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

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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

There's still a bit of an urge to keep talking, to fill the silence--she probably would have, earlier on in their friendship, when he was more of an unknown quantity and she was more nervous about everything. She's bad about that, talking a lot to try to cover her anxiety.

But here, she doesn't, comfortable enough to understand the silence isn't an awkward one, that he simply doesn't have anything to say at the moment. Rachel lets it go, content to walk at his side, her hands still around his arm. They go a couple blocks before she speaks again.

"Thank you. This is nice, it was a good idea."

He smiles over at her. "I thought we could both use something nice," he allows. "You wanna head anywhere particular?"

She shakes her head, letting her gaze drift back to the street ahead of them. "I don't have any particular destination in mind, no, but thank you for asking. I'm just glad for the good company."

"I always feel a little guilty, when I like anything here," he says, after a moment. "Like they're getting to me, somehow."

Rachel is quiet for a long moment, too, before holding his arm a little tighter, and--though it's so brief, so light a touch, it's arguable if it really happened--brushing her cheek against his jacket, on his upper arm.

"I think I know the feeling. Like, when I first got here, especially, I was totally determined to hate everything, ever. Because I felt that if I liked something it meant I was giving in. That they were winning. But you can't hate everything forever. Just because you don't fight every single little thing doesn't mean you gave up."

"I guess not." He found it easier to be angry all the time, in some ways, but it wasn't possible. You ended up exhausted. "I thought I'd be out by now, I guess is all." He'd thought as soon as he was healed, he'd find a way.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." She shakes her head. "I know what the brochure says but I kept expecting I'd find a way out. I didn't think I'd still be here after all these months. But it gets to be like beating your head on a brick wall after a while. It's hard not to feel like the place is winning or you're giving in. But you can't sustain it."

She shrugs, glancing up at him. "I guess it's like I said a while back, about finding work. I try not to think of doing that, settling in, building something for myself here or with other people, as giving in or letting the place get the better of me. If anything, I feel like I'm striking a blow back. I'll be here if the city makes me be here, sure. But it'll goddamn well be on my terms, not the city's terms."

He smiles, though it's a little sad. He admires her outlook, even if he finds it hard to share. "It seems like you are. Setting your own terms, I mean, as much as you can."

She doesn't miss the sadness in his smile; she finds herself both wishing she could do something about it and wondering when the hell that started being something she felt like she should worry about.

She shrugs, returning the smile. "Thank you. It's nice you think so, 'cause I sure don't, a lot of the time. It feels like I'm just, like... I don't know, flailing around and hoping I hit on the right way to do it."

"Sounds kind of like life," he observes, wryly. "Pretend you know what you're doing and hope no one calls you on it."

She laughs softly. "I guess so. I don't know, maybe it just seems harder or more obvious here, with being dragged here and everything else. Maybe I'm doing better than I think. I'd like to at least think I'm doing better than the city wants me to be."

"It does feel like the city itself is out to get us, doesn't it?" he says with a quiet laugh.

"Sure does." She shakes her head. "Here's hoping I don't jinx us right now, but at least it's been a while since we were overrun with monsters? Or giant insects? I could live with that never happening again."

"Christ, right? Or vampire riots." That had been fun.

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

"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?"

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

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

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

"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?"

"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."

"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.

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