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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not awful, used to be better," he replies, amused. He's got a competitive streak though, and seems to guess where she's going with that.

"You know Queequeg's?" It's a little under a mile away from where they are now, and if Raylan is up for it, Steph's definitely going to suggest a race.

He smiles, crookedly. "I think I remember the straightest path there, yeah."

"Last one there buys the coffee?" She's already picked up her pace a little, ready to start actually racing.

"Sounds fair. On three?" It will totally serve him right if she just takes off.

Steph believes in fair play, so she wno't just take off. "One. Two. Three."

And then she takes off, not speeding up too much because they've got a fair distance to go and she doesn't want to wear herself out too soon.

Raylan picks up his own pace as well. His job keeps him in shape, but he's not as young as he once was, and he's not going to underestimate her as a competitor.

He does, it must be observed, have a competitive streak.

As they get closer, he pushes a bit harder, trying to put some distance between them if he can.

Steph is still young, and she trains almost every day because she needs to keep fit as Batgirl, so she might have an edge on Raylan.

When he starts pulling away she smirks, letting him have the distance until they're only a block away. Then she breaks into a sprint, doing the last part of the run as fast as she can. If she gets to the front of Queequeg's before him, she's gonna be smug.

It's closer that an observer might have guessed, but she does beat him by a small margin. (Or maybe he lets her win, for chivalry's sake. He can tell himself that.)

"Could stand to train a little harder, I guess," he says, as they stop.

"Maybe," She's breathing hard, she possibly pushed herself harder than she should have, considering it's just a friendly race, "You're quick, though. Do you just do it for fun?"

He shrugs, as they catch their breath. "I like it well enough, but. Need to stay in shape for work too. You?"

"Been running since I was a kid," Which could mean any number of things, really, "What sorta job needs you to stay in shape?"

He smiles at her first comment - he can relate to that. On more than one level.

"US Marshal, back home."

"That would require a lot of running, I imagine," She looks a little wary for a moment - she's never trusted law enforcement - but it doesn't last, "You haven't taken up a job in the same field while you're here?"

"Sort of," he says, smile fading. He's not pleased about it, really, but he has a narrow skill set. "I, uh, didn't hit it off with the militia early, but the sheriff deputized me."

"Ah," the wariness is back in full force, "How's that working out for you?"

"Norrington seems like he's just doing his best to keep the peace," Raylan says, quietly. "But frankly, I just gotta eat until I get out of here."

He pauses, then says, "You still want me to buy you that coffee, or you done with my company now?" He won't blame her - his own feelings on Baedal's infrastructure are complicated and mainly negative.

Steph nods at Yarlan's answer, then gives him an evaluating look. She doesn't trust the militia at all, but Raylan seems to be in a similar position. And the fact he's understanding of dissenting opinions of the militia goes a long way in convincing her he's an alright dude.

"I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, and I won't blame you for the company you keep," She smiles, small but genuine, "Let's get that coffee."

"Sounds good. Been healthy enough for one morning." He's more than used to people who distrust cops of any kind - his demeanor isn't purely a show, but he's long perfected walking the line between "not quite one of them, not quite not" when dealing with civilians.

"How do you take yours?" he asks, as they go in.

She gives a mock gasp, looking shocked, "Are you saying coffee isn't good for you?" Because the mood needs lightening, and Steph's always up for making dorky jokes.

"Cream and one sugar, please."

"Right. Go settle, I'll get the drinks." He'll even refrain for asking for whiskey in his, because he is a stand-up guy.

'Kay," She smiles and goes to grab them a table, picking a spot that gives them both a view of the exit, because she's paranoid like that, and figures he might be too. It's a little out of the way of the other customers, just so they can talk without being overheard.

It's not a bad guess; Raylan always prefers to be facing the door, ideally with his back to a wall.

He returns with a couple coffees, his black, hers with cream and one sugar.
"So." He settles himself after he's set down the drinks. "What do you do? Did you do? Either."

"I was at college before I came here, working at the library there for a little extra cash. Now I'm doing the working part without the studying part." She hasn't even bothered to check out what the actual college courses are like, she doesn't have the money for it, and it's not high on her list of priorities.

"What did you study back there, then?" he asks, genuinely curious.

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