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

[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."

[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]

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

[gotbottle]

She nods, unsurprised by that anger. She felt it too, though she's practiced at hiding such things. "I did too. That's why I was out tonight. It might not come to anything but I had to do something."

[toooldforlosing]

"What are you trying to do?" He knows very well that Rachel is smart and capable, but he's still wary; if this were home, he'd be first in line to protest. Here, he tells himself, he just wants to keep his head down and find a way out.

Telling himself that is not always as effective as he might like.

[gotbottle]

"Spread information. Because hell if I know what else to do." She scrubs at her face with a hand. "I mean--what else I can do that won't lead to me being the one hauled out of a place in the middle of the night, next time."

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah." He's not convinced, totally, that spreading information won't. But she knows that. "You know, every time I mention I'm at all connected to the sheriff, I see people flinch. We ain't the militia, but it's bad enough no one cares." And maybe he was being naive - maybe they are all connected.

[gotbottle]

Her face falls at that, mouth twisting in some combination of sympathy and annoyance. It bothers her that good people are being lumped in with what they saw on the video.

"That's not right. But I guess when people have lived under the militia's thumb for so long, it all runs together, rightly or wrongly."

[toooldforlosing]

"Could be rightly, for all I know about the place. The people I work with directly, I think they're trying to do right by the population, but the higher ups?" He shrugs, frustrated. "No one's asked me to do anything I can't, but maybe it's just a matter of time."

[gotbottle]

She studies Raylan across the table, leaning in a little. "What would you do if they did ask you to do something you couldn't?" she asks, concerned.

[toooldforlosing]

"Don't know," he says, after a moment, taking a sip of his drink. "Probably something stupid, if precedent's any indication." He says it like a joke, but it's more or less a legitimate assumption.

[gotbottle]

One side of her mouth quirks up in an attempt to match his joking demeanor, but there's no masking the worry in her eyes. "Hey, I thought I was the one who cornered the market on stupid ideas, here. Drinking far from home, contemplating surfing in that water out there."

The smile fades as she takes another drink from her glass. "I hope it doesn't come to that. I'd like to think there's authority here that's not under the militia's influence."

[toooldforlosing]

"It's a nice thought, at least." He's not so much a pessimist as a pragmatist in a place he doesn't like or trust. "Too many unanswered questions still and always."

He finishes his drink, then adds: "You're surfing now?"

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, that's the nature of the place, I guess."

She raises her eyebrows. "I've always surfed. All my life. Can't do it right now because I don't have a wetsuit, just the board. I'd freeze. And I went and promised someone I wouldn't freeze to death, can you imagine?"

[toooldforlosing]

"What a jerk," he laughs. "Doesn't sound like any fun at all."

[gotbottle]

She makes a big show of rolling her eyes, mock annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. And yet I listen anyway. I dunno. I must like the guy or something."

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, just as long as he doesn't abuse the privilege." Raylan shakes his head. "Give him an inch, next you'll have to promise not to get shot or run over or jump off tall buildings."

[gotbottle]

"...Damn. Guess I better return that base-jumping parachute. Good thing I kept the receipt."

She just about manages to deadpan that, but one side of her mouth twitches a little, giving her away.

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs, frank. "Good thing at that."

[gotbottle]

She laughs, too, shaking her head. "No, no, nothing like that. I save all my daredevil ways for the water. No jumping in front of things or off tall things, no getting shot at."

She finishes her drink, and she waves to get a bartender's attention. "So how is work going, apart from the worry that they might spring untenable things on you someday?"

[toooldforlosing]

He makes a so-so gesture. "It's a bit different from what I did at home, but not radically. I'm mostly out on patrol, keeping an eye out for n'er-do-wells. And being seen to look out for n'er-do-wells." He's never been the most inconspicuous person.

[gotbottle]

"I've heard sometimes a noticeable police presence is all that's needed to deter a lot of crime," Rachel says, and inwardly, she's thinking that she never ever thought anyone said n'er-do-wells outside of books. Goodness.

"And it's steady work," she offers, getting back to the matter at hand. "And it at least puts you in a better position to try to protect and help people. That's something."

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah - least no one's tried to take my weapon off me so far," he allows, which he isn't confident would be the case if he'd remained entirely a private citizen. "Pays the rent, too."

He isn't happy about it, in some ways, but not so unhappy as to do something entirely outside his area.

[gotbottle]

"That's a definite plus. The way this place seems to go to hell on a regular basis, monsters and all? Having a weapon's a good thing."

She holds up her glass when the bartender finally looks her way, glancing a moment at Raylan. "You want another one?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah, I'll take another." He's in no rush to move. "What about you? How's the coffeehouse going?"