Fetch is a good girl. And she's been around my Tim when he's transformed
into a cat, plus Neal's cat George every once in awhile, so I know she
won't go chasing Pumpkin.
See you in a few. [She's bringing baked goods as well as the dog,
because of course she is.]
[And so he did, door left halfway open. Her timing would be great too; he was padding into the kitchen to grab a bit of bread, suddenly peckish and aware enough that he should get more than his couple of eggs breakfast into his stomach.]
"I brought brownies," Maggie calls softly as she steps inside, shutting the
door behind her. She follows Fetch, who's definitely coming to find Raylan
and say hello.
Raylan looks over and hums, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the goods and a smile breaking onto his face at the sight of the dog. He knew the rules - you always greet the dog first, and one hand came out to pet and scritch and greet Fetch properly with a soft "Hey there."
He looks back up at Maggie and side nods towards the island counter.
"You can set 'em down here. Saves 'em from the sand and I can steal one on the way back out the back door. Don't have anythin' against beaches, do you?"
"I will take any beach that doesn't come with the risk of zombie sea
lions," Maggie tells him with an easy grin, setting the container of
brownies down as directed. She enjoys being free of that worry
here, because it sure is a big one on the coasts of California. "You've
got one in your cabin? I might be jealous. Gonna have to ask the Admiral
for my vegetable garden at this rate; I miss my backyard."
"Mm," he sounds with a nod, popping the rest of his tear of bread into his mouth before curiously pulling the container closer so he can open the lid. "Between Kiryu's backyard and James's addition onto his cabin when he was a Warden, I figured I could indulge us a little."
He steals a brownie and gestures at the door nearby that he'd left open.
"Just out there. And you should - I used to think the space would be stupid, a waste of energy and a lie, considering the constraints but. It's been kinda nice." One finger is lifted. "You want some sweet tea before I show it off to you?"
Maggie approves of any indulgences that ease their time here. She's glad
he has this one.
And she'll laugh softly at the offer. "I am very much a California
girl and hardly ever drink sweet tea, but sure. I'll take some." And she
holds up a plastic bag with a couple more brownies, deliberately kept apart
from the others. "I'm still not drinking. You have any objection to me
eating a pot brownie while I'm here? Don't worry, I made separate batches."
"Worry? Shit, now that I don't have Federal guidelines dictating what I consume, I'm upset you didn't slip me some," he teases, taking a bite out of the brownie before setting it down, fetching a glass and pouring from a pitcher kept in the refrigerator.
"After all this hell, smoking a joint and lettin' it all go for a few hours sounds like paradise. C'mon," he says, carrying her glass of tea and his brownie out onto the porch.
It was a modest back porch, ceiling of it painted haint blue, and overlooking a small white sanded beach, complete with a bit of sea that lapped at it's edges. There was a small couch with a coffee table and two sunbeaten wooden chairs, and Raylan drops himself into the couch, setting her glass on the coffee table next to his glass and bottle of whiskey.
"I do have more than one," she offers, as she settles onto the couch
next to him. It's not like she wouldn't share!
This is really nice, though. Almost seems like they're not in the cabin at
all. Might not be real, or extend very far, but it's gorgeous. She tips
her head back and breathes in the salt smell and sighs. Fetch jumps up
next to her and clambers across Maggie's lap to try and squeeze in between
them and get attention from everyone at once.
"An offer I'm gonna take you up on," he warns, comfortable around her in a way that he hadn't been before the breach, and now that he wasn't so raw and openly wracked with grief, they could both enjoy it a little. They could pretend for a second that he wasn't in the middle of a twist he wasn't sure when he'd come out of. Things had always been easier for Mason with Maggie around. Seemed that was sticking around too. He could get used to this; this company thing.
He smiles at the way Maggie breathes it all in, taking a bite of his 'stolen' brownie and laughing from behind it all as Fetch bullies her way in. A hand is draped over the dog so he can idly rub the short furred sweetie. He liked dogs that weren't trying to bite his ass or any other part of him.
"It's the Caribbean. Beaches James is familiar with. Prettier than Miami's for sure, but I've always wanted to live on the coast. A million of miles away from mountains or hollers. But you must be used to beaches, Ms. California. Tell me it wasn't LA."
"Nah, I'm four hours from the ocean, no beaches without a road trip.
California's a big state, Raylan."
Maggie's spent a lot of time in cities, since her parents run a big
pharmaceutical and medtech company, but she didn't stay there once she grew
up. She went the opposite direction, moving out to a rural mountain town.
"I live in my grandparents' old house, in the woods on the outskirts of a
fishing and logging town near the base of Mount Shasta. For a laugh,
please know that there is an actual town called Weed in California. I
didn't grow up there, but that house is my favorite place. My parents
fortified the hell out of the property when I inherited it."
"Weed? Really?" He scoffs behind his half pulled smile at that with a shake of his head.
"I've been unfortunate enough to have to work in California, so thank god it's not LA, but they left 'Weed' out of the welcome pamphlet." Thus his general distaste for LA. Big cities were fine; he liked Miami more than enough, Detroit was questionable but digestible, and California was a different beast altogether. "But 4 and a half hours is about what I drive on any day I go out to Harlan and back, so I might be biased about how long a drive that really is."
His smile curled a little further. "Does that make you mountain folk?"
"I've spent much more time in Silicon Valley than L.A., although my parents
traveled a lot for work and usually brought me along, so I grew up in a lot
of places." Garcia Pharmaceuticals is big enough that it has facilities
all over the country.
"And I didn't say I mind the drive. I love a road trip. People
travel less these days, so at least the traffic's not as bad as I hear it
used to be. " One of the minor benefits of the zombie uprising.
As for the question, she gives him a warm smile. "I wasn't always mountain
folk, but I'm sinking roots in as deep as I can. Home was always about
people before, and to some extent that's still true. But that house? It's
the first time home was a place for me."
His eyebrows raise as he pops the rest of the small brownie square he'd taken from the container inside, into his mouth as she continued, clearing it all by the time she finished answering.
"I should see if the enclosure can populate a drive. I'd love to show you the stretch of road that I drive between Harlan and Lexington. Or take you down 95 on Florida's coast. But I imagine having that Place is nice." One day, he'd have one. He didn't know what or exactly where but. It was on the list.
Maggie smiles at his offer. She'd love a drive. "Sweeney and I went
driving once."
Then she shakes her head. "Spoiled rich girl roots. My parents run a
multibillion dollar pharmaceutical company, and it's got facilities all
over the country. They were always somewhat well off, but they took a big
stock market gamble during the Rising, transferred every penny they had
into medical technology just before the markets shut down. They figured
either money wasn't gonna matter anymore because it was the end of the
world, or people would care a lot more about their health. It paid off a
frankly alarming amount."
Those raised eyebrows stay up, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as his head bobs forward a fraction, like his ear was questioning what he'd heard.
"And somehow you turned out all responsible and levelheaded and not full of yourself. I'm impressed." It explained Silicon Valley better than Military brat too. "Anyway, you're better off than the mountain folk I'm used to - I'm assumin' you had electricity and internet and were even on a map."
"My parents are also big on personal responsibility. They do dote on
me, but becoming a spoiled brat was the one thing I wasn't allowed to do."
They gave her pretty much anything she wanted, but they also raised her
well.
"I'm lucky enough to have excellent utility service. And I have to confess
that Mom and Dad own shares in half the businesses in Weed now, because
they kept coming in to prop up any that were struggling so I wouldn't wind
up without access to things I need. The fisheries may be turning a profit,
but I know some of the others aren't."
"That's more intelligent parentin' than what I'm used to seein," he admits, with a bob of his head.
"But that's lucky as hell. On all accounts. And then you became an erotic writer and came to a space ship to lure innocent law enforcement officers into askin' you for pot brownies." His smirk curls.
"I'd tell you about where I come from, but no part of it is fun or pretty. 'Sides, no one's around to back any of that up, it's all paperwork now. It's everythin' else that I think's much more interestin'. You know I was a teacher for a few years?"
Speaking of brownies, Maggie will take one for herself and then pass the
bag to Raylan.
"You can tell me, or not tell me, whatever you want. I don't need fun and
pretty, but I also don't need to go prying into things you'd rather not
say." She's not pushy; she'd rather people tell her things in their own
time, not because they feel obligated to. "What did you teach?"
"Mm, I just don't want anyone thinkin' I'm vying for sympathy or kid gloves. Seems to be what people jump to when they find out."
Bag in hand, he fishes one out and smells it briefly.
"Firearm trainin' and safety. I've been shootin' since I was about ten - rats and the like - and its a proficiency that kinda comes with being raised in Kentucky hollers. Granted, I was teachin' because I'd been pulled off field work; it was a punishment but.. A good, if quiet few years. How.. how powerful are these? Never done edibles before.."
That being said, he wasn't shy about taking a bite.
"I don't do kid gloves," Maggie tells him. "Not when they're not wanted or
warranted. Sympathy, sure, but I can move past it before it turns into
pity."
She considers the question. "You could probably manage one brownie, but
definitely don't eat more than that without waiting awhile to see
how hard it hits you. You might even want to start with half of one. I
mostly made this batch for Sweeney, so they have a kick to them."
And firearms training ties in nicely to his shooting competition awhile
ago. "I took self defense classes fairly young, for
precious-only-child-of-billionaires reasons. Firearms later, but I did
have to pass basic marksmanship tests for my journalist's license. I'm not
field licensed, or I'd have passed extensive marksmanship tests."
Made it for Sweeney? Yeah, he's definitely breaking this bad boy in half and setting the other half on the coffee table. If he wants to go back to the rest of it, he can but there's never any extracting a high from a body without letting it run it's course.
"Knowin' how to hit a target is important. Guns're somethin' always been a part of my life. Somethin' every young man and woman are expected to know how to handle with some proficiency. Much like Texas, everyone's got one." He looks the brownie over and finally takes a bite.
"If I end up dancin' naked on the sand, I'm blamin' you," he warns with a cheekful of brownie. "Speakin' of, do you like music? I got a boombox, if we want somethin' for the background."
Maggie laughs as he immediately sets half the brownie down, but she doesn't
blame him a bit. She's starting with half herself.
"Guns got a lot more ubiquitous during the zombie uprising. Places that
were well armed beforehand did tend to make out a little better in those
first few years, though." There's been a couple decades for the rest of
the country to catch up.
"You have no idea how much I miss all the satellite radio stations I
got in my van; go ahead and put on some music." As for the rest of it,
"And I feel like you'd at least need to eat the whole brownie before things
progress as far as naked dancing on the beach."
"I bet Texas had a hellva time." It was a loaded statement by far - Texas was always a bit of a wild state, he couldn't imagine that they took the outbreak well or lasted long.
But he smiles as she gives her go-ahead and pushes to his feet with a chuckle. "Guess we'll find out, huh. It's been about twenty five years since I've done shit like this. Zero tolerance. Hold on."
Padding into the cabin, Raylan comes back with a boombox and a stack of cd's the rest of his brownie held in his teeth to free up a hand. Once he got both empty, he'd take another bite and gesture down at the CD's. "What kinda music you like? I'll warn you now, it's mostly country.. and Tom Petty. Some ZZ top too - I haven't really expanded my collection."
"Texas didn't have the worst time, but yeah, I imagine things got
interesting there." She devours her half a brownie without ceremony.
"Surprise me." Her taste in music is pretty broad, and somehow she's not
surprised a lot of Raylan's music is country. She doesn't care what they
listen to; she's sitting on a beach with someone she cares about, getting
mildly, pleasantly high. All music is good music.
"It's been one goddamn thing after another since the breach. You've
been a bright spot, though."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Fetch is a good girl. And she's been around my Tim when he's transformed into a cat, plus Neal's cat George every once in awhile, so I know she won't go chasing Pumpkin.
See you in a few. [She's bringing baked goods as well as the dog, because of course she is.]
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[And so he did, door left halfway open. Her timing would be great too; he was padding into the kitchen to grab a bit of bread, suddenly peckish and aware enough that he should get more than his couple of eggs breakfast into his stomach.]
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"I brought brownies," Maggie calls softly as she steps inside, shutting the door behind her. She follows Fetch, who's definitely coming to find Raylan and say hello.
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He looks back up at Maggie and side nods towards the island counter.
"You can set 'em down here. Saves 'em from the sand and I can steal one on the way back out the back door. Don't have anythin' against beaches, do you?"
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"I will take any beach that doesn't come with the risk of zombie sea lions," Maggie tells him with an easy grin, setting the container of brownies down as directed. She enjoys being free of that worry here, because it sure is a big one on the coasts of California. "You've got one in your cabin? I might be jealous. Gonna have to ask the Admiral for my vegetable garden at this rate; I miss my backyard."
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He steals a brownie and gestures at the door nearby that he'd left open.
"Just out there. And you should - I used to think the space would be stupid, a waste of energy and a lie, considering the constraints but. It's been kinda nice." One finger is lifted. "You want some sweet tea before I show it off to you?"
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Maggie approves of any indulgences that ease their time here. She's glad he has this one.
And she'll laugh softly at the offer. "I am very much a California girl and hardly ever drink sweet tea, but sure. I'll take some." And she holds up a plastic bag with a couple more brownies, deliberately kept apart from the others. "I'm still not drinking. You have any objection to me eating a pot brownie while I'm here? Don't worry, I made separate batches."
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"After all this hell, smoking a joint and lettin' it all go for a few hours sounds like paradise. C'mon," he says, carrying her glass of tea and his brownie out onto the porch.
It was a modest back porch, ceiling of it painted haint blue, and overlooking a small white sanded beach, complete with a bit of sea that lapped at it's edges. There was a small couch with a coffee table and two sunbeaten wooden chairs, and Raylan drops himself into the couch, setting her glass on the coffee table next to his glass and bottle of whiskey.
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"I do have more than one," she offers, as she settles onto the couch next to him. It's not like she wouldn't share!
This is really nice, though. Almost seems like they're not in the cabin at all. Might not be real, or extend very far, but it's gorgeous. She tips her head back and breathes in the salt smell and sighs. Fetch jumps up next to her and clambers across Maggie's lap to try and squeeze in between them and get attention from everyone at once.
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He smiles at the way Maggie breathes it all in, taking a bite of his 'stolen' brownie and laughing from behind it all as Fetch bullies her way in. A hand is draped over the dog so he can idly rub the short furred sweetie. He liked dogs that weren't trying to bite his ass or any other part of him.
"It's the Caribbean. Beaches James is familiar with. Prettier than Miami's for sure, but I've always wanted to live on the coast. A million of miles away from mountains or hollers. But you must be used to beaches, Ms. California. Tell me it wasn't LA."
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"Nah, I'm four hours from the ocean, no beaches without a road trip. California's a big state, Raylan."
Maggie's spent a lot of time in cities, since her parents run a big pharmaceutical and medtech company, but she didn't stay there once she grew up. She went the opposite direction, moving out to a rural mountain town.
"I live in my grandparents' old house, in the woods on the outskirts of a fishing and logging town near the base of Mount Shasta. For a laugh, please know that there is an actual town called Weed in California. I didn't grow up there, but that house is my favorite place. My parents fortified the hell out of the property when I inherited it."
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"I've been unfortunate enough to have to work in California, so thank god it's not LA, but they left 'Weed' out of the welcome pamphlet." Thus his general distaste for LA. Big cities were fine; he liked Miami more than enough, Detroit was questionable but digestible, and California was a different beast altogether. "But 4 and a half hours is about what I drive on any day I go out to Harlan and back, so I might be biased about how long a drive that really is."
His smile curled a little further. "Does that make you mountain folk?"
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"I've spent much more time in Silicon Valley than L.A., although my parents traveled a lot for work and usually brought me along, so I grew up in a lot of places." Garcia Pharmaceuticals is big enough that it has facilities all over the country.
"And I didn't say I mind the drive. I love a road trip. People travel less these days, so at least the traffic's not as bad as I hear it used to be. " One of the minor benefits of the zombie uprising.
As for the question, she gives him a warm smile. "I wasn't always mountain folk, but I'm sinking roots in as deep as I can. Home was always about people before, and to some extent that's still true. But that house? It's the first time home was a place for me."
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"I should see if the enclosure can populate a drive. I'd love to show you the stretch of road that I drive between Harlan and Lexington. Or take you down 95 on Florida's coast. But I imagine having that Place is nice." One day, he'd have one. He didn't know what or exactly where but. It was on the list.
"Were you a military brat or somethin'?"
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Maggie smiles at his offer. She'd love a drive. "Sweeney and I went driving once."
Then she shakes her head. "Spoiled rich girl roots. My parents run a multibillion dollar pharmaceutical company, and it's got facilities all over the country. They were always somewhat well off, but they took a big stock market gamble during the Rising, transferred every penny they had into medical technology just before the markets shut down. They figured either money wasn't gonna matter anymore because it was the end of the world, or people would care a lot more about their health. It paid off a frankly alarming amount."
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"And somehow you turned out all responsible and levelheaded and not full of yourself. I'm impressed." It explained Silicon Valley better than Military brat too. "Anyway, you're better off than the mountain folk I'm used to - I'm assumin' you had electricity and internet and were even on a map."
Big Steps, when you really thought about it.
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"My parents are also big on personal responsibility. They do dote on me, but becoming a spoiled brat was the one thing I wasn't allowed to do." They gave her pretty much anything she wanted, but they also raised her well.
"I'm lucky enough to have excellent utility service. And I have to confess that Mom and Dad own shares in half the businesses in Weed now, because they kept coming in to prop up any that were struggling so I wouldn't wind up without access to things I need. The fisheries may be turning a profit, but I know some of the others aren't."
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"But that's lucky as hell. On all accounts. And then you became an erotic writer and came to a space ship to lure innocent law enforcement officers into askin' you for pot brownies." His smirk curls.
"I'd tell you about where I come from, but no part of it is fun or pretty. 'Sides, no one's around to back any of that up, it's all paperwork now. It's everythin' else that I think's much more interestin'. You know I was a teacher for a few years?"
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Speaking of brownies, Maggie will take one for herself and then pass the bag to Raylan.
"You can tell me, or not tell me, whatever you want. I don't need fun and pretty, but I also don't need to go prying into things you'd rather not say." She's not pushy; she'd rather people tell her things in their own time, not because they feel obligated to. "What did you teach?"
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Bag in hand, he fishes one out and smells it briefly.
"Firearm trainin' and safety. I've been shootin' since I was about ten - rats and the like - and its a proficiency that kinda comes with being raised in Kentucky hollers. Granted, I was teachin' because I'd been pulled off field work; it was a punishment but.. A good, if quiet few years. How.. how powerful are these? Never done edibles before.."
That being said, he wasn't shy about taking a bite.
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"I don't do kid gloves," Maggie tells him. "Not when they're not wanted or warranted. Sympathy, sure, but I can move past it before it turns into pity."
She considers the question. "You could probably manage one brownie, but definitely don't eat more than that without waiting awhile to see how hard it hits you. You might even want to start with half of one. I mostly made this batch for Sweeney, so they have a kick to them."
And firearms training ties in nicely to his shooting competition awhile ago. "I took self defense classes fairly young, for precious-only-child-of-billionaires reasons. Firearms later, but I did have to pass basic marksmanship tests for my journalist's license. I'm not field licensed, or I'd have passed extensive marksmanship tests."
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"Knowin' how to hit a target is important. Guns're somethin' always been a part of my life. Somethin' every young man and woman are expected to know how to handle with some proficiency. Much like Texas, everyone's got one." He looks the brownie over and finally takes a bite.
"If I end up dancin' naked on the sand, I'm blamin' you," he warns with a cheekful of brownie. "Speakin' of, do you like music? I got a boombox, if we want somethin' for the background."
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Maggie laughs as he immediately sets half the brownie down, but she doesn't blame him a bit. She's starting with half herself.
"Guns got a lot more ubiquitous during the zombie uprising. Places that were well armed beforehand did tend to make out a little better in those first few years, though." There's been a couple decades for the rest of the country to catch up.
"You have no idea how much I miss all the satellite radio stations I got in my van; go ahead and put on some music." As for the rest of it, "And I feel like you'd at least need to eat the whole brownie before things progress as far as naked dancing on the beach."
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But he smiles as she gives her go-ahead and pushes to his feet with a chuckle. "Guess we'll find out, huh. It's been about twenty five years since I've done shit like this. Zero tolerance. Hold on."
Padding into the cabin, Raylan comes back with a boombox and a stack of cd's the rest of his brownie held in his teeth to free up a hand. Once he got both empty, he'd take another bite and gesture down at the CD's. "What kinda music you like? I'll warn you now, it's mostly country.. and Tom Petty. Some ZZ top too - I haven't really expanded my collection."
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"Texas didn't have the worst time, but yeah, I imagine things got interesting there." She devours her half a brownie without ceremony.
"Surprise me." Her taste in music is pretty broad, and somehow she's not surprised a lot of Raylan's music is country. She doesn't care what they listen to; she's sitting on a beach with someone she cares about, getting mildly, pleasantly high. All music is good music.
"It's been one goddamn thing after another since the breach. You've been a bright spot, though."
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