But the town square is quiet, the juke joints are empty

[neverleftharlan]

Characters: Raylan Givens and Olivia Dunham and Dorian Gray and whoever else??
Date: AROUND NOW.
Location: an Earth Sector bar
Situation: RAYLAN IS SULKING, P MUCH.
Warnings/Rating: None atm will edit as needed.



[Raylan is a very particular kind of person. He has certain tendencies, given habits, patterns of behavior. And even as his job - his usual job - means he has no set schedule and has to pick up and haul ass into the metaphorical sunset after fugitives et cetera at a moment's notice, his personality means that he digs into his rituals that much harder because of it.

Tuesday night poker being Winona's favorite example to harp on.

But she wasn't wrong - all those years and he never missed a game.

Which is why he's sitting at the bar of a closed-down pub in the Earth Sector, nursing his fortunately powerful ration of alcohol - purchased elsewhere - and scowling at the empty shelves. It's not even that this place was better than most of the others (also closed). It's that it's the one he went to, one slice of routine in this shitkick town with its shapeshifters and Supermen and day jobs he knew he'd never miss.

On top of it all, he's back to feeling useless. One thing (one of many things) Raylan Givens does not do well is useless.]

Comments

[nolimitation]

[ Olivia pauses on the street when she spots Raylan through the window. There's really nothing good about sitting alone in an empty bar - it seems there's a good chance he'd rather be left alone, but she wouldn't feel right just walking by without checking in.

After a moment, she backtracks and nudges the door open, hovering just inside. ]

You know, most people just stay home when they're going to drink alone.

[neverleftharlan]

That statement being predicated upon the idea that there's alcohol at home to drink. [He takes a small slug from his watered-down ration, at least as powerful as a good bourbon even with the water he added to cut and stretch it.

It doesn't taste like a good bourbon. Like, at all.] Or that home is home, for that matter.

[nolimitation]

There's not exactly alcohol here either.

[ Her eyes flick to the empty shelves before she tugs the door shut behind her and walks over to join him at the bar, though she leans against it instead of sitting down beside him, still giving him a little space. ]

[neverleftharlan]

Yes there is. [He raises his glass in a little salute, and gestures at the flask on the counter.]

[nolimitation]

[ She raises an eyebrow, lips quirking into the faintest smile. ] Did you bring that here, or find it in a cabinet somewhere?

[neverleftharlan]

If I found it in a cabinet I would be obligated by current law to report it, wouldn't I.

[That is not an answer and he knows it he's just being an ass.]

[nolimitation]

[ Olivia shrugs. He can be an ass all he wants; Peter was worse when they first met, and if it makes him feel a little better to bleed off some of whatever this is at someone who's not going to take offense, she doesn't mind. ] Promise I won't tell.

[neverleftharlan]

[He gives her a sidelong look that isn't aggravated, exactly - more perplexed.]

You have to be the most patient woman I have ever met in my life. Every other one I know would have called me at least twice over already on this bullshit.

[depicted]

[Spotting that scene through a window, Dorian really has to stop. It's just so... pathetic. And sad. Kind of amusing, too. And it's really nice, for Dorian, to not feel anything for this stranger. Empathy is a bitch, and with almost everyone Dorian cares about having some degree of breakdown, it's a glorious thing to see someone unhappy and be able to view it as a spectator would, instead of as would a human with a soul.]

[Still, he can't just walk by a sight like that. He opens the door enough to look at Raylan with raised eyebrows.]

Sorry, but I don't think Godot's coming.

[neverleftharlan]

[Raylan gives him a long, pointedly blank look, tilting his head forward just enough that the brim of his hat shadows his eyes and adds a certain hillbilly je ne sais quoi.] You're, what. His errand boy? Tell him to make an appointment, and if he's French, tell him to make it in writing. With a translator. Traducteur.

[depicted]

Sorry, but on account of the inhumane treatment of his workers, I quit. Now Godot has emigrated to Denmark and his couriers, a pair of gentleman most easily identified by flipping a coin, have been killed en route.

[Dorian's reply is made with complete apathy, a retort delivered only because Dorian can't let others have the last word. The apathy feels almost as good as a drag form his fast-dwindling supply of cigarettes.]

[neverleftharlan]

On account. You just about sounded like a real person for a second there, good job. [He takes another slug of his beverage and grimaces. God that is nasty.

Raylan half-turns in his seat, eyeballing Dorian like he's a cockroach that spontaneously burst into song.]

So what's your job now - wandering the streets, delivering the eulogies of the dead and the cruel? Says more about your masochism than I frankly wanted to know.

[depicted]

[The more Raylan talks, the more Dorian's emotions close away.

Grief: gone.
Interest: gone
Happiness: gone.

It's the sort of pleasure Lord Henry's monologues so magnificently implied.]

Are you sure? I almost thought I saw a hint of sadistic pleasure in that tilt of condescension. Which would make you, what—a sadomasochist, then? The average sort of person indulges in self-pity alone in a bar. It takes above-average love of one's own misery to sit alone in a closed bar. You could give Billy Joel another hit single.

[neverleftharlan]

Billy Joel. Christ, who do you think I am? Why don't you just say Rascal Flatts and kill me now. [His abject and total disgust gets topped off by another hit from the glass.] And I challenge you to find a single goddamned bar around here that ain't closed, then tell me how much I love making out with my tender feelings.

i am the best rper i know hdu judge me

[depicted]

[Dorian starts laughing really hard because unexpectedly: Raylan's music snobbery is hilarious.]

[That's it.]

[That's the tag.]

[imaginate]

[Guy’d said he’d wanted to start a bar on Oa and Kyle's been discreetly looking for one he’d like to design it after. He knows it's already open in the future Soranik comes from, but at his point in time, it's still a dream. Dreams still had to be made into reality.

Earth Sector's his favourite so far: he's explored all the ones he can find, looking for something with the appropriate ambience. Today's wandering is more out of habit than anything else, but he does stop and stare through the window, before knocking (manners, after all) and stopping in the doorway, shooting a questioning, slightly amused glance at Raylan.] Home a little too quiet for you?

[neverleftharlan]

Better than listening to the weeping and gnashing of teeth over the latest from the powers that be. [Though that declaration doesn't stop him from glaring at the small measure of alcohol he's been allotted.]

[imaginate]

True. Consoles don't have a mute button. [Beat.] Mind some company?

[neverleftharlan]

[He nudges the hat back with a half-smile, spreading his hands.] Well, as I can't say there's no room.

[That would be a yes.]

[imaginate]

[He picks the stool and relaxes, rubbing his forehead to make sure he's got all the mental faculties for a social interaction right now. Not that he didn't want to talk to people, he'd simply had the foul luck of meeting them when they were feeling particularly snippy.

He was patient; he wasn't that patient.

Kyle looks at the glasses stacked up against the wall. He makes a little show of looking for the barkeep. Habit was hard to break.] Used my luxury stamp pretty early this week. Never thought I'd admit it, but Keeliai does actually have decent drinks.

[neverleftharlan]

Had. Had decent drinks. Now if it's somewhat more palatable than shit you need to make it taste like shit to have it last more than a day.

[A pause.] Excuse the weeping and gnashing, I had a moment. Speaking of shit, you look like ten pounds of it in a five pound bag.

[imaginate]

Excused. [Where he normally would have said it cheerfully, he's glad he doesn't have to put on a front, opting to sound exactly how fatigued he actually feels; nonetheless, manages a small smile.] Water Sector smells worse than a Betrassian rubbish dump and I just spent today cleaning all the mould off the walls of the clinic. [He mutters something inaudible.] There'll be even more of it tomorrow.

look i'm tagging you are you proud

[controlledvariable]

[She's not looking for him, god knows why she'd ever actively seek out Raylan, but when she walks past the bar on her way home and sees him in there, she doesn't think about doing anything but making her way inside.

He probably doesn't want company, especially not hers, but they seem to have come to an - understanding, of sorts, and maybe that's why she approaches. Though, instead of picking a bar stool to sit at, she easily hops up onto the bar itself, just enough distance so as not to be in his personal space, her feet resting on the stool next to his.]

Breaking and entering is illegal, you know.

[Said the vigilante to the US Marshal.]

SO PROUD

[neverleftharlan]

I didn't break a thing. [He flashes her a small smile.] And if the proprietor should wish me to leave, I am happy to oblige him. You're technically guilty of the latter yourself, currently, I should point out.

c':

[controlledvariable]

Oh, but I do this all the time. [Not even taking about Bat stuff.] You're supposed to be setting a good example. Or something.

[Because he's a cop. Or a gentleman. Whatever she didn't think it through.]