[It was a good twenty hours before Maggie got a response, and the voice behind it was not well at all. Raspy and uneven, words a little ragged and broken over those rasps.]
So that's where they ran off to. [He lets a sharp breath out of his nose.] Who'd he shoot? How badly?
[Raylan closed the feed after that and did exactly what he said he would, going down to rescue Roman from Zero and stashing him in his cabin where the man could get a shower while the Marshal went to find Flint.
'Might be a bit' was a little of an understatement - Raylan didn't hit her up again until the deeper 'evening' hours.]
Let me know when you gotta few minutes for me to take that piece off your hands.
Honestly, I wouldn't say no to anythin' to eat that isn't a ham and cheese and a drink if you got it. Otherwise, the dinin' hall and those sad little boxes are my next destination after you.
[The fact that he said that so easily and willingly was a statement of beaten down, physically and mentally, Raylan felt right now. He didn't want to impose. But also his body and brain had some basic needs he hadn't attended to yet.]
He was timely, if nothing else, but the 'ten minutes' was so that he could wash his face, put his hair back where it belonged instead of arching wildly in front of him, and putting on a shirt that didn't reek of his own sweat and worry. "I'll be back, baby," he says to James's lifeless looking form before heading out.
He raps neatly on Maggie's door and waits for her call before walking in.
"Evenin'." One look at him was all any eagle eyed person would need to judge the real state of him. Underfed, exhausted, and looking like he'd gone ten rounds thanks to a fall that he had taken earlier in the day.
Maggie has a bruise blooming across her cheekbone when she opens the door,
but other than that seems to be in one piece. And her dog, Fetch, is
delighted to see Raylan.
"Dinner won't be ready for awhile, but it's on the stove. Moroccan chicken
with lemon and olives okay?" She's so happy to have her kitchen
back. "In the meantime, I can offer you cookies and drinks. I think today
might warrant dessert before dinner."
The dog is greeted as all dogs should be, with a good scritch behind the ears and a 'hey'a bud' as Raylan steps out of the way so the door can be closed. When he looks up again, he lets the wince he felt at the first glance of it slip out.
"I think you might be right. So long as its only a few, I dunno what Moroccan chicken is but I wanna leave room. Sounds like a lotta work though - Hope you know this means when I make my fried chicken, you're gettin' a plate.." For more reasons than feeding him now - he couldn't even begin to articulate how his stomach responded to even the suggestion of a proper meal.
He lifts his chin a little towards her bruise. "You gotten ice on that yet?"
"I'm not turning down fried chicken," Maggie tells him with a grin. "It's
not so bad. I like cooking, and it's a lot less work to make a meal for
two than feed the entire damn ship." Which she does regularly, running one
of the kitchen shifts.
"And yes, I've been very good, iced it for ages. At least he didn't break
my nose. I really didn't want to bleed all over anyone." Zombie
virus risk, after all.
"
"That must be the biggest pain in the ass to have to keep a weather eye on." And he could only begin to imagine.
"But good. Ice is important. I'm a little surprised he managed to clock you at all. I don't mean to jump into business from the start and we don't hav'ta get into this minute but - Roman isn't usually a puncher. Looks like he got you good too."
Which - Part of Raylan was a little proud, until you looked at the why and the who and the what happened before.
"I didn't even bother trying to block it, just turned my head a little,
because he still had the gun at the time. I was a little preoccupied
making sure he didn't get me with that instead." Priorities.
Maggie's always been good at prioritizing. She saw the punch coming, but
as long as she didn't infect Roman or get herself shot, she'd accomplished
her objective.
"Level headed priorities, considerin'. If I'm honest with ya, I'm not entirely sure how he got it outta my holster, but it can't have been without a little scrap of some kind." He takes a deep breath then, chin ducking a little as he starts again.
"My firearms, especially my service piece, aren't so easily taken from me.. Or maybe I'm just a really bad stoner and there's a good reason I've stayed away from all that shit over my life. But it's still my gun, and I apologize on his behalf, and my own, that you were put into that situation in the first place."
"You don't owe me an apology. You weren't in your right mind, he
wasn't in his right mind, I'm not holding it against either of you." She
doesn't plan on making an issue of it, but... "If I were going to call any
warden to task over this, it would be Petronilla's."
He grunts softly with a tense of his jaw, eyes wandering towards the door like he had half the idea of going to find that out himself directly, but Maggie's food was already filling the apartment with a good smell that his overly hungry gut couldn't ignore.
"Somethin' else to chase down later then. I know that Rome, Flint and I weren't the only ones she got. Might as well leave that to stew a little, let it all bite her in the ass more naturally instead of drawin' her attention and proddin' her towards showin' her ass more."
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So that's where they ran off to. [He lets a sharp breath out of his nose.] Who'd he shoot? How badly?
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John Seed. Fatally. I had to wrestle the gun away from him while he punched me in the face and called me a cunt.
I'm not holding it against him, but I didn't enjoy the experience.
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Sorry about that, Maggie. He- he wasn't the only one that got drugged. I'll- uh- [He sighs roughly again.]
I'll go get Roman first, but.. you've still got my gun, right? [Yes, it was his.] You didn't.. toss it over the side or somethin'?
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[Ah, so that's where it came from.] Yeah, I've got it. It's in my cabin whenever you're ready to come get it.
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Might be a bit, I- I gotta find Flint. He was drinkin' with us, but I don't remember him gettin' up and- [He was, in a word, fucking worried.]
I'll shoot you a message 'fore I head your way?
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No rush, I can head back there whenever you're free. Take care of your people first.
I hope Flint's alright.
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I hope so too...
[Raylan closed the feed after that and did exactly what he said he would, going down to rescue Roman from Zero and stashing him in his cabin where the man could get a shower while the Marshal went to find Flint.
'Might be a bit' was a little of an understatement - Raylan didn't hit her up again until the deeper 'evening' hours.]
Let me know when you gotta few minutes for me to take that piece off your hands.
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I'm home now, stop by anytime. Anything else I should have ready when you do? Sounds like you've had a hell of a day or two.
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[The fact that he said that so easily and willingly was a statement of beaten down, physically and mentally, Raylan felt right now. He didn't want to impose. But also his body and brain had some basic needs he hadn't attended to yet.]
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I've got my kitchen back and I'm sure I can throw something together. Get some real food into you.
Along with that drink, of course.
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I'll be there in about ten minutes.
--
He was timely, if nothing else, but the 'ten minutes' was so that he could wash his face, put his hair back where it belonged instead of arching wildly in front of him, and putting on a shirt that didn't reek of his own sweat and worry. "I'll be back, baby," he says to James's lifeless looking form before heading out.
He raps neatly on Maggie's door and waits for her call before walking in.
"Evenin'." One look at him was all any eagle eyed person would need to judge the real state of him. Underfed, exhausted, and looking like he'd gone ten rounds thanks to a fall that he had taken earlier in the day.
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Maggie has a bruise blooming across her cheekbone when she opens the door, but other than that seems to be in one piece. And her dog, Fetch, is delighted to see Raylan.
"Dinner won't be ready for awhile, but it's on the stove. Moroccan chicken with lemon and olives okay?" She's so happy to have her kitchen back. "In the meantime, I can offer you cookies and drinks. I think today might warrant dessert before dinner."
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"I think you might be right. So long as its only a few, I dunno what Moroccan chicken is but I wanna leave room. Sounds like a lotta work though - Hope you know this means when I make my fried chicken, you're gettin' a plate.." For more reasons than feeding him now - he couldn't even begin to articulate how his stomach responded to even the suggestion of a proper meal.
He lifts his chin a little towards her bruise. "You gotten ice on that yet?"
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"I'm not turning down fried chicken," Maggie tells him with a grin. "It's not so bad. I like cooking, and it's a lot less work to make a meal for two than feed the entire damn ship." Which she does regularly, running one of the kitchen shifts.
"And yes, I've been very good, iced it for ages. At least he didn't break my nose. I really didn't want to bleed all over anyone." Zombie virus risk, after all. "
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"But good. Ice is important. I'm a little surprised he managed to clock you at all. I don't mean to jump into business from the start and we don't hav'ta get into this minute but - Roman isn't usually a puncher. Looks like he got you good too."
Which - Part of Raylan was a little proud, until you looked at the why and the who and the what happened before.
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"I didn't even bother trying to block it, just turned my head a little, because he still had the gun at the time. I was a little preoccupied making sure he didn't get me with that instead." Priorities. Maggie's always been good at prioritizing. She saw the punch coming, but as long as she didn't infect Roman or get herself shot, she'd accomplished her objective.
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"My firearms, especially my service piece, aren't so easily taken from me.. Or maybe I'm just a really bad stoner and there's a good reason I've stayed away from all that shit over my life. But it's still my gun, and I apologize on his behalf, and my own, that you were put into that situation in the first place."
It was his mistake, no matter the circumstances.
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"You don't owe me an apology. You weren't in your right mind, he wasn't in his right mind, I'm not holding it against either of you." She doesn't plan on making an issue of it, but... "If I were going to call any warden to task over this, it would be Petronilla's."
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"Who is her warden, anyway? Has - You know if anythin's happened to her? Anything for all the hell she caused?"
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"Edward Teach, I think. I've never spoken to him, and I have no idea what consequences she faced." So she can't be much help there.
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"Somethin' else to chase down later then. I know that Rome, Flint and I weren't the only ones she got. Might as well leave that to stew a little, let it all bite her in the ass more naturally instead of drawin' her attention and proddin' her towards showin' her ass more."