You can have my girl, but don't touch my hat [OPEN]

[toooldforlosing]

Who: Raylan Givens AND YOU
What: Out and about! Let me know where you're running into him.
Where: Mog Hill, mainly, and the environs.
When: All day Coardi
Notes: Despite his inner rage, he'll be friendly and polite enough to new (and old) acquaintances. Feel free to assume he's doing any of the things mentioned below, but if you want him for other plots, just hit me by PM or on plurk (prettiestwhistles)
Warnings: None for now

Raylan is angry. There are some who might argue Baedal has nothing to do with that, but it's different here than it was at home. He's a prisoner, even if his prison is city-sized. Even if he's free to run every morning (like he does) and go to the bar every night (...which he usually does too, though more for eavesdropping and brooding than to get properly drunk). Working for the sheriff feels like collusion, but at least Norrington hasn't asked him to do anything he can't do, so far.

The militia's broadcast had turned his stomach, but he doesn't know whose brain to put a bullet into for that. A criminal, even a band of criminals... you can fight that, he thinks. A corrupt government that rules by martial law - that's something else again.

So he gets up, goes for a run, works his beat, goes shopping for goddamn groceries, spends his evenings in bars, and bites down on how much this place rubs him wrong.

He thinks he'd best not get questioned by the militia again, because he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep his mouth shut. But even those who don't know him well might be able to identify a man with an itchy trigger finger.

Comments

[gotbottle]

"...Do you feel backed into a wall?"

Her voice is soft, her gaze averted for a moment or two; she's not asking out of a sense of getting into his business, or to satisfy some ill-mannered curiosity. She genuinely wants to know how he's feeling, if the place is getting to him like it's getting to her.

She looks up at him, one side of her mouth curving, a faint half a smile. "I'd understand feeling that way."

[toooldforlosing]

He grins a little. "I'm sure everyone's told you that one of those won't end you in a Starbucks."

[toooldforlosing]

"Don't know what else you'd call this place." Presumably he means Baedal and not this particular bar. Even so, it's an affirmative.

"City-sized cage is still a cage."

[toooldforlosing]

"Raylan." His handshake is firm, dominant without being over-aggressive. (It's hard to turn the law-enforcement training off. Civilians need to feels safe, criminals need to feel threatened, etc.)

"Hope you don't hate the stuff I advised; I'd feel like I led you astary."

[charismatic]

“Nah,” Will says, after he lets go. Lot's of folks around here with business-end handshakes, it seems like. He's not really surprised, at least half because it doesn't make sense to be surprised, in this situation. “I'm not picky. Raised on synthetic space food, and all that.”

[controlledvariable]

"That's what good connections are for." Not that she'd ever them, her smile makes it clear that she's joking, "And there are jobs in social studies, I just have narrow it down a bit and aim to go into social work."

Which is one of the plans she's considering, it'll just take her a while to actually make the decision.

[toooldforlosing]

"Jesus. You sound like a man who needs fried chicken yesterday," he says, easily. Of course, everyone probably needs fried chicken at some point, in Raylan's worldview.

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, fair enough." On the assumption that they get home, of course, but Raylan's not willing to concede any other possibility yet.

"Not a very glamorous profession, but god knows they're needed."

[controlledvariable]

The day Steph stops trying to find a way home will be the day she's dead.

"I've never been much for glamor anyway, I'd rather do something useful." She pauses then adds, "Or something fun, but I don't think jobs are supposed to be fun."

[gotbottle]

"Yeah. I feel like we're being very firmly reminded of that, lately."

She sips from her drink and lowers her voice softly. "You saw that broadcast? The militia?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Christ, I hope not, or I've been doing it wrong." It's meant as a joke, but he means at home; the idea of a fun job in Baedal is incomprehensible.

[charismatic]

“I've had that once or twice,” Will says, grinning. “The real stuff, even. The fake stuff was everywhere up in space, but it wasn't very good.” None of it was very good, that's besides the point. It was edible and probably more nutritious than the real thing.

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah," he says, lower and with a flash of the anger he does so well to hide, generally. "Yeah, I saw."

[toooldforlosing]

"Christ, fake fried chicken. That's a future I'd skip," he says, with a laugh.

[charismatic]

“It's got its problems,” Will says agreeably. He'd still rather be there than here. At least he knows what's going on, there. “Where are you from?” He's not sure if that's impolite, yet, but oh well. He's curious.

[toooldforlosing]

"Kentucky," he says, after the slightest of pauses. He's run from it before, but it's always been true. "2011. Earth? How specific you need?"

[charismatic]

“No, that works,” Will says, and it's his turn to laugh now. He's not sure when 2011 was, in terms of the calendar he's used to – he was a terrible history student blah blah blah – but he figures it's before Earth ran out of fossil fuels and everything went to shit and got restructured. “I'm from – well, space, but orbital space. So, basically Earth. But a Earth at least several hundred years head of yours, I guess.” He thinks that's how Wolfgang described it. “Kentucky still exists, though.”

[toooldforlosing]

"Does it really? Well, good for Kentucky." Given that it had been stripped mined for cola as long as it had. "Not the most glamorous place, but I guess there are worse."

...Baedal, for one, but he doesn't say that on a public street.

[charismatic]

Will wouldn't disagree with that, if he did.

“Space, for one,” he says, and his tone is light but he's not joking so much about that, either. He's not sure what Raylan's Kentucky was like, and there are still plenty of places on Earth where things aren't great. But there's a reason the poor migrate to space, and multiple reasons why the colonies are fighting for independence now. He doubt's anyone here is too interested in that, though. “Most places still have their own states or territories or provinces, I guess. But most things are done though the nation feds. The United States is part of the Trans-Pacific Union.” He's not sure if anyone cares about that, either, but talking about home is kind of nice.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan tends to let people talk; it's a good way to learn things that may or may not be of use, and it usually puts the other person at ease. "So how do your people end up in space, if it's not rude to ask?"

[charismatic]

“We use solar energy, mostly,” Will says. “So that's why it started. But everything is cheaper in space because it's artificial or not as nice, so.” He shrugs. He figures it's self-explanatory after that.

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah - artificial already cheaper with some things, back home." He supposes it makes an odd sort of sense. "This place must've been an adjustment."

[charismatic]

“Oh, yeah,” Will says, smile appearing again. “Pretty sure I gave a bunch of people a nice laugh when I showed up.”

[toooldforlosing]

"There are worse ways to show up." Bleeding from a torso wound among them!

"How long ago was that?"

[charismatic]

“A little under two weeks ago,” Will says. “Ten days.” The words are all different, but they have seven days here, too. He uses his free hand to brush his shoulder off. “Still shiny.” Granted, wearing his flight suit helps with that a little, in the literal sense.