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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"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.