Deck works. Might be nice to put my feet up on one of those chairs for a few minutes. Give me a few to get up there. Unless you're wanting more time than that?
By the time Raylan shows, Sweeney's already on a bench with a tumbler set next to him containing two fingers of whiskey. He's smoking casually, his gaze wandering over the railing into the black beyond.
Raylan paused long enough to make sure his flask was full and that he had more than two cigarettes in his crumpled and abused pack before he headed up. He make short work of the distance, even with him being back to ignoring the elevator again, and he looked unbothered as he approached and announced himself with a 'Hey' and a faint lift of his chin.
"Broke out glasses an' everythin' huh?" He settles down on the other side of the bench with a sigh. "How's it treatin' ya?"
Yeah yeah, he knows that Red said no talking required but he was southern and some things couldn't be helped.
Sweeney doesn't mind the talking, he just didn't want the invitation to feel like a 'your man's being an asshole' talk was inevitable. It might still happen, but he intends a more friendly interaction.
He lifts the glass and offers it to Raylan, his tone casual.
"Stuck watchin' folk graduate. Losin' more folk I care 'bout." There aren't that many to start with. It's just how it is, but it's frustrating and makes his loneliness all the more noticable.
A polite 'Thank you' was murmured as he took the glass, sipping it gingerly as he studies the composure of black on black with stars presented to them today. He hums a sound as Red finishes and bobs his eyebrows a little as the glass is sat down and traded for his pack of cigarettes.
"Sewin' up my inmate and makin' poor decisions," he answers honestly. "Watchin' small forest fires gettin' sparked up from temper, ya know." Flint and the whole Thing
It comes with a shrug as he fires up, the kit being tucked away after his cherry is lit and tucked all away. He'll free the stick from his lips as he sits back and exhales, free hand gathering that cup back up.
"Sorry you're losin' folks. Seems to have been a goodly number of 'em this last time. Wonder what secrets getting passed around that I'm missin' out on."
Quiet hangs. He steals a swig from a bottle of whiskey that might have been on the other side of him. It doesn't matter now, as he has it rested on his knee. Sweeney stares at it, debating. His lips part, then shut, then he licks them apart again. When he speaks, his tone is low.
"I think I wanna tell you somethin'. But ya gotta swear ya'll keep it ta yerself." It's hard to tell why; perhaps there's something in the man's upbringing; but Sweeney wants to have faith that it's possible for Raylan to uphold his Word, if it's given.
Shit, had Raylan stuck his foot in it already? He couldn't just not say anything at all, he was sorry to hear it. Losing people sucked and he knew Sweeney was already in a hard way over Her. Whoever She was. Raylan didn't think it was Laura, not really.
He glances over after a few seconds, gauging how deep in he'd stuck it, but the statement caught him a little off guard. His brow twitched towards a furrow, but it was an easy thing to answer and promise.
"Won't tell a soul; take it to my grave." He had no idea what was coming, but that didn't compromise his Word.
There's the faintest ease in his muscles, a permission given, even if he doesn't know if he's ready to accept it. Sweeney takes another hefty swig and returns his focus to the bottle.
"There...there was a Warden here." He shrugs one shoulder with a slight shake of his head, like he's trying to dismiss a thought that won't let go.
"Second person I met here. She..." How can he start to explain?
"She's kind ta--was kind ta me." Sweeney can't remember how long it's been; he just knows the hole in his heart isn't healing, and this discussion is doing him no favors.
"When things were bad--after floods or breaches or just...myself. She was the one who's door was always open." It's obvious that that means more than just 'someone who welcomes me to sit and talk and take care of him'.
"She...she's my anchor. She didn't love me--she couldn't--but when things were bad here--dangerous...I'd reach fer her an' I knew she'd be reachin' back. There was ne'er a question, 'cause we didn't have anyone else like that. Didn't want anyone else."
Raylan stays quiet with a rapt attention, eyes drifting between his cigarette that he puffs on with a practiced ease and the glass that he nurses when he's not looking at Sweeney sidelong. Direct attention was a bad idea for processing out those kind of feelings into words; they stung enough to be bared as it was.
The quiet continues for a few seconds after Sweeney falls silent.
"Hard to lose someone that holds that much of your trust." He had no equivalent but he knew Sweeney didn't trust easy or deep. For someone to have meant that much to him, to be a port in a storm - that had to be a Lot for a man like Red. Which is why it still pissed Raylan off so much to think about what Tim Fucking Gutterson had done. The trust and stability that he'd promised, shattered in fifteen minutes.
"Plenty'a nice people on board though. No replacement to be sure but.. How are things with you and Mags? She's your warden now, right?"
"She's kind. Wants ta help. Knows that trust can't be forced. Gotta be earned." Maggie does all the right things. He wets his lips and looks back at the bottle.
"Things are...different now." Sweeney isn't sure what that means.
"Can't be...well--" Whatever they were. Whatever they were becoming.
"It's a start. Nothin's ever the same between folk. To be expected," he says quietly with a nod, cigarette rolling back and forth idly in his fingers.
"An' I'm sure you know this but maybe hearin' it'll help - ain't nothin' wrong with missin' someone. Nothin' wrong with not bein' able to have that same kinda thing with someone else. But you give Mags the right kinda chance and I got a feeling she'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. Been nice enough to folks she doesn't know, I can't imagine she'd be anything else with you.."
Red didn't talk about this shit easily, so Raylan figured it was better to ask his questions now, before the man's jaw wired shut again. "How longs your anchor friend been gone?"
Whether or not hearing it helps, it does make Sweeney uncomfortable. His shoulder rolls up a little in subconscious defense, and his gaze shifts to the far side past his knee. He sucks his tongue before he finds the words, and even then, they're low enough to nearly be a whisper.
"You know."
But does Raylan? Sweeney can't remember if the man had seen him lost in his recent round of Most Fucked Up. He makes a clarification.
"Since My day." His eyes slip beneath their lids.
"Adm'ral didn't bring her back with e'eryone else." When they had returned from the other Authority ships.
Red's day. Raylan remembers them talking about it. The one holiday that was for Sweeney. Corn husks and- The Clipper shit. Jesus. They were all so vulnerable after they were brought back. Raylan remembered the frantic, terrified search he'd gone on for James.
He could well imagine the dawning horror of not finding him. And what shitty timing. The one day that was supposed to be For Sweeney, turning into that hell, followed by an emotional gut punch.
Raylan took a long drag off his cigarette, ashing onto the deck. Should he apologize to the Barge for it? Part of him felt like he should.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he says, voice smaller and quieter for being launched back into finding Tim missing. "Feels like forever, with how quick this place moves. Forever and yesterday, all at once."
Part of him wants to ask her name. Part of him knows that doing so would put Red in the position of considering having to answer it. He opted not to. This is not what he was expecting when he came up, but that was okay. Sweeney had an unforgiving hand, and having someone to just listen to it, to know it with him, might help.
Sweeney sucks a long drag to kill his cigarette and flicks the remnants away carelessly across the deck.
"Fer me, all time's like that. Just worse here." He takes a heavy swig and sighs at the bottle.
That's just how it is, Curse eating away at his brain and any sense of linear time. There's only momentary pockets of it, waiting to be shuffled again.
"Maggie's been like that since she met me." Sweeney realizes he should clarify. "Shirt-givin' an' all that." He shrugs without looking up.
"Gotta soft heart fer ones lost in the shuffle, I guess." His lips press, and he parts them with his tongue.
"One of those kinds that can love a lotta people at once." It's not something he thinks is wrong, it just tempers his feelings when it comes to being 'important to her'.
Hard to know where he landed on the list or how many other people would come before him in an hour of need. Raylan remembered that too.
"She's a good egg. She's- talked me down a couple of times." They were gonna stay light on the details, he hopes. "Seems solid too." Like she wasn't going anywhere. He took a drink.
Not sure about deserving one, but I've needed one for a few hundred years.
"I'm a Leprechaun. Course I play pool."
As if it's a piece of innate knowledge. Still, the statement comes with a softening around the edges and the very faintest of smirks. As far as he knows, it's part of the breed to know and practice every game of chance and skill they can get their hands on. Sweeney finally gives Raylan a sideways glance.
"Ain't played it without my Luck, so no clue if I'm shit at it."
Sweeney's not; free of Bad Luck, it comes down to skill, which is far better than cards or dice where more Luck is required. And he's spent many years playing pool, plenty for a healthy amount of muscle memory.
"This a 'now' thing yer prop'sin' or an 'we should do it sometime' future thing?"
"I dunno about you, but sittin' still when talkin' about this kinda stuff leaves me antsy and restless. I like keepin' my hands busy. Drinkin' and smokin' ain't doin' enough of the trick."
It was his turn to flick his cigarette off the side.
"You wanna play?" It didn't matter if Red was gonna be shit or not. Winning wasn't the point.
"Don't tend ta do this sorta talkin' 'nough fer it ta matter." Sweeney wets his lip as his eyes wander.
"Least fer more than a cigarette b'fore it's not welcome anymore an' she fucks off."
It seems to be Trixie's way, especially as of late. He knows it's not her fault; he probably just reminds her of the life she's leaving to be with her man and her kids. His want of intimacy is a barb stuck in her from back when he paid her for it. He'd slept on her floor; she'd kept his secret about it. Made it easier for him to offer bits of trust with his other ones since.
"Pool's fine." In case he hadn't been clear enough while his thoughts spiralled.
Raylan pushes to his feet, fingers collecting Sweeney's empty glass and trusting the Irishman to hold the bottle. He gets them going with long step he knew Red could keep up with, his natural gait that he largely had to tempered to stay with shorter legged people.
"Might as well get some practice in it while your jaw workin'. And I got nothin' but time right now. James is gonna avoid the cabin until he's calmed down a little. And if it--" He rolls a shoulder. "Gets hard or you get bored of it, no offense'll be taken if you tell me to fuck off.. or fuck off yourself. S'justa game of pool."
Raylan tugs out his blackberry to get them into the lounge. "I'm guessin' his post is why you invited me up for a drink in the first place."
Sweeney's perfectly prepared to keep a hand on the bottle. He debates tucking it away, but decides against it; there's likely to be more drinking ahead. He keeps an even stride with Raylan. It's nice to be walking with someone who is set with a clear intention to get where he's going and isn't 5' nothing.
The trip is passed in relative silence. He acknowledges the marshal's offer, but is more uncomfortable about the noting of his opening up. It's one of those things that he knows he's supposed to do, but he doesn't want to. It's too much; he might tell the wrong thing to the wrong person. Or they might just fuck off off the fucking boat.
At the door of the lounge, Sweeney's nod melts into a dismissive shrug. It was the reason, but it wasn't the goal. Both of them needed the break.
"Know plenty well what it's like ta be the reason fer shit goin' sideways by proxy. Folk pointin' back ta you when you just wanna stay in the shadows." He rubs his thumb against the neck of the bottle.
"An' yer man's shit at hidin' his motivations, e'en when he's tryin' ta make somethin' good of it." Sweeney doesn't fault Flint, but it doesn't change the facts.
"Subtly isn't exactly any pirates strong suit," he agrees as they walk in. "You'd think it would, considerin' how many false flags they flew. Emotion is a hellva distraction."
Raylan heads towards the pool table and sets their glasses down before heading towards the sticks on the walls.
"He's right about the death count bein' as high as it is, but I don't think the suggested solutions are viable. If the pirate way worked long term, they woulda been around longer." He wouldn't go into the history that he'd looked into due to being with Flint. "He's also wrong about my bein' a victim. But he didn't talk to me about doin' somethin' like this before he spoke up."
He holds out the pool cue. "I woulda corrected that beforehand, given the chance." It undercutting some of Flint's fire wouldn't stop him either. Better to keep it all closer to the truth, rather than farther away.
His lips part, but he thinks better of it, and they shut again. Sweeney rethinks his words before giving them voice.
"I got some 'pinions, but I don't gotta say 'em if they're just gonna piss ya off. We can keep ta pool without talkin' 'bout yer man any more than ya wanna."
"Oh, cause gettin' pissed off because you dare to have an opinion is a rational adult thing to do," he scoffs, stepping around to rack the balls and pull of the triangle cage.
"Plenty'a people I don't agree with that I also happen to like. Everyone's entitled to their opinion and it'd be a hellva borin' world if everyone agreed on everythin'. And if you happen to hit a nerve or somethin', I trust that you'll let me veer onto new paths without much fuss."
He should do, anyway. With as often as Raylan had been gracious about Sweeney's Storming.
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Sounds good. Where are you thinking?
[He could sure use both. ]
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Deck? Unless you want it more private.
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No. Just fine. See you.
-----By the time Raylan shows, Sweeney's already on a bench with a tumbler set next to him containing two fingers of whiskey. He's smoking casually, his gaze wandering over the railing into the black beyond.
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"Broke out glasses an' everythin' huh?" He settles down on the other side of the bench with a sigh. "How's it treatin' ya?"
Yeah yeah, he knows that Red said no talking required but he was southern and some things couldn't be helped.
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He lifts the glass and offers it to Raylan, his tone casual.
"Stuck watchin' folk graduate. Losin' more folk I care 'bout." There aren't that many to start with. It's just how it is, but it's frustrating and makes his loneliness all the more noticable.
"You?"
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"Sewin' up my inmate and makin' poor decisions," he answers honestly. "Watchin' small forest fires gettin' sparked up from temper, ya know." Flint and the whole Thing
It comes with a shrug as he fires up, the kit being tucked away after his cherry is lit and tucked all away. He'll free the stick from his lips as he sits back and exhales, free hand gathering that cup back up.
"Sorry you're losin' folks. Seems to have been a goodly number of 'em this last time. Wonder what secrets getting passed around that I'm missin' out on."
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"I think I wanna tell you somethin'. But ya gotta swear ya'll keep it ta yerself." It's hard to tell why; perhaps there's something in the man's upbringing; but Sweeney wants to have faith that it's possible for Raylan to uphold his Word, if it's given.
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He glances over after a few seconds, gauging how deep in he'd stuck it, but the statement caught him a little off guard. His brow twitched towards a furrow, but it was an easy thing to answer and promise.
"Won't tell a soul; take it to my grave." He had no idea what was coming, but that didn't compromise his Word.
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"There...there was a Warden here." He shrugs one shoulder with a slight shake of his head, like he's trying to dismiss a thought that won't let go.
"Second person I met here. She..." How can he start to explain?
"She's kind ta--was kind ta me." Sweeney can't remember how long it's been; he just knows the hole in his heart isn't healing, and this discussion is doing him no favors.
"When things were bad--after floods or breaches or just...myself. She was the one who's door was always open." It's obvious that that means more than just 'someone who welcomes me to sit and talk and take care of him'.
"She...she's my anchor. She didn't love me--she couldn't--but when things were bad here--dangerous...I'd reach fer her an' I knew she'd be reachin' back. There was ne'er a question, 'cause we didn't have anyone else like that. Didn't want anyone else."
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The quiet continues for a few seconds after Sweeney falls silent.
"Hard to lose someone that holds that much of your trust." He had no equivalent but he knew Sweeney didn't trust easy or deep. For someone to have meant that much to him, to be a port in a storm - that had to be a Lot for a man like Red. Which is why it still pissed Raylan off so much to think about what Tim Fucking Gutterson had done. The trust and stability that he'd promised, shattered in fifteen minutes.
"Plenty'a nice people on board though. No replacement to be sure but.. How are things with you and Mags? She's your warden now, right?"
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"She is." Silence echoes. It's complicated.
"She's kind. Wants ta help. Knows that trust can't be forced. Gotta be earned." Maggie does all the right things. He wets his lips and looks back at the bottle.
"Things are...different now." Sweeney isn't sure what that means.
"Can't be...well--" Whatever they were. Whatever they were becoming.
"--just different."
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"An' I'm sure you know this but maybe hearin' it'll help - ain't nothin' wrong with missin' someone. Nothin' wrong with not bein' able to have that same kinda thing with someone else. But you give Mags the right kinda chance and I got a feeling she'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. Been nice enough to folks she doesn't know, I can't imagine she'd be anything else with you.."
Red didn't talk about this shit easily, so Raylan figured it was better to ask his questions now, before the man's jaw wired shut again. "How longs your anchor friend been gone?"
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"You know."
But does Raylan? Sweeney can't remember if the man had seen him lost in his recent round of Most Fucked Up. He makes a clarification.
"Since My day." His eyes slip beneath their lids.
"Adm'ral didn't bring her back with e'eryone else." When they had returned from the other Authority ships.
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He could well imagine the dawning horror of not finding him. And what shitty timing. The one day that was supposed to be For Sweeney, turning into that hell, followed by an emotional gut punch.
Raylan took a long drag off his cigarette, ashing onto the deck. Should he apologize to the Barge for it? Part of him felt like he should.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he says, voice smaller and quieter for being launched back into finding Tim missing. "Feels like forever, with how quick this place moves. Forever and yesterday, all at once."
Part of him wants to ask her name. Part of him knows that doing so would put Red in the position of considering having to answer it. He opted not to. This is not what he was expecting when he came up, but that was okay. Sweeney had an unforgiving hand, and having someone to just listen to it, to know it with him, might help.
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"Fer me, all time's like that. Just worse here." He takes a heavy swig and sighs at the bottle.
That's just how it is, Curse eating away at his brain and any sense of linear time. There's only momentary pockets of it, waiting to be shuffled again.
"Maggie's been like that since she met me." Sweeney realizes he should clarify. "Shirt-givin' an' all that." He shrugs without looking up.
"Gotta soft heart fer ones lost in the shuffle, I guess." His lips press, and he parts them with his tongue.
"One of those kinds that can love a lotta people at once." It's not something he thinks is wrong, it just tempers his feelings when it comes to being 'important to her'.
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"She's a good egg. She's- talked me down a couple of times." They were gonna stay light on the details, he hopes. "Seems solid too." Like she wasn't going anywhere. He took a drink.
"You deserve a break. You play pool?"
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"I'm a Leprechaun. Course I play pool."
As if it's a piece of innate knowledge. Still, the statement comes with a softening around the edges and the very faintest of smirks. As far as he knows, it's part of the breed to know and practice every game of chance and skill they can get their hands on. Sweeney finally gives Raylan a sideways glance.
"Ain't played it without my Luck, so no clue if I'm shit at it."
Sweeney's not; free of Bad Luck, it comes down to skill, which is far better than cards or dice where more Luck is required. And he's spent many years playing pool, plenty for a healthy amount of muscle memory.
"This a 'now' thing yer prop'sin' or an 'we should do it sometime' future thing?"
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It was his turn to flick his cigarette off the side.
"You wanna play?" It didn't matter if Red was gonna be shit or not. Winning wasn't the point.
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"Fine by it." There's an easy follow up though.
"Don't tend ta do this sorta talkin' 'nough fer it ta matter." Sweeney wets his lip as his eyes wander.
"Least fer more than a cigarette b'fore it's not welcome anymore an' she fucks off."
It seems to be Trixie's way, especially as of late. He knows it's not her fault; he probably just reminds her of the life she's leaving to be with her man and her kids. His want of intimacy is a barb stuck in her from back when he paid her for it. He'd slept on her floor; she'd kept his secret about it. Made it easier for him to offer bits of trust with his other ones since.
"Pool's fine." In case he hadn't been clear enough while his thoughts spiralled.
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"Might as well get some practice in it while your jaw workin'. And I got nothin' but time right now. James is gonna avoid the cabin until he's calmed down a little. And if it--" He rolls a shoulder. "Gets hard or you get bored of it, no offense'll be taken if you tell me to fuck off.. or fuck off yourself. S'justa game of pool."
Raylan tugs out his blackberry to get them into the lounge. "I'm guessin' his post is why you invited me up for a drink in the first place."
And he appreciated it.
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The trip is passed in relative silence. He acknowledges the marshal's offer, but is more uncomfortable about the noting of his opening up. It's one of those things that he knows he's supposed to do, but he doesn't want to. It's too much; he might tell the wrong thing to the wrong person. Or they might just fuck off off the fucking boat.
At the door of the lounge, Sweeney's nod melts into a dismissive shrug. It was the reason, but it wasn't the goal. Both of them needed the break.
"Know plenty well what it's like ta be the reason fer shit goin' sideways by proxy. Folk pointin' back ta you when you just wanna stay in the shadows." He rubs his thumb against the neck of the bottle.
"An' yer man's shit at hidin' his motivations, e'en when he's tryin' ta make somethin' good of it." Sweeney doesn't fault Flint, but it doesn't change the facts.
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Raylan heads towards the pool table and sets their glasses down before heading towards the sticks on the walls.
"He's right about the death count bein' as high as it is, but I don't think the suggested solutions are viable. If the pirate way worked long term, they woulda been around longer." He wouldn't go into the history that he'd looked into due to being with Flint. "He's also wrong about my bein' a victim. But he didn't talk to me about doin' somethin' like this before he spoke up."
He holds out the pool cue. "I woulda corrected that beforehand, given the chance." It undercutting some of Flint's fire wouldn't stop him either. Better to keep it all closer to the truth, rather than farther away.
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"I got some 'pinions, but I don't gotta say 'em if they're just gonna piss ya off. We can keep ta pool without talkin' 'bout yer man any more than ya wanna."
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"Plenty'a people I don't agree with that I also happen to like. Everyone's entitled to their opinion and it'd be a hellva borin' world if everyone agreed on everythin'. And if you happen to hit a nerve or somethin', I trust that you'll let me veer onto new paths without much fuss."
He should do, anyway. With as often as Raylan had been gracious about Sweeney's Storming.
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