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]

"Oh, Jesus, that mess." She frowns. "That was, like, the most blatant case of this city screwing around with people. That had better be the last of it."

[toooldforlosing]

"I'd be surprised." It would be nice, but he doesn't expect that to be the last of it by any stretch.

[gotbottle]

"I guess it is a bit much to hope for." Doesn't mean she won't still hope, but she won't be surprised if that hope is let down.

She lapses into silence again for a block or so, thoughtful. And then: "...I guess, if some new going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket thing breaks out, you're out there on the front lines, huh? Working with one of the sheriffs and all."

[toooldforlosing]

"Depends where," he says. "Jurisdiction's kind of a thing. I shouldn't have been in Mafaton, really." Though he had been. "Mog Hill gets some of the worst of it, though, because it's got a high concentration of new arrivals. Lots of easy targets."

[gotbottle]

"That makes sense. I mean, it sucks that people prey on the new arrivals, but it makes sense. I guess you see it everywhere--people are going to target the ones who are at a disadvantage." In that, at least, Baedal was like most other cities.

"Is the Sheriff himself decent to work for, at least?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Could be worse. Far as I can tell, his intentions are good." Which was something, at least!

[gotbottle]

"That counts for a lot. Having good intentions and letting that be known. Especially here." Especially when the alternative was something like the militia.

[toooldforlosing]

"Seems tired," he adds, thinking of Norrington. "I think the place wears a person. One way or another."

[gotbottle]

"It must."

She's quiet a moment, and then she gives his arm another little squeeze. "Try not to let it wear you down too much. I know that's easier said than done. And if it does, and I can help... let me know?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Thanks," he says after a moment, instead of just shrugging it off. "I appreciate the offer." Even if he's not likely to take her up on it any time soon. "And if there's anything I can do for you."

[gotbottle]

"You'll be the first I call," she says, looking up at him. "I promise."

Even if--and probably for likely very different reasons--she's not likely to take him up on that offer anytime soon, either.

[toooldforlosing]

He grins at that, not buying it any more than she likely did. "As long as we've got that sorted out."

[gotbottle]

Look, if it helps, were she ever to decide she needed it, he'd be the one she called? Honest.

She's just not likely to ever admit she needs help.

She pats his arm, grinning. "I think we do. Good."

[toooldforlosing]

He shakes his head, but the smile lingers. "Hey, you want another drink, or you still like walking?"

[gotbottle]

"I'm fine either way."

It takes a second for her to realize that answer, while polite, is hardly helpful.

"...But you can never go wrong with another drink."

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, we can keep walking til we find a bar," he says, lightly. "Or I got a bottle of something in my sock drawer."

[gotbottle]

"Either one of those works for me. Whichever we hit first, then? A bar or your sock drawer?"

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs. "Sounds like a fair plan to me. Some ladies object to liquor stored in a wardrobe, so I don't want you to feel pressured."

[gotbottle]

She laughs, patting his arm. "It's fine. I don't object, and I think I know you well enough by now to know you're not pressuring me, and you wouldn't pressure me."

[toooldforlosing]

"Alright. Well." He steers them, then, leisurely back toward his place (which is still a bed and breakfast, because he has yet to give in and rent anywhere). "Probably hit a bar first anyway."

[gotbottle]

"All right. Either one's fine."

Pause. Impish grin.

"...Or both."

[toooldforlosing]

"That's my kind of suggestion. You got work in the morning?"

[gotbottle]

She shakes her head. "Nope. Got the whole day off, in fact. You?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Don't have to be in 'til evening." Which meant current responsibility levels could be minimal.

[gotbottle]

"Plenty of time to recover," she declares, grinning. "Sounds like we know what we're doing the rest of the night."