His eyebrows lift over a smile. "Really? Shit. We're gonna have to havta have a big ass BBQ for him when it comes around." But the lifted eyebrows fell into a soft furrow, chin lifting in curiosity.
"What do you mean 'he is what he is'? What is he?" What did Raylan miss?
His gaze slips askew in place of a proper eye roll.
"The Whitest of Hats. A force fer good, the Boy Scout ideal. Helping hands an' sweet smiles an' kissin' babies. Wholesome as apple pie at a county fair, reeks of walkin' girls home without so much as a goodnight kiss on the cheek. Practically bleeds red, white, an' blue at the dawn of the Atomic Age."
Sweeney doesn't fault Steve; that's the point. But it doesn't make the qualities more appealing.
Raylan resists the urge to glance up at the underside of his Stetson. He'd heard of the white/black hat analogy before, noted it in movies and the like, and it'd be a lie to say that when he grabbed his way back when and slipped it on his head, the color appealed.
"What can I say, we're a Great country sometimes." Sometimes being the key word. "And we love our war heroes. And we've got amazing food. There's a lotta potential, if we can keep things on the rails. If he's as wholesome as all that, then it's a good example of what some of the people in our country oughta be." Whoops, sorry Red, you tripped and fell into some patriotism.
"Besides, plenta black hat folks to keep us busy. Usually. Any place but here."
It's not like Raylan's patriotism is a surprise; he was literally just basking in the glow of the Fourth of July. Also, his hat is pretty light. Not White, but close enough.
"Eh but for what? Public intoxication, B&E, maybe some vandalism? No offense but I wouldn't even get off a beat for shit like that. There a grey hat area? That's where you'd fall."
He tilts his head a little, studying the set of Red's jaw and shoulders.
"And even you killin' Laura; someone else pulled that trigger. I don't understand why you did it, but I think I see it weighin' on you in these conversations."
Sweeney's lips part in preparation for banter about the color of what everyone's wearing, but that name makes them instantly close and thin. He rocks his jaw to keep it from clenching.
"I ain't lookin' ta talk 'bout Dead Wife. Bad 'nough, her bein' her in the first fuckin' place."
"Bad enough her bein' her? What's that mean? Sure she's mouthy, but-" The rest of that wasn't something that a gentleman would say and so Raylan doesn't.
"Smells a hellva lot better now that she's not rottin' any more too."
There's a mental stutter; he's caught off-guard, having not thought of the fact that she'd been here before. That Other Dead Wife, which is yet a different one than the Not So Dead Wife Swamp Rat hat met, trying to save her. He catches back up, and his gaze shifts askew for a moment.
Sweeney is not a gentleman.
"Her bein' all pink an' not 'split a man in half via a kick ta the balls' dunn't mean she's any different otherwise. Still a cunt. Still not wantin' ta share the same fuckin' air as me." He cocks his head.
"Just means the fuckin' boat's smaller, me havin' ta parse bits out with her so she dunn't take e'ery opportunity she can ta remind me of what a piece'a shit I was ta her."
Raylan stays quiet for a long moment, eyes crinkling around the edges as he squints softly.
"So. You're mad at her for bein' mad at you, for havin' killed her. And, I know I'm steppin' over a line here but - how would you feel about her if she wasn't pissed at you all the time?"
He really needed to see them interact; he was sure the rest of the pieces that hung in the air would drop into place like tetris bricks.
"Your agreement? You mean not rottin' fast enough around your coin to be gettin' it?"
His head tilts fractionally to the side and decides to push a little further.
"And I didn't ask you to imagine a world she wasn't in, though I gotta say I think it's a little sweet that you can't imagine a world without her, I asked how you'd feel about her if she wasn't pissed."
Sweeney rocks his jaw with clear intent, his frown cut deep. Raylan was wrong on both points. He does his best not to snarl, but the answer is sharply enunciated.
"First off, no. The fuckin' agreement that I'd bust my balls ta get her 'live 'gain so she would give me my fuckin' Coin back." His hand snaps at the door.
"She's the one that fuckin' walked out on me."
Gave up on me.
He sucks his tongue, fighting to keep his shit in check.
"An' I didn't say I can't imagine a world without her. I said I can't imagine one where she ain't fuckin' pissed at me e'ery fuckin' moment."
And he hates that small part of himself that knows, even though Raylan misunderstood him, Sweeney doesn't want to imagine a world she isn't in, either.
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"What do you mean 'he is what he is'? What is he?" What did Raylan miss?
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"The Whitest of Hats. A force fer good, the Boy Scout ideal. Helping hands an' sweet smiles an' kissin' babies. Wholesome as apple pie at a county fair, reeks of walkin' girls home without so much as a goodnight kiss on the cheek. Practically bleeds red, white, an' blue at the dawn of the Atomic Age."
Sweeney doesn't fault Steve; that's the point. But it doesn't make the qualities more appealing.
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"What can I say, we're a Great country sometimes." Sometimes being the key word. "And we love our war heroes. And we've got amazing food. There's a lotta potential, if we can keep things on the rails. If he's as wholesome as all that, then it's a good example of what some of the people in our country oughta be." Whoops, sorry Red, you tripped and fell into some patriotism.
"Besides, plenta black hat folks to keep us busy. Usually. Any place but here."
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"I know," he answers plainly.
"I've spent plenty'a nights in jail."
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He tilts his head a little, studying the set of Red's jaw and shoulders.
"And even you killin' Laura; someone else pulled that trigger. I don't understand why you did it, but I think I see it weighin' on you in these conversations."
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"I ain't lookin' ta talk 'bout Dead Wife. Bad 'nough, her bein' her in the first fuckin' place."
Not a fact he's enamored with, for damn sure.
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"Smells a hellva lot better now that she's not rottin' any more too."
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Sweeney is not a gentleman.
"Her bein' all pink an' not 'split a man in half via a kick ta the balls' dunn't mean she's any different otherwise. Still a cunt. Still not wantin' ta share the same fuckin' air as me." He cocks his head.
"Just means the fuckin' boat's smaller, me havin' ta parse bits out with her so she dunn't take e'ery opportunity she can ta remind me of what a piece'a shit I was ta her."
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"So. You're mad at her for bein' mad at you, for havin' killed her. And, I know I'm steppin' over a line here but - how would you feel about her if she wasn't pissed at you all the time?"
He really needed to see them interact; he was sure the rest of the pieces that hung in the air would drop into place like tetris bricks.
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"No. I'm pissed at her fer violatin' our Arrangement." Among other things.
"An' there inn't a world I can imagine where she ain't, so there's no point in me puttin' the effort inta ponderin' on it."
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His head tilts fractionally to the side and decides to push a little further.
"And I didn't ask you to imagine a world she wasn't in, though I gotta say I think it's a little sweet that you can't imagine a world without her, I asked how you'd feel about her if she wasn't pissed."
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"First off, no. The fuckin' agreement that I'd bust my balls ta get her 'live 'gain so she would give me my fuckin' Coin back." His hand snaps at the door.
"She's the one that fuckin' walked out on me."
Gave up on me.
He sucks his tongue, fighting to keep his shit in check.
"An' I didn't say I can't imagine a world without her. I said I can't imagine one where she ain't fuckin' pissed at me e'ery fuckin' moment."
And he hates that small part of himself that knows, even though Raylan misunderstood him, Sweeney doesn't want to imagine a world she isn't in, either.