TLV: Inbox

[tinstar]

Comments

[betacuck]

[ Over the top enunciation: ] Your hat.

Me, cackling at this

[tinstar]

Wha-.. Why??

[betacuck]

Because, Raylan, some people don't want to commit social suicide but still have a good time.

[tinstar]

Are you speakin' another language? I feel like you're speakin' another language. What does social suicide have to do with my hat? I thought it was garish.

[betacuck]

It is, it sucks and I hate it, but I need it just for tonight. Please? Where's that country bumpkin niceness you always have?

[tinstar]

You're askin' me for my second borne, that's where it's gone.

If I say yes, there's some promises you gotta make. This hat has value.

[betacuck]

Fine. It's just for Dorian's party, it's not like I'm going into space with it. I'm gonna need your flannel, too, by the way.

[tinstar]

I- Yo-?

Are you goin' as a cowboy motherfucker? To the Halloween party? [There was a hint of laughter behind the declaration, like he couldn't believe this was a possibility.]

[betacuck]

[ Roman's eyes narrow suspiciously even though they can't be seen. He can Feel that laughter, jerk. ]

I'm not gauche enough to show up and then put on a pair of provided cat ears, and there's no way I'm trying too hard or putting in any effort. It's a delicate balance and I have a reputation to uphold.

So.

Hat.

[tinstar]

Is that cause of the pussy jokes or because you'd be cute as hell to everyone else in cat ears. [It wasn't really a question.]

Fine; but you have to swear it's gonna come back without stains or burns or.. nothin' else. Like I said, second born. Do you swear? Like, on pain of death? I've had this hat for longer than you've been an adult.

[Not strictly true in any sense, but completely true in his heart.]

[betacuck]

[ we're gonna just completely ignore the cute with cat ears joke goddammit ]

I fully realize this hat is your only friend in existence but you know it's just a hat, right?

[tinstar]

You don't understand our relationship, clearly, and you're overlookin' my love of my gun...

[He sighs.]

I'm not sayin' yes until you swear. [Ya know, like a child.]

[betacuck]

Are you serious?

[tinstar]

You're lucky I don't make you sign a NDA. Yes I'm serious. The flannel ain't a problem but the hat is insured.

[betacuck]

You're the biggest baby I know. Fine, I promise not to jizz all over your hat.

[tinstar]

If you set it down, it needs sat on the brim and onto somethin' flat. Mess up my brim and it takes a days worth of work to get it shaped back the way it's suppose'ta.

And you gotta have it back to me tomorrow.

Shit, now I gotta figure out what I'm gonna be for it.

You don't get my favorite overshirt either but I got some decent options.

[betacuck]

[ Ignoring that it's a yes, Roman has decided to focus on one singular thing: ]

It's a hat, how hard can it be to re-shape it? It's a hat, it's just a cylinder for your fucking head, jesus.

[tinstar]

.. You realize it's made of starched felt right? It's not a fuckin' baseball cap. It's not fabric.

[betacuck]

A hurr-durrr, starched felt, you sound so fucking--wait, really?

[tinstar]

It's felted fur. Beaver and rabbit, I believe.

[His hat was the most expensive thing he owned, aside from his gun, which was still cheaper.]

For a guy that's used to havin' high end things, this is makin' me think that maybe you don't take care of your stuff with the best of care. You're gonna need to make an exception tonight. ... And I get to see you wear it first.

[betacuck]

[ Roman's voice is pointed, if flat: ] I was taught to take care of my things, thanks, but Connor's the one that owns the ranch and the horses, not me. I live in a civilized part of the world where the only time cowboy hats are a thing is when you're dressing up for the Kentucky Derby to drink mint juleps and pretending you know enough about horses to bet on them before they're sent to the glue factory.

If you have to see me in it first then I'm absolutely raiding the rest of your closet. I have flannel, it's just Burberry. [ And like 800 dollars. ]

[tinstar]

Uh-huh. Ignoring the parts of Civilized Kentucky that make it their business, Derby or not.

Burberry flannel doesn't count; flannels supposed to take some abuse. But the door's open and I'll pull a few shirts that are less beaten than the rest. What're you wearin' under it? Tshirt? Aim for a darker one; white looks bad.

[betacuck]

Great, I'll be over. You know, I'm trying to ignore the fact that you, of all people, are giving me fashion advice, but it's getting harder and harder to pretend that isn't what this is.

[tinstar]

I'm your Hillbilly aesthetic expert. I've unironically been called a Hillbilly Whisperer.

Don't tell anyone that.

[betacuck]

It makes you sound like a super stud that sleeps with all the inbred chicks.

[ Knock knock, he's here. And he's continuing on even as Raylan opens the door and he hangs up: ]

Aren't you a hillbilly yourself? Of course you'd speak their language. [ No animosity: just ignorance. ]