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

[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.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan smiles, wryly. "Fair enough. Well. You've got time to learn the fruit, still."

[charismatic]

“I will,” he says, and he figures he's probably used up enough of Raylan's time. Grocery shopping takes long enough as it is, even when not complicated by trying to figure out what's what. “Thanks for the help,” he adds.”

[toooldforlosing]

"Any time. You need anything, I'm working for the Mog Hill sheriff, for now. Can't promise to be very helpful, but." He shrugs. "Offer's open."

[charismatic]

That sounds useful to Will, at least, though the sheriff bit makes him a bit wary. He'll have to check and see if and how connected to the Militia that means. “Sure,” He says, offering his hand again for a parting shake. “Let me know if you ever need anything from a giant junkpile. I work out at Tinker's Lot.”

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan's getting used to that wary look - and if he could find another job that suited him, he probably would. "See you around, then."