Technically right in verbiage didn't make right in intent - a large enough point for Raylan personally. But it was Tim's death and he wasn't going to tell him how to feel or think about it.
"Considerin' you've both presumably got the flush of life to your face, you're both doin' fairly impressive," he reasoned with a huff. "I'm used to the dead stayin' that way. Makes my life a lot easier. I'm sure it'd do the same for yours too. Not that I've got any plans, mind you,-" Or a record and a body count that made good people look sideways at him, "-but.. how does that work here? People just.. wake back up in their beds the morning after their deaths?"
"For Wardens? Yeah, actually, but you'll have a raging hangover based on how you got done in. A friend of mine got shot in the head and had migraine symptoms for the whole week." So it's lose-lose either way. Survive and suffer or die and suffer. "Inmates have to get requested back to life, but same thing otherwise."
"Jesus. Well, that would make sense, anyway. I got shot in the head a few months ago, just a flesh wound, otherwise I wouldn't be sittin' here but.. I'll still take headaches over it hurtin' too much to draw." Life was suffering, in Raylan's experience. Most everyone was suffering all the time, except the few who had carved out a few minutes of peace somehow.
But they'd be back in the mess too.
"But that's ah.. An interesting dynamic for the inmates." No assurances unless your warden wasn't a complete asshole. He wouldn't ask where they were in the time between, that might be too much on top of everything else right now.
"Well, 'inmates' isn't exactly just a fun and sexy nickname for the folks that died getting here," he says dryly. "End of the day it's still technically a prison ship, it's just gussied up nicer. It's rehab, even if the exact nature of punishments people get for violating their probations tends to vary wildly between wardens."
"I don't think the possibility of staying dead unless someone else on board intervenes is particularly rehabilitating. There's a reason the legal system has protocols and regulations, and really, I'm not seeing much of any of that here. No real organization outside what a few of you are generous enough to do with your time."
IE, This.
"This might be a prison ship, yeah. But with everything else I've seen and heard, we're closer to working for survival under unknown Warden given freedoms on a tub that's havin' a hard time pullin' in reliable food sources. The curtains, the whiskey, it's nice. But it doesn't change much."
He gives a non-committal hum. "I've never heard of an Inmate staying dead for more than a few hours, really. Doesn't do them any good to stay like that and most wardens make a point to check in with theirs after someone goes on a murder spree, so it's hard to miss."
Reassuring? Probably not. But more or less accurate.
"You're not wrong about that survival stuff, still. But that's all a bit recent, we've had people here for some five, even ten years, this is new for them too."
"Life and death outta be the one fair shake we get as people."
He emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle, pouring himself another few fingers. He promised himself this would last him longer than the last.
"I don't know if that's a good thing or not. It's evolution in a place that's supposed to be static, or static choas, even if that idea is laughable with the kind of people that are brought on board. Evolution or death. It's either evolution or degradation, I haven't been here long enough to tell."
That gets a slight scoff out of Tim. "A permanent death's not a guarantee. It's just good luck.
"And far as I've been made aware, all these random shit periods are supposed to be therapy-adjacent. Make people explore things they never could back home, get their innermost secrets put on glorious hi-def display. If the ship's deteriorating or evolving, as you call it," he adds, with a tip of his glass to Raylan, "then it's pretty in line with the general theory. Put people under stressful circumstances, it's just extending the whole period."
"It's the way things are meant to be. Anyone who gets around that well.. I don't know that it's luck either way."
Death was a permeant solution in his toolbox that he was reluctant to let go of.
Raylan couldn't help the mirthless scoff under his breath, head shaking a little as he turned the glass on it's bottom edge.
"Therapy for them I can get behind. I'll tell you the same thing I told Marty; I'm here to do a job. One that didn't initially include my ass bein' effected by it." He sucked his teeth for a half second, shaking his head again. "Too late to argue the points of it now, I suppose."
His deal was worth it.
"Good to know that people are thinkin' about it. The alternative bein' too wrapped up in their therapy to really look around."
That gets an amused grin out of Tim. "Unfortunately, the nature of delving into someone's inner depths when you're not a licensed therapist is that half the time they'll call you out on doing the exact same shit they do, only your justifications aren't much better. A relationship's give and take, even when it's someone who's by sheer technicality and dumb luck your prisoner." He takes a sip, grinning wryly around it. "Probably especially because of that, even. Some of these people, it's really easy to see where they made their choices."
Goddamnit. The kicker was that Raylan already knew that, but Tim wasn't letting him avoid looking right at it. He should be grateful, he supposed. Too bad the facts irritated the hell of out him and dug finger at a host of shit he kept otherwise tightly under his hat.
Raylan sucked his teeth for a moment and swirled his glass again. He couldn't manage to find even an offhanded argument that stood up and there was plenty to be thrown back at him.
"Well then that, at least, will be the same. I've been surprised a few times but 8 outta ten.." He took a deep breath, hazel eyes much darker than when they'd started this conversation. "Onna my ex-wife's complaints was that I don't talk enough.. God, would she be laughin' her ass off if she knew."
Tim just looks more smug the longer Raylan doesn't come up with a counter-argument for his stating the obvious, and he's grinning despite the mood in Raylan's eyes at his muttered comment on his ex-wife.
"Well, if it helps, no-one seems to get out of this place with all their secrets intact. So we are all, quite literally," he adds with a teasing wink, "in the same bloody boat. Makes it a bit easier to feel less self-conscious about it, in my opinion."
Raylan scoffs. "It ain't being self conscious. It's stupid bullshit everyone's heard a million times in one form or another and if it ain't a weapon, it's worse. Pity. I'll pass. People can tear that shit from my gut and complain to management later."
Well, so much for this drink lasting long. Raylan shot it down like it was water, barely bearing his teeth with the swallow.
"I appreciate you reachin' out and givin' me this headstart on Elias and his bullshit. Next time I see you in here, I'll buy you a drink in a proper thanks. Let me know if I need to try to.. I dunno, reign him in a little."
"Unfortunately there's no buying anything here, or I'd hold you to that," he sniggers, finishing off his own drink in one quick, unflinching swallow.
Then he slides the bottle over the table. "Consider this your initiation present. Welcome to wardening, let yourself really come to terms with everything, and do try not to get murdered. You can pick what we drink the next time."
He knows how much that must all be to think about. He'd only gone better with it at the time because he's completely given up and just assumed everything was evil, and had been proven right. So he'll give Raylan a flirty little wink as he stands, Bertha flapping neatly back onto his shoulder, and he'll take his leave.
If Tim hadn't left, Raylan was two shakes of lambs tail from getting his hat and leaving himself. But to avoid the rush to the door, Raylan would take the niceties, though he manages nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement and a faint, shallow pull of his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
The bottle was going to be needed and would be nursed back in his cabin where he could chew it all over without giving audience to the jaw calisthenics he would end up doing.
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"Considerin' you've both presumably got the flush of life to your face, you're both doin' fairly impressive," he reasoned with a huff. "I'm used to the dead stayin' that way. Makes my life a lot easier. I'm sure it'd do the same for yours too. Not that I've got any plans, mind you,-" Or a record and a body count that made good people look sideways at him, "-but.. how does that work here? People just.. wake back up in their beds the morning after their deaths?"
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But they'd be back in the mess too.
"But that's ah.. An interesting dynamic for the inmates." No assurances unless your warden wasn't a complete asshole. He wouldn't ask where they were in the time between, that might be too much on top of everything else right now.
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IE, This.
"This might be a prison ship, yeah. But with everything else I've seen and heard, we're closer to working for survival under unknown Warden given freedoms on a tub that's havin' a hard time pullin' in reliable food sources. The curtains, the whiskey, it's nice. But it doesn't change much."
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Reassuring? Probably not. But more or less accurate.
"You're not wrong about that survival stuff, still. But that's all a bit recent, we've had people here for some five, even ten years, this is new for them too."
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He emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle, pouring himself another few fingers. He promised himself this would last him longer than the last.
"I don't know if that's a good thing or not. It's evolution in a place that's supposed to be static, or static choas, even if that idea is laughable with the kind of people that are brought on board. Evolution or death. It's either evolution or degradation, I haven't been here long enough to tell."
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"And far as I've been made aware, all these random shit periods are supposed to be therapy-adjacent. Make people explore things they never could back home, get their innermost secrets put on glorious hi-def display. If the ship's deteriorating or evolving, as you call it," he adds, with a tip of his glass to Raylan, "then it's pretty in line with the general theory. Put people under stressful circumstances, it's just extending the whole period."
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Death was a permeant solution in his toolbox that he was reluctant to let go of.
Raylan couldn't help the mirthless scoff under his breath, head shaking a little as he turned the glass on it's bottom edge.
"Therapy for them I can get behind. I'll tell you the same thing I told Marty; I'm here to do a job. One that didn't initially include my ass bein' effected by it." He sucked his teeth for a half second, shaking his head again. "Too late to argue the points of it now, I suppose."
His deal was worth it.
"Good to know that people are thinkin' about it. The alternative bein' too wrapped up in their therapy to really look around."
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Raylan sucked his teeth for a moment and swirled his glass again. He couldn't manage to find even an offhanded argument that stood up and there was plenty to be thrown back at him.
"Well then that, at least, will be the same. I've been surprised a few times but 8 outta ten.." He took a deep breath, hazel eyes much darker than when they'd started this conversation. "Onna my ex-wife's complaints was that I don't talk enough.. God, would she be laughin' her ass off if she knew."
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"Well, if it helps, no-one seems to get out of this place with all their secrets intact. So we are all, quite literally," he adds with a teasing wink, "in the same bloody boat. Makes it a bit easier to feel less self-conscious about it, in my opinion."
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Well, so much for this drink lasting long. Raylan shot it down like it was water, barely bearing his teeth with the swallow.
"I appreciate you reachin' out and givin' me this headstart on Elias and his bullshit. Next time I see you in here, I'll buy you a drink in a proper thanks. Let me know if I need to try to.. I dunno, reign him in a little."
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Then he slides the bottle over the table. "Consider this your initiation present. Welcome to wardening, let yourself really come to terms with everything, and do try not to get murdered. You can pick what we drink the next time."
He knows how much that must all be to think about. He'd only gone better with it at the time because he's completely given up and just assumed everything was evil, and had been proven right. So he'll give Raylan a flirty little wink as he stands, Bertha flapping neatly back onto his shoulder, and he'll take his leave.
no subject
The bottle was going to be needed and would be nursed back in his cabin where he could chew it all over without giving audience to the jaw calisthenics he would end up doing.