[closed] tracing a sparrow on snow-crested hill

[mightyfallen]

Who: Jack and Raylan
What: A discreet meeting
Where: A bar in Kinken
When: Backdated to Shundi evening

There'd been a slow, sick twisting in his gut since the Militia's last missive went out. Patriotism shall be rewarded. Terrorism will be contained. Jack knew what that meant, of course, but it was different to watch it happen, to hear the whispers behind half-closed doors and in dark corners and see the latent fear behind the eyes of the otherwise pleasant girl at the coffee shop, to notice her coworkers' rushed disquiet when she missed her shift later in the week, and to know without asking. Without daring to ask.

He'd put out feelers where he could, but too cautiously, and not far enough. Most the people who needed what little protection his position could offer were too far removed from his world to see that he was offering anything at all. There weren't enough people he trusted to spread the word, and he told himself he shouldn't risk it, couldn't risk it, and wouldn't do anyone any good if he got caught, but that didn't make the waiting and the watching and the ever-growing sense of dread any easier to stomach. When Rachel had mentioned the Deputy Sheriff of Mog Hill as someone who might lend a hand (or need a hand lent), he'd been-- not surprised, exactly; he hadn't heard much about this particular deputy, which usually meant he wasn't in anybody's pocket, and anybody half that committed to law enforcement had to be disquieted by now. Still, it was a hell of a position to risk.

So he'd chosen the meeting point carefully, had Rachel arrange it without a hint of CiD communication, and found a table in the empty room in the back. The bar is a little off the beaten track, far enough from either of their cantons that they're not likely to be recognized by chance, but not so unpopular a choice for slumming rich kids that Jack's immutable presence will stand out like a sore thumb. He's already got a drink by the time they're set to meet. He'll need it, he thinks. (He needs it already.)

Comments

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan trusts slowly and poorly, but he does trust Rachel. If she vouches for Jack, then that's good enough for now. The fact is, he needs other allies, and his pleasantries with co-workers, in Mog Hill and at Thames, hardly count.

And something bad was about to happen. It was obvious, both from what he could see and the bad feeling he hadn't been able to shake since the Militia broadcast.

Raylan should probably stop wearing his hat if he doesn't want to be noticed. Sometimes, he wonders if he wouldn't rather it come to a head. Not tonight, though, and he does at least take it off when he ducks inside out of the rain. He gets his drink before coming to join the man looking most like what Rachel had described. Quietly: "Mr. Benjamin?"

[mightyfallen]

Mistrusting Jack is probably smart -- it's not like it hasn't occurred to him that Raylan would make a better trade than most of the other names he knows, should the Militia come knocking on his door after all, but then, a lot of things occur to Jack. (Like his own name would make an even better bargaining chip.) It's better for both of their purposes if nobody here gets caught.

And they've got bigger things to worry about right now than each other. He gives a glance over Raylan, a glance behind him to check if anybody's paying too much attention (they aren't), and then nods. At least the hat serves to identify Raylan well enough for Jack.

"Have a seat." He nudges a chair with his foot. It's a casual gesture, but his body language is less so, underscored by that baseline tension that's been building all week, waiting to break. He takes a drink of his whiskey to settle it, then adds, "I hear we have some common interests."

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan sits, aware of of his surroundings and especially of Jack. "A common friend, at least." He leaves his hat next to his whiskey on the table, off to the side. "So. What kind of interests do you have that I can help with? Not exactly rubbing elbows with the elite, myself."

He's dealt with power before, and he's not uncomfortable, but he is wary. Powers that be tended not to like him much, if they felt any way about him at all.

[mightyfallen]

"Which is exactly why I wanted to meet with you." Friend of Rachel's or no, if he was able to do this on his own he wouldn't be meeting with anyone. He isn't, though; he hasn't been able to do nearly enough, and every day it feels more like swimming against a swell.

"You see a lot of people in trouble, in your line of work. More these past few weeks, maybe," choosing his words carefully. "Maybe a few whose only crime seems to be airing their dissatisfaction with things that people like me—" Not him, "—or those a little higher on the food chain don't want changed."

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan inclines his head. "I've seen some. Militia generally likes to take care of that themselves, though, and leave us the cats up trees and the little old ladies who need jars opened." An exaggeration, but the point, he hopes, is clear enough.

[mightyfallen]

"Well, we wouldn't be having this chat if I thought you were keen on helping them out." The point comes across, though, and it's– not unexpected, to be honest, he knows how little power the Militia are sharing with anyone right now, but it's frustrating in the way that all of this is frustrating, quietly and helplessly, without a clear solution.

"I know you might not be in a position to see much, but you see more than I do — whereas I'm in a position to do more about it." Is the thing.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan nods. "I take your point. And yeah, in answer to your question - past few weeks, I have seen more of what you're talking about, even if not from up close. Seems like something's coming, but hard to say what."

[mightyfallen]

"Yeah." That's a truth that doesn't settle him much, although he's not sure anything would, just now. "It's hard to say what." He knocks back the rest of his drink.

"If you need it-- if anyone needs it, my door's open." He takes a pen from his pocket, scribbles the address on a napkin, and pushes it over. "It's not much, but it might keep a few souls out of harm's way."

[toooldforlosing]

He takes it, nods, and tucks it away. Then he says, "You'll forgive me if this is a rude question, but what is it exactly you're hoping to do, long term." Jack's a politician, which in Raylan's experience means he doesn't have any hope of getting a straight answer. But he's interested to see how Jack answers all the same.