"Yeah." There's a quiet wistfulness to the word that suggests there's more to the thought, but Raylan's already barrelling on, and Sweeney's all too happy to let it go.
"Just sittin' on those fuckin' silk bolts. Can't blame a Fellow fer wantin' ta get that shit outta the way." He's more grumbling to himself than the marshal, his gaze wandering some as he does so.
"Get you a fabric chest or a footlocker. Somethin' to keep it stored, clean, safe, and gives you a flat surface for other things. Not to mention sitting. Centuries of Grandmothers can't be wrong." Raylan turns on the hose and takes a long drink before turning it all off again and tossing the hose to the ground.
"I didn't know that you crafted clothes. There anything you need to go with it you can't get a hold of, let me know, I'll ask the Admiral if ya need. Whatever Trixie needs.." His lips curl. "When they decide to do it. Hellva gift to give a woman," he continues, with a fond note as he wipes his face and ambles back over. There was the unspoken 'that's sweet of you' undertone to it all but Raylan knew better than to put it so bluntly.
Sweeney frowns at the suggestion that he doesn't have the knowledge or facilities required for proper fabric care. He's got a fucking frock coat from back when he went to faerie balls, back before all of the bullshit of everything that came after. He also has no desire to talk about what has caused him to want to show her this kindness. In the end, it's the only way he has left to matter to her, now that her life is all sorted. Elsewhere. He has no further place in it, other than to be something she pities. Sweeney's not interested in that bullshit.
"I'm a Leprechaun. Course I can sew." As if such is clearly common knowledge.
"Back b'fore Enlightenment took hold, we tailored an' cobbled an' did a hundred other things humans needed. Or at least that folk were willin' ta pay ta not hav'ta do themselves." His indifferent air is a thin veil over the pain of that which was lost.
"'The Enlightenment'", he echoes. "I'm guessin' taht you're talking about religion, about the church, but - That phrasin' feels like it gives them more credit then they deserve."
While no where near as complex as Red's feelings on religion, Raylan had his own views and opinions about the institution.
"But that's interesting. Not somethin' I would have guessed. Lemme ask you somethin- you ever put that skill to use on flesh? Stitches, that kinda thing?"
The way his irises disappear behind his lids at the first suggestion implies there's clarification to be had, but neither of them should probably dwell. So he doesn't.
"Course." A quick shrug of his head makes it's obvious he's done it more than once.
"Stitches ain't as straight, given the habit of folk squirmin', but I can get shit back where it needs ta be."
"Think I could talk ya into teachin' me how? After Roman's thing, I had to stitch him closed. I managed, he didn't bleed out or anythin' but if it's somethin' I'm gonna havta do, I wanna do it well enough that it doesn't have to be redone or introduce.. I dunno, gappin' issues or something."
He lifts a hand before Red can answer. "And I know that's gonna require a deal. I don't mind payin', or bein' held in the debt until I can do somethin' useful for you." Which was an advance of his opinion on it all before, but he trusted Sweeney in a way he hadn't when they first started getting to know each other.
Sweeney grows quieter, considering the turn in topics and unsure how to feel about where they're finding themselves. It's not bad, just a little uncomfortable.
"Deals ain't 'bout what I want."
He says it more gently than he normally would, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't rather just not have to say it in the first place. He feels like he's bashing his head into a post; a Groundhog's Day of explaining how he exists.
"It's 'bout how much Value ya put on what ya want. What's it worth fer you ta get it. That ain't on me ta assign."
"And that's about where I get tripped up. I'm used to value being money or labor - You want me to pay? I'll find a way to do that. You want me to work on somethin' in payment, I'm happy with that too, but how I pay for it can't determine the value of makin' sure someone you care about doesn't bleed out all over your couch, ya know?"
They'd had this conversation long ago, when Raylan was first dealing with Red and his Deals, but he still owed Red a question that he hadn't claimed, and paying with questions and information felt like not paying at all.
"I much prefer the barter and trade system, I gotta tell you."
Raylan sighs heavily out his nose, hands finding their place on his hips as he chews his liver a little, more open about it now that he was firmly comfortable with Red seeing it. He wasn't trying to be difficult, he swears - he just found it more than a struggle to break out of the ease of trade/barter.
"And what's the runnin' cost for learnin' to thread a needle," he says quietly. "How about I owe you a service. A run in port, an ask somewhere, someone who needs a bullet in their ass or somethin'."
He just couldn't find the door into other understanding.
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"Just sittin' on those fuckin' silk bolts. Can't blame a Fellow fer wantin' ta get that shit outta the way." He's more grumbling to himself than the marshal, his gaze wandering some as he does so.
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"I didn't know that you crafted clothes. There anything you need to go with it you can't get a hold of, let me know, I'll ask the Admiral if ya need. Whatever Trixie needs.." His lips curl. "When they decide to do it. Hellva gift to give a woman," he continues, with a fond note as he wipes his face and ambles back over. There was the unspoken 'that's sweet of you' undertone to it all but Raylan knew better than to put it so bluntly.
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"I'm a Leprechaun. Course I can sew." As if such is clearly common knowledge.
"Back b'fore Enlightenment took hold, we tailored an' cobbled an' did a hundred other things humans needed. Or at least that folk were willin' ta pay ta not hav'ta do themselves." His indifferent air is a thin veil over the pain of that which was lost.
no subject
While no where near as complex as Red's feelings on religion, Raylan had his own views and opinions about the institution.
"But that's interesting. Not somethin' I would have guessed. Lemme ask you somethin- you ever put that skill to use on flesh? Stitches, that kinda thing?"
no subject
"Course." A quick shrug of his head makes it's obvious he's done it more than once.
"Stitches ain't as straight, given the habit of folk squirmin', but I can get shit back where it needs ta be."
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He lifts a hand before Red can answer. "And I know that's gonna require a deal. I don't mind payin', or bein' held in the debt until I can do somethin' useful for you." Which was an advance of his opinion on it all before, but he trusted Sweeney in a way he hadn't when they first started getting to know each other.
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"Deals ain't 'bout what I want."
He says it more gently than he normally would, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't rather just not have to say it in the first place. He feels like he's bashing his head into a post; a Groundhog's Day of explaining how he exists.
"It's 'bout how much Value ya put on what ya want. What's it worth fer you ta get it. That ain't on me ta assign."
no subject
They'd had this conversation long ago, when Raylan was first dealing with Red and his Deals, but he still owed Red a question that he hadn't claimed, and paying with questions and information felt like not paying at all.
"I much prefer the barter and trade system, I gotta tell you."
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"But yer not askin' fer me ta keep someone ya care 'bout from bleedin' out," he notes, plainly but with a softer edge.
"Yer askin' fer me ta teach ya how ta sew. What ya do with that shit after is yer business."
The sentiment of his point is that Raylan shouldn't overthink it into something that's more expensive than it has to be.
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"And what's the runnin' cost for learnin' to thread a needle," he says quietly. "How about I owe you a service. A run in port, an ask somewhere, someone who needs a bullet in their ass or somethin'."
He just couldn't find the door into other understanding.