Raylan, being unsure where he stood with Neal after the whole fiasco with Lestat, was smart enough to leave Neal alone now that the man had - reset? Lost his memory? The language might be different, but the general idea was the same; they were strangers again and Raylan had to be fine with it. It wasn't fair to Neal otherwise.
So he went about his business, his day and his routine, ending up in the lounge with a cloth over his shoulder as he went about washing some glasses. He didn't pay much mind to who was in the lounge, until the door opens again, and he lifts his eyebrows in something close to surprise as Neal sidles up to a barstool.
He blinks at the question, pulling the hand towel off his shoulders and into his wet mitts as he ambles closer.
"Somethin' like that, yeah. It uh.. didn't go as well as I woulda hoped. Still not sure how you got out of it all, if I'm bein' honest." His brow furrows. "So you're, what, startin' to remember?" The only other thing Raylan could think was that Neal had been told, but that seemed.. Unlikely.
“I remember hearing how it went.” He looks down at the counter, picking at a spot that seems to be part of the wood. “I’m sorry.”
He keeps picking. “I don’t remember either, how I got away, but I was a vampire when I did. I remember that.”
God, it’s so weird to sift through things he knows he lived like they’re bits of a book someone else wrote. “I don’t know why I didn’t come to say thank you before now, for caring that much.”
A pause, and he scowls at the bar, picking determinedly at the spot. “I’m not used to people caring that much.”
Which meant someone else knew what had happened. Lestat, obviously - maybe he boasted. Raylan would still really like to put the vampire six feet under for what he'd done, but that wasn't 'Wardenly' and had to be contained.
But all this meant that Raylan was right. That something had happened, that he wasn't just being foolish, that Neal wasn't just hanging out with a friend - all the things everyone had told him that weren't 'Lestat is trying to turn people'.
Raylan wasn't good at taking Thank You's. Nothing on that front had changed.
"I didn't do it for that,-" The thank yous, he means. "I did it because it was the right thing to do... Because it was a shit thing to have pile onto all your other losses. You don't need to apologize either - what happened was my fault. Not yours." His decision to do this, to go after Lestat, to try and save Neal. His decision to not keep James out of it like he should have.
"Do you happen to remember how you became.. Not a vampire anymore?"
Neal's heart rebels a little at the idea that it's not at least to a degree his fault, but he knows by now there's no point in arguing with declarations like that.
"It... faded. Felt awful while it did. Like the death toll, like I was coming back to life in little bits and pieces instead of all at once and getting a hangover." He squints a little, queasy as the memory comes into clearer emotional focus.
"Maybe it's got somethin' to do with the death mechanic. Undead is still dead should still be subject to it, I suppose.." They weren't invincible.. They weren't. Definitely not. Even if they couldn't be put down for good. Even if they could be revived from the most hellish abuse. A chorus of echos sound in the back of his head, all the admonishments, all the arguments, all the well articulated points and verbal essays. They were having less and less sway.
"Have you.." He gestures with his first few digits, miming the turn of a wheel. "Spoken to him since then?"
"Yeah." He gives up on the spot on the bar, at least for now. It's too deep under the varnish to come up. "...And I did, speak to him. I've talked to him a couple of times. Nothing heavy, just. Polite."
He looks down, feeling suddenly guilty about it, knowing what Lestat did to Raylan. "I don't think he's past helping."
Raylan wasn't worried about the bar. The Barge would handle it, a little magical wood filler if Neal got the piece up and if it was something that Neal needed to process out his words, then it was for a good cause.
"Good for him." Dry. Final. "That'll be between him and his Warden, and likely with no promise that he'll stop using passengers as juice boxes. We'll have to see how it plays out."
He wasn't overly interested in Lestat's reform but it was petty and 100% about his pride being dragged through the sharp gravel of death and the feeling of inadequacy that had come with it all. It was part of what was keeping his temper in check. If he's gonna lose it, it'll be for a watertight goddamned reason.
Neal can't really blame Raylan for the sentiment, even if his instinct is still to try and bridge some of the gap. He stops himself. He's gotten a lot better at holding back in the last year or so. He's gotten better at picking his battles, or maybe he's been broken into it. It doesn't really matter.
"Do you ever think about going home? You can do that, right, as a Warden--leave and come back?"
"We can, yeah. I don't know the process of doin' that, I suppose it's just asking. I've thought about it."
His jaw works faintly around the edges and he finally caves to getting himself a few fingers of whiskey.
"I dunno. Feels like it would be a betrayal to go home. To take that privilege." To face Willa with the memories he had of what he'd done to her here. It still haunted him, that terrible nightmare of a week. "Flint would worry too. I should be here for him."
"It's not," Neal says softly. "Not a betrayal. Not if you come back. People here might worry, but--"
He's probably overstepping. Neal fidgets with his glass. "When was the last time you reminded yourself why you're here? And I don't mean inside your own head. You have a reason for doing it. It's not selfish or untoward to take some time to ground yourself in that."
He stays silent for a long moment, turning the whiskey in his glass this way as he stared at it. Objectively, Neal was right. If Raylan wasn't in the position that he was in, he'd even agree. It was fine for everyone else to go home, to sample normal reality, but not him. It still felt wrong, somehow.
"I've been here comin' up on two years.. Well, in like.. six months, it'll be two. So a year and a half." He hadn't gone back once, so far.
"She won't remember me yet. Willa. If I were to go back for a visit. Still too young. Honestly, I'd probably just work - goin' back means I'm back on the Government's timeclock.." So clearly it was better to focus on what he was doing here. Get it done so that when he goes back, it's all taken care of. He could promise Winona, finally, that nothing was going to happen to Willa.
"Seems like a waste of the Admiral's power." 'A waste of the Admiral's power' is also what Raylan said about not having updated his cabin, until Fitz bullied him into it.
Neal taps his glass on the bar, both a demand for attention and a request for more alcohol. "It's not about whether or not she'll remember you yet, Raylan. It's for you. It's a... breath of clean air."
He hums a note of acknowledgment and takes a drink from his glass before setting it down and giving them both another few fingers of whiskey.
"I'll think about it, how's that. But I take your point. You find it a breath of clean air yourself? Even though, I understand, our positions aren't the same."
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So he went about his business, his day and his routine, ending up in the lounge with a cloth over his shoulder as he went about washing some glasses. He didn't pay much mind to who was in the lounge, until the door opens again, and he lifts his eyebrows in something close to surprise as Neal sidles up to a barstool.
He blinks at the question, pulling the hand towel off his shoulders and into his wet mitts as he ambles closer.
"Somethin' like that, yeah. It uh.. didn't go as well as I woulda hoped. Still not sure how you got out of it all, if I'm bein' honest." His brow furrows. "So you're, what, startin' to remember?" The only other thing Raylan could think was that Neal had been told, but that seemed.. Unlikely.
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He keeps picking. “I don’t remember either, how I got away, but I was a vampire when I did. I remember that.”
God, it’s so weird to sift through things he knows he lived like they’re bits of a book someone else wrote. “I don’t know why I didn’t come to say thank you before now, for caring that much.”
A pause, and he scowls at the bar, picking determinedly at the spot. “I’m not used to people caring that much.”
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But all this meant that Raylan was right. That something had happened, that he wasn't just being foolish, that Neal wasn't just hanging out with a friend - all the things everyone had told him that weren't 'Lestat is trying to turn people'.
Raylan wasn't good at taking Thank You's. Nothing on that front had changed.
"I didn't do it for that,-" The thank yous, he means. "I did it because it was the right thing to do... Because it was a shit thing to have pile onto all your other losses. You don't need to apologize either - what happened was my fault. Not yours." His decision to do this, to go after Lestat, to try and save Neal. His decision to not keep James out of it like he should have.
"Do you happen to remember how you became.. Not a vampire anymore?"
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"It... faded. Felt awful while it did. Like the death toll, like I was coming back to life in little bits and pieces instead of all at once and getting a hangover." He squints a little, queasy as the memory comes into clearer emotional focus.
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"Maybe it's got somethin' to do with the death mechanic. Undead is still dead should still be subject to it, I suppose.." They weren't invincible.. They weren't. Definitely not. Even if they couldn't be put down for good. Even if they could be revived from the most hellish abuse. A chorus of echos sound in the back of his head, all the admonishments, all the arguments, all the well articulated points and verbal essays. They were having less and less sway.
"Have you.." He gestures with his first few digits, miming the turn of a wheel. "Spoken to him since then?"
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He looks down, feeling suddenly guilty about it, knowing what Lestat did to Raylan. "I don't think he's past helping."
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"Good for him." Dry. Final. "That'll be between him and his Warden, and likely with no promise that he'll stop using passengers as juice boxes. We'll have to see how it plays out."
He wasn't overly interested in Lestat's reform but it was petty and 100% about his pride being dragged through the sharp gravel of death and the feeling of inadequacy that had come with it all. It was part of what was keeping his temper in check. If he's gonna lose it, it'll be for a watertight goddamned reason.
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"Do you ever think about going home? You can do that, right, as a Warden--leave and come back?"
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His jaw works faintly around the edges and he finally caves to getting himself a few fingers of whiskey.
"I dunno. Feels like it would be a betrayal to go home. To take that privilege." To face Willa with the memories he had of what he'd done to her here. It still haunted him, that terrible nightmare of a week. "Flint would worry too. I should be here for him."
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He's probably overstepping. Neal fidgets with his glass. "When was the last time you reminded yourself why you're here? And I don't mean inside your own head. You have a reason for doing it. It's not selfish or untoward to take some time to ground yourself in that."
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"I've been here comin' up on two years.. Well, in like.. six months, it'll be two. So a year and a half." He hadn't gone back once, so far.
"She won't remember me yet. Willa. If I were to go back for a visit. Still too young. Honestly, I'd probably just work - goin' back means I'm back on the Government's timeclock.." So clearly it was better to focus on what he was doing here. Get it done so that when he goes back, it's all taken care of. He could promise Winona, finally, that nothing was going to happen to Willa.
"Seems like a waste of the Admiral's power." 'A waste of the Admiral's power' is also what Raylan said about not having updated his cabin, until Fitz bullied him into it.
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"I'll think about it, how's that. But I take your point. You find it a breath of clean air yourself? Even though, I understand, our positions aren't the same."