[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?"