears turning? This is why Raylan liked talking to people with experience and getting information. He already knew he was going to have to do some slight adjustments, mentally speaking.
"You said you've got your own inmate - is that a permeant situation for you? How long have you been on.." On the Case sounded weird, Minding them made the inmates sound like children - Made responsible had more sense, but Raylan abandoned the question with a shake of his head. "Shit, I need a dictionary for the action verbs here," he chuckled, taking another deep swallow of whiskey.
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"'Paired' is the generally accepted term. Less demeaning to everyone involved."
"Unless they're being a turd, in which case it's babysitting," she adds dryly.
"We're paired with Daniel Jacobi and Marie," Tim continues, his only concession to the interruption a wider grin. "Raccoon daemon. And a pair of absolute arseholes. We were permanently paired right off the bat, so unfortunately my advice on wardening styles is going to be limited."
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At the name, Raylan's head pulled back a fraction with a nod, brow furrowing again. "The Bomb Bug. I met him and Marie in the hallways a few days ago. Spunky. We may have had a conversation about his body count, in full transparency. It didn't end poorly," he admitted with a shrug. "Kinda reminds me of Boyd Crowder. Likes to rob banks and blow shit up."
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"Remorseless?"
"Shameless," Tim corrects, "About his whole thing. Working as a corporate espionage demolitionist." He gives a soft hum of amusement. "I get the impression we're actually a bit of an atypical pairing, the way we make it work. We became fast friends when I arrived a month or so after him, and then we got paired. Most of my wardening comes from smacking him when he's being particularly obtuse or non-constructively destructive, as his mate."
"When you get a permanent Inmate you get a file with their life story, by the way," Bertha adds. "Which is why we're giving you updates on Elias instead."
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And it was good. Raylan just hadn't been blunt about it because he was being careful about the shade of everything coming out of his mouth right now. But he hummed; Jacobi hadn't given him that particular detail about how or where he gained the skills to make homemade pipe bombs. Certainly an interesting edge to it all.
"Life story, huh? That'd be sure as hell more helpful than what I started with. Probably should have asked Jon how, exactly, Elias started down this path but the whole end game of it is.." Well, a fucking Lot Tim, honestly. Raylan took a deep breath and refocused on the point. "I appreciate it. The road would be rougher if I was going in blind. I'm a US Marshal, I'm used to having some information. Or room enough to gather it."
Which.. was a harder version of what was happening. Kind of nice to have the information come to him for once.
"I'm glad to hear it sounds like you take this all seriously too. Wedding invites not withstanding," he said, lips curling at the edges.
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His fingers drum on his glass for a moment as he shifts in his seat, folding a foot over the other knee. "As for Elias, though..." There's a faint grimace on his face, mirrored in Bertha's annoyed little croak. "If the Admiral thinks there's something there to redeem in that black little cavity where a heart should be on him, then that's really the end of the matter. I don't like it, sure as hell don't agree with it, but I can't do anything about it short of keep to myself."
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Raylan understood Tim's position. He was still trying to swallow Boyd graduating; it felt unnatural. Wrong, somehow.
"Not saying anythin' either way but.. He hasn't graduated yet. We'll see if the Admiral is right and if Elias is capable of understanding.. I really hate askin' this question but.. I know he's already put.. Martin? in a real life or death situation - did he make an attempt on you too? From what I've heard from you so far, he's been careless with your life but.. Any direct threats?"
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His eyebrows twitch up with a faint shrug. "A few of us went to stop a ritual from ending the world. More or less under his command, but it had a high enough chance of succeeding under its own merit that we couldn't really argue him on it. I was on that mission, and... didn't make it back." He smirks faintly, putting his glass down to bury his fingers in Bertha's feathers, stroking down her back. "Plastic explosives leave a pretty strong... impression."
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That punch that Elias got was nothing compared to what he deserved. Raylan associated himself a little too much with violent and unpredictable to be wholly comfortable. He didn't respond well to that kind of open opinion about most anyone.
"Sometimes, violent and unpredictable gets shit done. Nothin' to be ashamed of there."
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"Considerin' you've both presumably got the flush of life to your face, you're both doin' fairly impressive," he reasoned with a huff. "I'm used to the dead stayin' that way. Makes my life a lot easier. I'm sure it'd do the same for yours too. Not that I've got any plans, mind you,-" Or a record and a body count that made good people look sideways at him, "-but.. how does that work here? People just.. wake back up in their beds the morning after their deaths?"
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But they'd be back in the mess too.
"But that's ah.. An interesting dynamic for the inmates." No assurances unless your warden wasn't a complete asshole. He wouldn't ask where they were in the time between, that might be too much on top of everything else right now.
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IE, This.
"This might be a prison ship, yeah. But with everything else I've seen and heard, we're closer to working for survival under unknown Warden given freedoms on a tub that's havin' a hard time pullin' in reliable food sources. The curtains, the whiskey, it's nice. But it doesn't change much."
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Reassuring? Probably not. But more or less accurate.
"You're not wrong about that survival stuff, still. But that's all a bit recent, we've had people here for some five, even ten years, this is new for them too."
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He emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle, pouring himself another few fingers. He promised himself this would last him longer than the last.
"I don't know if that's a good thing or not. It's evolution in a place that's supposed to be static, or static choas, even if that idea is laughable with the kind of people that are brought on board. Evolution or death. It's either evolution or degradation, I haven't been here long enough to tell."
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"And far as I've been made aware, all these random shit periods are supposed to be therapy-adjacent. Make people explore things they never could back home, get their innermost secrets put on glorious hi-def display. If the ship's deteriorating or evolving, as you call it," he adds, with a tip of his glass to Raylan, "then it's pretty in line with the general theory. Put people under stressful circumstances, it's just extending the whole period."
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Death was a permeant solution in his toolbox that he was reluctant to let go of.
Raylan couldn't help the mirthless scoff under his breath, head shaking a little as he turned the glass on it's bottom edge.
"Therapy for them I can get behind. I'll tell you the same thing I told Marty; I'm here to do a job. One that didn't initially include my ass bein' effected by it." He sucked his teeth for a half second, shaking his head again. "Too late to argue the points of it now, I suppose."
His deal was worth it.
"Good to know that people are thinkin' about it. The alternative bein' too wrapped up in their therapy to really look around."
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