Now's good. Are you in a sharing mood? I could use something a little harder than wine tonight, actually, which I am trying not to frame within the ironic context of telling an addict I'm not giving him anything.
[Raylan laughs more openly at that. The groan was a victory in of itself.]
No promises. And 'Course. And just because he's an addict, you enjoyin' a drink doesn't make you one.
[Welcome to the lies he tells himself about Arlo.]
I'll be up in five.
--
And so he was, prompt as ever, bottle in hand, with a light rap of his knuckles on Neal's cabin door. He didn't know what else Neal wanted to talk about but frankly, they could talk about dirt and paint and Raylan would be happy. He liked Neal's company.
Neal is pleased that the veranda's view is what it is at the moment. It had been abstracts that morning, and turned toward pop art in the afternoon, but now as the shades of the artificial sky start to darken and tint into evening colors, it's shifted to art nouveau. A kind of Alphonse Mucha New York cityscape, clean and simple and simultaneously delicate and complex.
He opens the door and gestures Raylan inside, giving the other man a kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to my humble abode. I need to put you on the access list, I keep forgetting that's a thing."
Raylan steps in, humming a note and leaning into the kiss on his cheek with one hand coming to briefly settle on Neal's waist before smiling as he glances around, dark eyes eventually coming back to the New Yorker.
"Watch out, that almost sounds like an invitation to start comin' over." Which delighted him more than it should, really. "Nice place. About what I expected. Upscale, fancy. Just like you."
Kind of wild that such a fancy man like anything about a hillbilly like himself.
"Where should I put this for now?" he asks, lifting the bottle a little.
Neal smiles at the compliment, or the tease, or the blend of the two. "All right, I'll make it explicit. I would love it if you started coming over. How's that?"
Neal closes and locks his door, adding the chain for good measure. He doesn't think anyone else is going to randomly show up, but he wants to talk to Raylan about Kendall and Roman, and he doesn't want to be worried about someone walking into the middle of it.
"We could take it 'outside,' watch the fin-de-siècle sunset?"
He can't help the way he smiles about that. He'd like that very much. There was a niggling something that would fester in the back of his head if Neal only ever came over to his place.
"That's good. I'll take you up on it."
Glancing back at the double locked door with a look of amusement, he nods out towards Neal's veranda and starts heading that way.
"Did you have all this as an inmate? Sans bathroom, of course, but-" The question still stands. He didn't know if Inmates got backyards or stellar views, though Roman did so maybe the ask was a little silly.
“Not by half. No bathroom, no kitchenette, just the bedroom area and the couch really. I had doors to a fake veranda, but they weren’t real either. It was like a very visually detailed wall.”
He opens said doors as he speaks, savoring the way the air feels like it’s outside even if they aren’t. “When I got here I actually had my childhood bedroom. That was… less than ideal.”
"I can imagine so. Childhood bedrooms are tricky. If it were me, I might've burnt the place down."
Not a light thing to say but surprisingly honest. Raylan takes a seat and pulls the glasses closer, popping the cork in his bottle and pouring them out two fingers each. The bottle was set back down and looked no more emptier for the consumption.
"This suits you better. The space. The view." Even if it was fake but some things had to be dealt with, all pros and cons and the balance of it all.
Neal laughs softly. “I almost lost it on Malcolm when he came in and started asking me who Danny Brooks was.”
He sits down at the little wrought iron table, gesturing for Raylan to join him and setting a pair of glasses between them. “It was me. My name when I was in WITSEC.”
Neal flashes Raylan a crooked little smile. “Maybe that’s why I have an affinity for marshals, but none of the guys in suits who showed up at our apartment were as pretty as you.”
Yeah, he’d never mentioned he had been under the care of the US Marshals Service, but it’s out on the table now.
Neal studies the view. “I grew up in St. Louis. But I’m pretty sure my heart belongs to New York.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Now's good. Are you in a sharing mood? I could use something a little harder than wine tonight, actually, which I am trying not to frame within the ironic context of telling an addict I'm not giving him anything.
no subject
No promises. And 'Course. And just because he's an addict, you enjoyin' a drink doesn't make you one.
[Welcome to the lies he tells himself about Arlo.]
I'll be up in five.
--
And so he was, prompt as ever, bottle in hand, with a light rap of his knuckles on Neal's cabin door. He didn't know what else Neal wanted to talk about but frankly, they could talk about dirt and paint and Raylan would be happy. He liked Neal's company.
no subject
He opens the door and gestures Raylan inside, giving the other man a kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to my humble abode. I need to put you on the access list, I keep forgetting that's a thing."
no subject
"Watch out, that almost sounds like an invitation to start comin' over." Which delighted him more than it should, really. "Nice place. About what I expected. Upscale, fancy. Just like you."
Kind of wild that such a fancy man like anything about a hillbilly like himself.
"Where should I put this for now?" he asks, lifting the bottle a little.
no subject
Neal closes and locks his door, adding the chain for good measure. He doesn't think anyone else is going to randomly show up, but he wants to talk to Raylan about Kendall and Roman, and he doesn't want to be worried about someone walking into the middle of it.
"We could take it 'outside,' watch the fin-de-siècle sunset?"
no subject
"That's good. I'll take you up on it."
Glancing back at the double locked door with a look of amusement, he nods out towards Neal's veranda and starts heading that way.
"Did you have all this as an inmate? Sans bathroom, of course, but-" The question still stands. He didn't know if Inmates got backyards or stellar views, though Roman did so maybe the ask was a little silly.
no subject
He opens said doors as he speaks, savoring the way the air feels like it’s outside even if they aren’t. “When I got here I actually had my childhood bedroom. That was… less than ideal.”
no subject
Not a light thing to say but surprisingly honest. Raylan takes a seat and pulls the glasses closer, popping the cork in his bottle and pouring them out two fingers each. The bottle was set back down and looked no more emptier for the consumption.
"This suits you better. The space. The view." Even if it was fake but some things had to be dealt with, all pros and cons and the balance of it all.
no subject
He sits down at the little wrought iron table, gesturing for Raylan to join him and setting a pair of glasses between them. “It was me. My name when I was in WITSEC.”
Neal flashes Raylan a crooked little smile. “Maybe that’s why I have an affinity for marshals, but none of the guys in suits who showed up at our apartment were as pretty as you.”
Yeah, he’d never mentioned he had been under the care of the US Marshals Service, but it’s out on the table now.
Neal studies the view. “I grew up in St. Louis. But I’m pretty sure my heart belongs to New York.”