"Comin'," Raylan's voice sounds, rough but loud and lively enough to assuage any primary concerns. A few minutes later, the door opens. Death toll being what it was, Raylan only looked a little pale, a little sweaty, like he felt ill which - surprise. He did.
"Hey. Come on in." He steps back to welcome Malcolm to a surprisingly beachy kind of living room with a dark leather couch and coffee table that flows into a small dining area in front of a decent kitchen, island with barstool and all. An orange cat pads out of nowhere and sniffs Malcolm's ankles as he walks in. Someone was getting rubbed later. There was a back door, left open to what looked like a beach front view, the gentle smell of salt and earth.
The door is shut and Raylan ambles over slowly, hand holding his old gunshot wound because it's where his breathing tended to pinch at his efforts, taking to a not so easy lean on the counter with his free hand.
"The pain of it all aside, this ain't the first time I've gotten shot so this ain't really that bad. Just deeply uncomfortable. Plus, I know it's got an end and that makes it a hellva lot more tolerable. Kind'a you to do this," he says with a long finger gesturing at the tray.
"I'm happy to," Malcolm tells him. "Consider it part of the counselling office's wellness outreach," he jokes. "If it makes you uncomfortable to consider it a gift from a friend."
There's that word again. Friend. Gonou has used it, Sweeney too, Steve - Raylan still wasn't really used to it. It had been a very long time, but he was acclimating.. somewhat.
"Counselling office's wellness outreach makes me more uncomfortable than friend, if I'm bein' honest with you. Is that what we are now, officially?" He didn't look pissed about it, lips pulling faintly to one side. Though looking like anything other than deep fried shit would be more effort then he was capable of right now.
"Thank you for the gravy boat, by the way. I assume that was you."
Raylan bobs his head in concession. Fair enough. His faint smile stays, held naturally and without any of that polite 'pain' that some people bore smiles like this with.
"Silver, decently ornate for what it is? Separate gravy tray for it to sit on? No one around here's got the taste for classy silver - you were the only real possibility. Now I just gotta get some gravy in it. I guessed it was a weddin' gift, which leads me to askin' you the same thing."
“How did I know? Oh. I saw you. I was kind of a downer on that planet, so I didn’t want to bother you, but I did want to say ‘congratulations’,” Malcolm admits. “A gravy boat is a particularly wedding-y present, right?”
"You could have come said hello after it was over." When they were drunkenly dancing and jumping over fires like fools. Lean fingers reach out and drag the tray closer to him. Pulling one of the stools under his ass, Raylan starts picking at the goods - a piece of cheese popped in his mouth as he pours a cup of coffee.
"I mean-" He clears his mouth. "Most people gift like. Blenders or knife sets, in our time but. I am Southern and I do like gravy. So it'll get used and cared for and it is a pretty little trinket." Raylan gives him a heartier smile, the promise of coffee and food almost visibly perking him up, now that they've had enough polite conversation to justify the indulgence.
"It's a perfect wedding present. Hellva side project to give me though, havin' to look up how to take care of it properly."
"I have gotta say, I've heard a lotta weird questions about the South and that's a new one. Practical one though." Smarter than most. "The answer is in the magic of gravy because the correct answer is both. But it's better over bread. Toasted if it ain't biscuits. The north just really needs to get on the white gravy train, it goes on so many things. Thin enough, I think you'd like it, if you're looking for something that's not.." His head bobs a little. "Loud."
"I actually get nauseated at just the thought of eating gravy, but now you've made me curious, so if you ever have it, let me know. I want to come and smell it," Malcolm tells him in all seriousness.
"I'm glad I could do such good works for the advancement of gravy in the general opinion," he says, smile still pulled. "I'll give you a ring. Gotta have it fresh though. Reheats well enough but it's better fresh. Pork is hard to get my hands on though and we'll bug Gonou for some biscuits. He's found a fantastic recipe and the last batch he brought me? Mm," he grunts in that way men do when they're openly daydreaming about Grandma's Sunday meal.
"We'll find somethin' that you can pick at, just in case."
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I appreciate you goin' outta your way.
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[He shows up at the door of Raylan's cabin with everything they'd discussed, knocking by kicking the door with his foot.]
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"Hey. Come on in." He steps back to welcome Malcolm to a surprisingly beachy kind of living room with a dark leather couch and coffee table that flows into a small dining area in front of a decent kitchen, island with barstool and all. An orange cat pads out of nowhere and sniffs Malcolm's ankles as he walks in. Someone was getting rubbed later. There was a back door, left open to what looked like a beach front view, the gentle smell of salt and earth.
"Don't mind Pumpkin, he doesn't bite."
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"Hi Pumpkin," he says as he moves towards the island to put the stuff down. He looks at Raylan. "How are you feeling?"
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"The pain of it all aside, this ain't the first time I've gotten shot so this ain't really that bad. Just deeply uncomfortable. Plus, I know it's got an end and that makes it a hellva lot more tolerable. Kind'a you to do this," he says with a long finger gesturing at the tray.
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"Counselling office's wellness outreach makes me more uncomfortable than friend, if I'm bein' honest with you. Is that what we are now, officially?" He didn't look pissed about it, lips pulling faintly to one side. Though looking like anything other than deep fried shit would be more effort then he was capable of right now.
"Thank you for the gravy boat, by the way. I assume that was you."
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"Silver, decently ornate for what it is? Separate gravy tray for it to sit on? No one around here's got the taste for classy silver - you were the only real possibility. Now I just gotta get some gravy in it. I guessed it was a weddin' gift, which leads me to askin' you the same thing."
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"I mean-" He clears his mouth. "Most people gift like. Blenders or knife sets, in our time but. I am Southern and I do like gravy. So it'll get used and cared for and it is a pretty little trinket." Raylan gives him a heartier smile, the promise of coffee and food almost visibly perking him up, now that they've had enough polite conversation to justify the indulgence.
"It's a perfect wedding present. Hellva side project to give me though, havin' to look up how to take care of it properly."
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Like he'd know. The real joke: he has no idea. He doesn't live in the same universe as marriage.
"You know, I have a question about gravy and the South."
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"Sure, shoot."
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"Is sausage gravy made of sausages or for sausages?"
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"I have gotta say, I've heard a lotta weird questions about the South and that's a new one. Practical one though." Smarter than most. "The answer is in the magic of gravy because the correct answer is both. But it's better over bread. Toasted if it ain't biscuits. The north just really needs to get on the white gravy train, it goes on so many things. Thin enough, I think you'd like it, if you're looking for something that's not.." His head bobs a little. "Loud."
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"We'll find somethin' that you can pick at, just in case."