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

[controlledvariable]

'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.

[toooldforlosing]

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."

[controlledvariable]

"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.

[toooldforlosing]

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

[controlledvariable]

"Social studies, philosophy, and computer science." It's a bit all over the place, but she's in her first year and hasn't really decided on her major yet.

[toooldforlosing]

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

[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]

"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."

[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.