Sweeney does his best to follow along, but his own thoughts and experiences have started to make things murkier. Raylan's conclusion plucks him back to the present, and his brow lifts.
"Hm?"
It's obvious that he isn't sure which addition the marshal's referring to. Could be Gutterson. Or Dead Wife. Or something else that he's too preoccupied to be coming up with on his own.
OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
He hadn't seen Tim, but Maggie had been kind enough to warn him right after the breach. Sweeney is quiet for a long moment, but then remembers Raylan and shifts to refill his glass, almost to the rim. What's the point of not doing so? Just means less time for your hand on the bottle. Going to finish it off, one way or the other.
Sweeney sets it down and sits back, still unsure of what to say about it. But he damn well knows that he shouldn't feel about it, and his neutral affect speaks to that effort.
"Is what it is. Nothin' ta do ta change it." He swallows and wets his lip.
"He dunn't know what happened b'tween us, so it ain't like I gotta right ta hold anythin' against him." No matter how much he might want to.
"New folk get'a pass." A recited mantra that's seen a lot of practice, as of late.
It was for the sake of not spilling, Raylan would say, that he sips a little off the top, bearing his teeth as he swallows it down and nods softly.
"An awfully advanced way of thinkin' about things. Considerin'."
Considering how hard it had been, how badly Sweeney had fractured. Raylan still remembered him drunk, roaming the halls, looking for Something. The way it had dwarfed Raylan's pain like a giant and forced him to re-perspective the whole thing.
"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't glad to hear it." In spite of everything, Raylan trusted what he knew about Tim, even if it was in direct conflict with what Tim Gutterson of the past had done.
His eyes go distant, then darken, finding his glass with the hopes of solace. It isn't there. There's more quiet before Sweeney slowly exhales.
"Then that's one less thing fer you ta worry about," he assures him, his focus sharpening with a press of his lips; his mind coming back to the present.
"Gotta lot more practice at not makin' a fuss, so." Sweeney shrugs a shoulder and lifts his drink, though he finishes his thought before taking the swig.
Oh, Raylan was still going to worry about it. It was a nice sentiment, he would argue the correct one, but injured hearts were capable of swift changes. That worry was balanced between what he knew Sweeney's dedication to his word, and that's where the real bet of it all lay.
"Makes me worry less, but.. He might not remember but you do. I do. Maggie does. Him not rememberin' doesn't mean that shit didn't happen or that it needs to be tucked anywhere." A beat passes, he winces, and bobs his head.
"Maybe some slight tucking. My point is, givin' him a pass ain't gotta be you layin' down and taking another strike without argument."
Sweeney's gaze lifts from his cup to Raylan, and he blinks once. The question is simple.
"What's there ta argue?"
That's the heart of the thing. He knows he could rage. It's what he's done. What he always does. Nothing changes except the extra pain that comes with his impotency.
"I warned him about what happened, when I first saw him. Gave him the.. bare bones of it all. Thought it only fair to let him know what might be comin'." So Tim Did Know, but it wasn't his choices. New People got a pass and all.
"It is, and there's isn't a point to arguing against it but that doesn't stop some folk from takin' that option." It was meant as a compliment, his previous comments.
"A good, big ass step in the right direction... Tim's a good guy. I-" His lips press together as his eyes drop into his glass.
"I know you know he had his own issues. I think the shit he went through.. I think it.. Broke him a bit. Bent him further than he could handle, and I-" Another spoonful of guilt is swallowed down.
"It's a kindness that he don't remember. For his own sanity."
"Yeah." Sweeney mutters the word with a distance in his eyes.
Tim's blessed to be free of it, but he isn't. He can still feel the sticky slick of the blood-coated spear. When his thoughts get caught there, he can still feel the aching want to kiss Swamp Rat's last breath from her, their bodies joined by wood and metal, so close he always laments the moment lost.
He kills his mug off in one go, then picks up the bottle to see the vacancy rectified.
"He's gotta chance here, this time. Hopefully more sand beneath his feet b'fore it slides."
"Ain't that the truth." Raylan takes and lets a big sigh, eyes drifting out over the horizon.
"I ain't one for Wishin'-" He knew better than to be so frivilous with it, sitting next to Sweeney. "-so I'll stick to thinkin' we all need a big ass break. Then again, that might just be me bein' old about it. The normal ain't terribly exciting, but at least we get to sit a little longer in our own skin."
Sit and drink and watch a few stars and planets go buy.
He rubs his head, making a fresh mess of his hair.
"Course we need it." That's not hard to deduce.
"Ain't gonna get it."
Sweeney's damn sure of that. Not given the breach and everything surrounding it. He's so fucking tired. But he's doing his best to take some level of comfort in Harkin's philosophy, clinging to the mindset that doesn't require constant pain, just because you're constantly in shit that inflicts it.
"Mm, never say never. We've gotten a few light things thrown at us, only a couple Good ports so far. It's not impossible. Just unlikely and that's sure as shit better than nothing."
He looks over again.
"So you're gonna be alright?" As alright as Red could be about Gutterson coming back, there were automatically assumed caveats to the question.
Sweeney’s not sold, but he knows he can’t argue it either. It’s not like there are never good things here; the bad just have a hefty lead in the running. At the question, he shrugs his shoulder and licks his lip.
“Dunn’t really matter all that much,” he points out, less morose than he might normally be. He’s just to a point of acceptance. Harkin’s been having a strong influence.
“Just need ta keep functional ‘nough ta stay off the fuckin’ floor. Found folk get ta be cunts when yer down there, an’ I don’t need that insult added ta my injury.” He blinks slowly as he studies the water.
“It’s fine,” he states decisively.
Just like everything else. If he says it enough times, it will certainly be True.
Raylan's face crumples in at all that, lips thinning a little. All of it was right, except-
"It matters, Red. I get what you're sayin', and we can still pretend its fine from the here and now, but if nothin' else, it matters to you. Hell, this whole thing, this whole process depends on it mattering to you, one way or the other."
He shakes his head a little and looks back out over the water.
"But that's fine too. Part of what we're here to do."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Hm?"
It's obvious that he isn't sure which addition the marshal's referring to. Could be Gutterson. Or Dead Wife. Or something else that he's too preoccupied to be coming up with on his own.
OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
"Unless somehow you've managed to miss him poppin' back on board."
He doubted it.
Re: OOC Note for me: This thread happens before Maggie's call.
Sweeney sets it down and sits back, still unsure of what to say about it. But he damn well knows that he shouldn't feel about it, and his neutral affect speaks to that effort.
"Is what it is. Nothin' ta do ta change it." He swallows and wets his lip.
"He dunn't know what happened b'tween us, so it ain't like I gotta right ta hold anythin' against him." No matter how much he might want to.
"New folk get'a pass." A recited mantra that's seen a lot of practice, as of late.
no subject
"An awfully advanced way of thinkin' about things. Considerin'."
Considering how hard it had been, how badly Sweeney had fractured. Raylan still remembered him drunk, roaming the halls, looking for Something. The way it had dwarfed Raylan's pain like a giant and forced him to re-perspective the whole thing.
"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't glad to hear it." In spite of everything, Raylan trusted what he knew about Tim, even if it was in direct conflict with what Tim Gutterson of the past had done.
no subject
His eyes go distant, then darken, finding his glass with the hopes of solace. It isn't there. There's more quiet before Sweeney slowly exhales.
"Then that's one less thing fer you ta worry about," he assures him, his focus sharpening with a press of his lips; his mind coming back to the present.
"Gotta lot more practice at not makin' a fuss, so." Sweeney shrugs a shoulder and lifts his drink, though he finishes his thought before taking the swig.
"Just one more thing ta tuck in that belt."
no subject
"Makes me worry less, but.. He might not remember but you do. I do. Maggie does. Him not rememberin' doesn't mean that shit didn't happen or that it needs to be tucked anywhere." A beat passes, he winces, and bobs his head.
"Maybe some slight tucking. My point is, givin' him a pass ain't gotta be you layin' down and taking another strike without argument."
no subject
"What's there ta argue?"
That's the heart of the thing. He knows he could rage. It's what he's done. What he always does. Nothing changes except the extra pain that comes with his impotency.
It's better to just accept and move on.
no subject
"If you were childish, there'd be plenty."
He pauses to take a drink of his whiskey.
"I warned him about what happened, when I first saw him. Gave him the.. bare bones of it all. Thought it only fair to let him know what might be comin'." So Tim Did Know, but it wasn't his choices. New People got a pass and all.
no subject
"Fair," Sweeney agrees.
"But I still don't see the point in arguin'. Inn't the whole point'a this place that we better ourselves an' not be cunts fer no reason?"
Because it feels like punishing the new Gutterson for the old's sins is a pretty dick move.
no subject
"A good, big ass step in the right direction... Tim's a good guy. I-" His lips press together as his eyes drop into his glass.
"I know you know he had his own issues. I think the shit he went through.. I think it.. Broke him a bit. Bent him further than he could handle, and I-" Another spoonful of guilt is swallowed down.
"It's a kindness that he don't remember. For his own sanity."
no subject
Tim's blessed to be free of it, but he isn't. He can still feel the sticky slick of the blood-coated spear. When his thoughts get caught there, he can still feel the aching want to kiss Swamp Rat's last breath from her, their bodies joined by wood and metal, so close he always laments the moment lost.
He kills his mug off in one go, then picks up the bottle to see the vacancy rectified.
"He's gotta chance here, this time. Hopefully more sand beneath his feet b'fore it slides."
They all need as much as they can get.
no subject
"I ain't one for Wishin'-" He knew better than to be so frivilous with it, sitting next to Sweeney. "-so I'll stick to thinkin' we all need a big ass break. Then again, that might just be me bein' old about it. The normal ain't terribly exciting, but at least we get to sit a little longer in our own skin."
Sit and drink and watch a few stars and planets go buy.
no subject
"Course we need it." That's not hard to deduce.
"Ain't gonna get it."
Sweeney's damn sure of that. Not given the breach and everything surrounding it. He's so fucking tired. But he's doing his best to take some level of comfort in Harkin's philosophy, clinging to the mindset that doesn't require constant pain, just because you're constantly in shit that inflicts it.
no subject
He looks over again.
"So you're gonna be alright?" As alright as Red could be about Gutterson coming back, there were automatically assumed caveats to the question.
no subject
“Dunn’t really matter all that much,” he points out, less morose than he might normally be. He’s just to a point of acceptance. Harkin’s been having a strong influence.
“Just need ta keep functional ‘nough ta stay off the fuckin’ floor. Found folk get ta be cunts when yer down there, an’ I don’t need that insult added ta my injury.” He blinks slowly as he studies the water.
“It’s fine,” he states decisively.
Just like everything else. If he says it enough times, it will certainly be True.
/end
"It matters, Red. I get what you're sayin', and we can still pretend its fine from the here and now, but if nothin' else, it matters to you. Hell, this whole thing, this whole process depends on it mattering to you, one way or the other."
He shakes his head a little and looks back out over the water.
"But that's fine too. Part of what we're here to do."