villagelogs | Watch that your match doesn't hit that bridge

Entry tags:

Watch that your match doesn't hit that bridge

characters: Raylan, Doc and Malcolm
location: 1306 and then, the Chasm
date/time:Afternoon of day 20
content: Bridge building and possibly bad ideas

If there was one thing that Raylan had that didn't get enough love, it was redneck ingenuity. Ever since he'd seen the chasm and what lay beyond, Raylan was plagued by the best part of humanity, curiosity. People had yelled across the crack, thrown things, god knows what else, but Raylan failed to see a single attempt to cross it. He was sure he wasn't the first to have the idea - not with as many smart people around, but he had the goods to act on it. The wood that he'd collected with Max and with Doc separately, hadn't been a small amount of boards, some of which came with their own nails. A little destruction of a framed wall or two gave up little chunks of 2x4 that he figured would work well for support and several hours in the garage with Malcolm had produced a 'bridge' that was about 14 feet long. He wasn't sure it was long enough but they could see.

"Okay, set your end up on that bucket," he instructed Malcolm with a nod at the reinforced wood that they'd nailed together, lifting his own onto his carefully placed bucket. Malcolm had been a big help, making things move more quickly than he could have alone and he'd well put the man to work holding and hammering. "We just gotta see how much it bends under weight."

He hadn't really laid out what the glorified gangplank was for but that didn't matter, right? Didn't matter that he was going to cross the chasm into unknown territory.

"How much do you clock in at?" he asked Malcolm with a jut of his chin. "We can start with you then go onto me. I figure I got at least a good twenty pounds on ya." No, he really didn't.

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"We don't know anythin' so we should just keep on not knowin' nothin'?" Raylan stepped forward, gesturing at Malcolm without looking at him in a dismissal of the idea that they abandon what they were doing.

"That pit is all of 60 feet if it's a foot and I know that because I worked and almost died in a coal mine. I know what it means to be three hundred feet under the earth for a ten hour shift." He understood where this was coming from. Doc had issues with dark places, with holes in the ground and, to be honest, Raylan did too. But he didn't think he'd end up down there and if he did, he would find a way to handle it. At least in the daylight.

"You wanna talk about downsides, I'm happy to do so but that doesn't make this a bad idea. It's better than sittin' with our thumbs up our asses, like scared trapped mice."

"We should parlay," Doc agrees, even if he shares some of Malcolm's concerns about who or what that is, what it wants. But he is of the opinion that if the people or non-people on either side of the crack in the ground can leave each other alone, in peace, that is better than marking out territory, declaring hostile intentions. Just as he only merely wished to find out more about those lantern-wielding phantoms than try and provoke them.

"If we don't extend an olive branch and it decides to take us out and the other people on our side, it's gonna be one hell of a shitshow. But it hasn't been peaceful towards those who have tried to approach, before us. We need to have a better thought out approach to this." Nothing about throwing down a plank and running across is particularly well thought out, to him.

It's Doc's turn to point, at Raylan, and he's not usually a pointer, but sometimes you live with people for 2 weeks, some of their mannerisms rub off on you.

"Raylan. Givens. You haven't been in a coal mine in a long time. It's not where marshals pass the time. You don't have the usual equipment you'd have with you. And in five weeks' time you're gon' be somebody's daddy, you're gon' be twice the man that we'll ever be, and you're gon' do a damn good job of it. So we can figure out how to communicate with that thing without putting ourselves in harm's way, but I'm not letting you do anything stupid while I'm still alive and walking God's lily white Earth."

Doc directs his glare at Malcolm in case he's got anything else stupid he wants to say, like volunteering his services and saying he's more expendable than them again.

Malcolm did not have any such intentions and the moment Raylan finished rationalizing that he should cross, Malcolm had turned wide eyes towards Doc.

Do something; stop him. But Doc was on that page without noticing his expression.

By the time he looked at Malcolm, Malcolm's eyes were full of trepidation and directed at Raylan again.

"Don't do it," he implored quietly.

Did Doc just accuse him of being old? In that feeble sort of way that suggested he once knew what he was doing but didn't anymore? He was starting to get the idea that these two cared about him or something, in ways that went a little beyond people just trying to survive together. Considering he never had that at home, it's all a little odd to think of.

"You're gonna be a daddy too, don't forget that," was the only thing he could say before looking at Malcolm and sighing roughly, turning on his heel to walk away for a few steps before walking back. He could feel the relief of being able to do something being ripped away from his fingertips word by word. It frustrated him, to say the least.

"Whose to say intent has nothin' to do with this? I ain't talked to this Five kid much, but somehow I doubt he was lookin' to pop over the other side for any kind of peace talks. He doesn't look the type." One hand stayed propped on his hip as the other gestured between them. "Do either of you have a better idea? You wanna.. figure out a way to fashion a bow and arrow, send over a love note? Maybe just wrap it around a brick and sink it through a window? We really gonna let one person's attempt decide what is and isn't a possibility here?"

Technically Raylan's the oldest between them. He'd have the most fragile bones. Not that Doc Don't Ask Me how Much I Weigh Holliday would be pointing that out so explicitly.

"We could go back and ask him, what he'd said, what he'd planned on doing, whether he was waving a weapon at our new friend, whether he'd even gotten a word in before it hurt him. He's out of commission for six weeks." Six weeks, Raylan. Your daughter's coming along before those bones are healing. Doc's not going to remind him of that either. He can't be sure that they will be any farther along on their way home in six weeks' time than they are now, standing around arguing as the snow threatens to bury their shins.

He would insist that his own case is different, that it's Wynonna's baby, not his, but this isn't the time and place for that kind of talk.

"All I'm saying is, we learn from someone else's mistake. We don't learn anything from two people with broken bones than having had just the one. If you want, we can lay your plank down, see if it'll reach, see if our friend blows the bridge to pieces, or starts hollerin' at us to go to hell or shootin' at us. If it crosses over, or seems to want to meet us halfway, we can interact with it then. If it just stands there tauntin' us, we don't get baited by it. That sound fair?"

Malcolm considered Doc’s suggestion, looking at the bridge, then looking across the chasm.

He looked at Doc and then Raylan, looking to see how that sat with the Marshal.

“One step at a time,” he agreed, nodding encouragingly at Raylan.

Technically, Willa was still a few months away, more like 5 months, 4 and a half if he hadn't lost count; he was bad at keeping track of it all. That was Winona's department, he was just around to go on snack runs and emotional support, when he was around at all. But that wasn't the point and he didn't need Doc to be accurate to bluntly make his point.

Raylan hated that Doc made sense, nevermind that he had asked for it. Seemed like a waste of time - Surely the kid popped over and was just swept off. His jaw worked as he inhaled, the breath squaring up his shoulders as his chin ducked, stealing a glance over at Malcolm at his agreeable nodding and shook his head.

How 'bout you go and I'll stay here with the bridge? But he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere and frankly, he would be hard pressed to get the bridge over by himself.

"And if it did? Since we got no recourse for force push or whatever the hell it is, we just waste an afternoon buildin' a bridge to chicken out because Five had a bad run of it?" He threw up a hand and stalked over to their makeshift bridge.

"Fine. We place it, see and then go talk to Five. We can fight more then." He was sure they would, way this was going.

"I 'on't wanna fight, Raylan. I just don't wanna have to go down there to pick you up and bury you if shit goes sideways." Maybe it's cowardly. Maybe it's selfish. Maybe Raylan won't be happy for the next day or three. Doc doesn't give a shit. He doesn't want to go down there, full stop. And maybe he can live with trying to help Malcolm on his own - Malcolm who will probably get worse if they have to recite some bullshit Psalms over a mound of dirt covering Raylan up - but that won't stop him from running circles around the town, pacing around the porch drinking four bottles of moonshine freezing his balls off praying to a God he doesn't believe in anymore waiting for a white hat to emerge from the horizon of snow. He doesn't want either of them to see him after four bottles of moonshine.

"What're we doin'? Holding one side and letting it fall slowly?"

Malcolm also did not want to fight with Raylan, but Doc had more sway with him. They seemed to connect with each other on a more equal level than they connected with Malcolm. So he watched them both carefully - their faces, their body language - for his cues.

“Maybe some rope would help,” he suggested. “We could lower it like a drawbridge so it doesn’t hit the other side too hard and break. And so we can retrieve it without it falling in the chasm if it’s too short.”

It wasn't cowardly or selfish; Raylan couldn't blame them for not wanting to bury another known face. Not one they'd lived and sat with and built a sense of community with. It had been hard enough to bury people they barely knew. But instead of answering it with anything, he took a deep breath, resettled his hat on his head and looked over at his companions, tone back down to the same beguiling affable calm as he normally had.

"Rope isn't a bad idea, in case my eyes off." It wasn't but being short wasn't the only way something fell in a hole. "I was thinkin' we work it across as is, lifting it up to compensate for the bend. Tallest of us up front and we should be fine, but the rope'll help if it does fall." He eyed the houses around them more than a bit aggressively, like he might be able to light them on fire with his gaze alone.

"Might find some in one of these garages. We'll need two coils."

"Alright. I'll check this house." And hopefully they won't be needing that rope to go spelunking today. He's pretty sure nothing will happen to Raylan and Malcolm's handiwork apart from getting buried in more snow, and that they've sufficiently talked Raylan out of a Supremely Stupid Idea, so he's confident enough to leave their side and peel off, see if he can find anything useful.

He might also be needing that little bit of space and distance. Though it is not necessarily the case with Malcolm, whom he is quietly thankful has taken his side this time even though he had never asked for it, and it should not involve taking sides, sometimes with Raylan they do better with silences than with talking.

Malcolm watched Doc peel off, then looked at Raylan. "Sh-should we split up?"

He wasn't sure whether Raylan was mad at him. Maybe he wanted some space.

"Covers more ground that way. Pick a house, any house with a garage, scrounge around." The direction came with an aimless waggle of his finger as he broke off towards the far side of the street. Raylan needed the space, without a doubt. More talking was not going to solve the stoked embers in his stomach or the urge to hit something that simmered in his palms.

He wasn't mad at Doc or Malcolm per se; their concerns were valid to a point. Still, more roadblocks did little to help his disposition. He needed a win, any win and felt more than a little strung out by his own frustrations. The silence and isolation, the simple task to busy his hand a welcome distraction from himself was a good thing and he could take out a little steam on things carelessly batted off shelves, like an irritated cat.

Yeah, they don't need to bear witness to Raylan sulking. Doc has fallen into a comfortable kind of quiet on his own, walking around inside an abandoned house, leaving only wet footprints in his wake. He is more careful, picking up and putting down possessions he thinks of as still having an owner that might come back for it. He is used to that vagabond life, drifting from one place to another, never having anywhere to call home or anyone to call family. Not until recently, anyway. With every turn and every unfamiliar piece of technology he comes across it becomes cemented into him how he is always an intrusion on someone else's space. In someone else's timeline. He has broken enough things in his own time, and space. He doesn't need to be breaking more.

He chances upon a good sized reel of rope from a modern galvanised anchor, still on its spool. Turning it over in his hand, he taps it against his palm a couple of times before taking one last look around and stepping outside.

Doc rejoins Malcolm, following his footprints - yes, he's memorised their different footprints - where he can't see the young man's silhouette, and hands him the rope once he's caught up to him.

"Between the three of us, Mister 'Most Expendable', you would have the most experience with restraints to know if this'll snap or hold the weight of the plank." Yeah, Doc knows it'll hold. But he habitually leaves these openings for Malcolm, these little doors ajar for him to sneak a few words in, just the tip of his shoe until he's comfortable to start talking.

Malcolm is always pleasantly surprised when they come to him for any kind of expertise or help. This marks the second time today, after Raylan asked him to help build the bridge.

The house he'd been in had yielded nothing of use, but when Doc hands him the rope, he turns it over in his hands, examining it carefully, pulling on it to test it. Questions from Doc or Raylan were to be given proper consideration, not pat answers.

"Looks like braided nylon rope." He looks at Doc. "Good quality. Suggests nautical applications: anchor line or towing. Makes sense, since we're near the sea. Should hold the bridge easily."

He glances around. Yes, he's looking for Raylan.

"I hope Raylan found something because the house I was in didn't have any."

It was sulking. A private sulking that would let him come back with a little less intensity in his eyes and a little less tension in his jaw. He was being an asshole; he knew it. No reason to take it out on everyone else. It wasn't their fault he wasn't at home, it wasn't their fault he was lonely and frustrated.

Raylan took a few minutes more than needed, just to push and batter himself back down into the box he'd lived in all his life. The garage he'd chosen didn't have much more than some rope meant to hold down a tarp but he brought the messy coil with him as he ambled back towards their primary site. Looked like Doc found something more substantial than what he had - good. Anything to result in less arguements.

"Find somethin' decent?" he asked with a gesture towards the larger coil. "It gonna work for our purpose?"

He purses his lips and nods a few times, seemingly more keen on studying Malcolm than the rope. There may yet be hope to salvage today.

Turning to glance over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps crunching up the snow, Doc steps to the side to give Raylan some space to come in closer.

"It should work fine. Shall we?" He still doesn't have a good feeling about this. He'd gotten an up close and personal look at the extent of Five's bruising, after all. But at least they're likely a safe enough distance away and extending a fourteen footer olive branch should hopefully not provoke that kind of response.

Malcolm watches Raylan for a moment. The Marshal has put a mask on while he was in the house; Malcolm can see he's swallowed the tension that was working his jaw before he left them.

"It's got a little bit of spring in it," Malcolm told him about the rope. "That's good because that makes it more durable. The hardest part is going to be getting it up on its end at the edge."

Raylan looked between them and nodded.

"I figure we tie off the end of the bridge, middle of the rope and have two of us pull on equal sides while the third lifts and pushes. Otherwise we stand it up on this side, have two of us hold the rope ends and slowly lower it. Drawbridge style, like suggested," he said with a gesture towards Malcolm before looking at Doc for his thoughts.

Well it would take a lot of strength to lower it in a controlled, steady fashion. It's heavy and bulky and if anything were to happen to any one of them in the next minute or two, it wouldn't bode well for the other two, or the plank. Doc mulls it over for a bit before nodding a few times.

"That first idea seemed safer. We can nudge it out nice and slow. Soon as it starts to bend, the rope can hold it up."

“For safety we’ll want to make sure we’ve all got a good grip on the rope. If we have to take the weight of the bridge suddenly, it’ll require all of us. If there’s any danger to any of us, we let it fall. Agreed?” Malcolm suggested.

"Sure," Raylan agreed with a gesture towards the damned thing. "Let's get her tied and over. Seems like Malcolm might know a bit more about knots than the rest of us, you wanna take lead on the tyin' off?"

He wasn't trying to say anything but.. Malcolm did have more extensive knowledge on that then they do.

"Sooner we get it over, sooner we can go talk to Five."

Doc is most definitely making a face, the one with raised eyebrows and a teasing little smile as he turns and looks at Malcolm, suggestiveness all but evident in his expression even though he says absolutely nothing, gesturing with his hand to the plank. Why yes Malcolm. Do take lead on the knots.

He plucks his filed down butter knife out from where it's tucked behind his back. It's not as sharp as it needs to be to cut lengths of rope easily but a bit of sawing should still be able to cut through.

Malcolm glances at Doc, but isn’t sure what that look means. He steps over, taking the end of the rope and tying a knot that he knows won’t slip. Cowboy safety remains his priority.

Raylan saw the look too, eyes narrowing a little bit as he tried to figure out what it was. For all the jokes that had been given.. were Doc and Malcolm a Thing? He hadn't specifically avoided thinking about those kinds of possibilities; none of his business and not really a curiosity, but now that the idea had settled down...

Once the rope was measured out, tied and cut, Raylan stood back. "Rope's'll probably take most of the weight towards the ends of it - who wants to take the ass end of this thing?"

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