"I was on a yacht when my dad was trying to figure out which one of us he should send to prison," Roman's voice is casual as he slides off of the bed. Raylan's second comment is better than acknowledging that Raylan's right about Kendall. It's not really much of a stretch, nor is it a secret or something Roman thinks is a family shame--not entirely--but he's had just about enough of heart to hearts with the lankiest cowboy in West Texas.
"That was way less stressful than this bullshit. C'mon, gringo." He's ready to go to the medical ward. It's now or never.
"You'd better," Roman says, and it's the furthest thing from a threat in the universe. He's almost whining. He's too tired to be obstinate right now--it's too much effort, he's in too much pain, and he's never really been good with things like this. Picking himself off the floor.
It could be worse, he thinks. Kendall was there. For all of the shit he gives his older brother, there's genuine love there when push comes to shove. It doesn't mean he isn't miserable now, but it's a nice thought.
"I don't suppose it's Japanese whiskey?" He asks, because that's easier than hissing l like a feral cat as his nose is looked over.
Not much was a threat when your nose was broken and even breathing made you whine a little; not that Roman on his best day would be much of a threat to Raylan personally.
"What like Saki? No, it's a Scotch, but one of the good labels. Got it for Christmas. Trust me, it's on your chosen level of shelf." He wouldn't offer Roman Jim Beam in a case like this. That's every day whiskey and also on the significantly cheaper side.
"Actually got a bottle that'll never run out, which is somethin' of a ride to watch happen."
Roman's about to rip into Raylan about how Suntory is the superior alcohol in almost any way, actually, he just doesn't have taste when the other keeps talking.
Hey. Top shelf. Roman feels the need to complain zip right through him, fizzling out like an antacid tablet in water. Crimes against booze forgiven, Mr. Givens. Especially since the phrase 'never run out' has been uttered. It seems to have settled him down almost entirely, enough that he lets people fuss over him with only minor griping.
"Do you have any idea how easy it would be to commodify that shit in this hellhole?"
Top Shelf always calms the entitled rich around. He knew the base he was playing to, though he honestly wouldn't mind picking Roman's mind about whiskey. The man might not have taste, but he could appreciate good whiskey at the very least.
Raylan grins at the question, eyebrows lifting with the bob of agreement of his head. "If any of these people had anythin' I wanted, you might be right. Shit, back home, it'd be a whole business. Except it'd be moonshine. You ever been unfortunate enough to have that?"
Distracting talk was helpful when people were getting tended to and thankfully, that was a general rule that applied to most people. Raylan was happy to do it if it meant Roman letting his nose get looked at in relative peace.
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"That was way less stressful than this bullshit. C'mon, gringo." He's ready to go to the medical ward. It's now or never.
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Raylan opens the door for him and walks with him up to the Infirmary and stands off to the side, arms crossed and silent as Roman is tended to.
"After this, I'll pour you a drink from the good bottle, if you like."
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It could be worse, he thinks. Kendall was there. For all of the shit he gives his older brother, there's genuine love there when push comes to shove. It doesn't mean he isn't miserable now, but it's a nice thought.
"I don't suppose it's Japanese whiskey?" He asks, because that's easier than hissing l like a feral cat as his nose is looked over.
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"What like Saki? No, it's a Scotch, but one of the good labels. Got it for Christmas. Trust me, it's on your chosen level of shelf." He wouldn't offer Roman Jim Beam in a case like this. That's every day whiskey and also on the significantly cheaper side.
"Actually got a bottle that'll never run out, which is somethin' of a ride to watch happen."
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Hey. Top shelf. Roman feels the need to complain zip right through him, fizzling out like an antacid tablet in water. Crimes against booze forgiven, Mr. Givens. Especially since the phrase 'never run out' has been uttered. It seems to have settled him down almost entirely, enough that he lets people fuss over him with only minor griping.
"Do you have any idea how easy it would be to commodify that shit in this hellhole?"
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Raylan grins at the question, eyebrows lifting with the bob of agreement of his head. "If any of these people had anythin' I wanted, you might be right. Shit, back home, it'd be a whole business. Except it'd be moonshine. You ever been unfortunate enough to have that?"
Distracting talk was helpful when people were getting tended to and thankfully, that was a general rule that applied to most people. Raylan was happy to do it if it meant Roman letting his nose get looked at in relative peace.