villagelogs | 026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

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026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

characters: Malcolm, Neal, Negan, Raylan, Doc
location: 1306 Phillips Dr
date/time: day 26 morning
content: the reset Playstation button was pressed
warnings: tbd

After the strangeness of the past two nights they were likely fully expecting to awaken in the same strange, different, not-so-new anymore places they found themselves in in the past two days.

Instead everything seems to have reset, again. The three permanent residents and two guests are back in 1306, exactly where they had been two nights ago. Malcolm was in his own room, Neal was in Doc's and Negan in Raylan's master bedroom. The two displaced cowboys are downstairs sharing one too-small couch, a night of drinking culminating in fighting over couch space and who gets to be the bigger spoon.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out and their Winter 2020 Collection of bespoke lanterns have vanished, but nothing else seems to be awry.

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He offered up his cup in spite of there still being some coffee in it. Nothing wrong with a refresher. Raylan going to get the coffee gave him a chance to think, at least. A little distance from the conversation.

"I'd like that. I'm good." At the playing pool part, obviously. He studied his hands, keeping his tone casual. "But it's not about what I did when I was nine, is it? It's about what I did when I was twenty, and twenty-five, and twenty-seven, and the years in-between."

It's about what he's only just learning not to do. His smile hasn't wavered. He's had a lot of practice. "You went law, Malcolm went law. I didn't. That's the difference."

Raylan grabbed it and turned, just as readily happy for the space as he stepped into the kitchen. Fishing the spare bottle of moonshine from under the sink, he poured a good two fingers into his mug before corking it and sticking it away, covering it and Neal's cup in what was left from the pot.

"Mm," he sounded noncommittally as he stepped back into the living room. "So what. I went into law to be everything Arlo is not. Malcolm, I think, went into it to save people, honestly and earnestly... Boyd coulda gone towards law," he continued as he handed Neal his cup, opting to stay on his feet and move over to the fire that needed a good poking. "His daddy and mine ran the county. Ran the drugs, ran the women. Boyd and I, we were supposed to take over. Keep the 'Legends' goin'. Course, the only legend they left was a trail of convictions and bodies." He glanced over.

"Boyd, point in fact, did not go for the law." He looked back at the fire, setting his cup on the mantle place before grabbing a hunk of wood and squatting down, poking around and tossing it in. "And I'm gonna put him in jail or in the ground for it. Eventually. Too many bodies for Boyd to be able to come back to any redemption." His jaw flexed a little and he took out the feelings on the wood, stirring the heat up til it caught flame again.

"Lemme ask you somethin', no judgement." He stood and recollected his cup, turning to look at Neal. "Why do you rob these people? I'm sure it's partly for the money, that's the way of men in the world but.. You're smart. Adaptable. Why that? What's it get you?"

Neal blinked.

He hadn't heard that question since the first time Peter met Mozzie. He hadn't answered then. Mozzie had, for both of them, and Neal had let him with only mild discouragement. He opened his mouth to crib Mozzie's answer and found he couldn't make the words come.

After a moment, he looked down. "It's the money. We never starved, but when you're in WITSEC you're not exactly encouraged to take high-profile positions, and my mom...."

His mom had been too much of a mess to hold down a job for longer than a few months at a time. "It's the money."

The money and all it brought with it. To some degree it's what Mozzie told Peter, too--being able to come and go, to live whatever life he wanted in whatever way he wanted. To answer to no one but himself.

But what had the past year shown him, if not that he wanted people to answer to? He wanted people who would notice if he was late. Who would care if he disappeared. He didn't just want to live. He wanted to share it.

Neal tried to clear the tightness from his throat. "...It's what I'm good at."

It took a moment for him to realize what he'd said. Everything he'd said. When he did realize it, he went still, watching Raylan like a rabbit in an open field who just spotted a hawk.

Edited 2021-01-19 04:36 (UTC)

WITSEC. People were only put into WITSEC for a a few general type reasons, but somehow Raylan doubted that Neal or his mother were witnesses that were looking to testify. Not with long term plans.

Raylan didn't move for a long second but he broke the stillness with a faint nod, long legs carrying him casually back over towards the corner of the couch. He'd have thought that Neal would have gotten used to talking about it, considering all the work he was doing with Law Enforcement but the look on Neal's face was plenty to tell him he was wrong.

"As you tell it Neal, you're good at whatever you put your mind to. At the risk of sounding too much like a camp counselor.. You, workin' with the FBI, fancy ankle jewlery or not - That's the first step. You good at catchin' guys for the FBI? What'd you say your solve rate was?"

Why couldn't that be top billing?

"Ninety-four percent." He can't help being proud of that number, even if it feels like a betrayal as much as a success sometimes. Less and less like a betrayal, month by month.

You have Stockholm syndrome. You're fooling yourself if you think this is who you really are.

"There's a reason I'm good at it. It's what I do."

Edited 2021-01-20 03:34 (UTC)

The edges of Raylan's casually friendly smile curled into something warmer as he sat back down on the couch. "Here's a thought for you to chew on, might not be any good, I might be as dumb as I look but.. Who's to say that all that experience ain't what was meant to set you into the job you're in now?"

His chin lifted, eyes down for a moment as he continued before coming up to meet Neal's too blue eyes again. Jesus, those eyes.

"Used to know a guy called Hot Rod Rodney Dunham. Ran weed mostly, low level kinda DEA stuff.. He was a CI for the Marshal's Service until he was old as hell. There's a path for you that runs along side the law. Seems, from what I can gather, that maybe you've.." He inhaled, eyes going back out to a thousand yard stare at the living room floor. "Been Overhandled. But," he continued as though he hadn't said such a thing, "-Like I said before, ain't nothin' to steal here. Nothin' more than food, really. And you don't seem.. addicted to it, in such a way. It'll be alright."

Overhandled. Neal tensed.

"Peter is the best supervisory agent I could ask for. He's... the best friend I could ask for. The only person who thinks I can change."

Neal couldn't help the protectiveness. The defensiveness. Everything good he has in his life, Peter gave it to him, in one way or another. It isn't Peter's fault Neal kept screwing things up.

And he'd made his choice. He chose New York. Even if Mozzie thought he was lying to himself, even if he was lying to himself... he'd chosen.

The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.

He ran his thumb over the rim of the mug, watching Raylan sidelong. He wanted to ask what made Raylan so sure. He wanted to ask what Raylan thought would happen when they were back in the world, when there was more to steal again than food.

Instead, he said, "You're the strangest people I've ever met. You, Doc, and Malcolm."

Edited 2021-01-20 07:29 (UTC)

Peter couldn't have been the only one handling him. "Then I'm not talkin' about him," Raylan replied with an affable evenness. It wasn't an accusation or an attack on Peter, just.. someone. Neal was just as damaged as the rest of them, though how deep it went would remain to be seen. That didn't happen without reason.

Raylan huffed a breath, opting to hide behind a sip of his coffee before he answered, teeth bared slightly as he swallowed down with the bite of shine. "Better than some of the things I've been called, that's for sure," he admitted with a curling lift of eyebrow that didn't quite come with eye contact.

"I'm guessin' you've got issues.. trustin' authority. Or.. Just people, people tend to be shit, generally speaking. My sayin' otherwise probably ain't gonna change your mind either but.. all we're lookin' for here is a way to survive.. And maybe not do it totally alone."

A smile breaks across Neal’s face, and he ducks his head like that will somehow hide it. He’s not even sure why he’s smiling. After a moment, he says, “No one knows. That I grew up in WITSEC. No one. Not even Peter. I ran when I turned eighteen. Peter’s never been able to find anything about my family, because anything that there was to find is behind the Marshals’ lock and key.”

"That mean only a Marhsal can unlock it?" he asked with a sidelong look over. He didn't ask outright because Neal liked to dance. Dancing tended to ratchet up tension and that was not his goal here. "I've got the clearance.. If you don't wanna tell me, that's okay too. But the door's open, if you do."

He wasn't going to push or insist or try to wile it out of Neal. Even the curiosity was just that and not worth making him uncomfortable. Raylan got nothing from pushing except more being alone or being avoided. That was fine when he had a bottle to happily crawl into, but moonshine just wasn't as comforting.

"Nothin' wrong with growin' up safe."

“Maybe another time.”

Never, Neal thought. Never. But somehow it didn’t have the ring of truth. His smile faded to something small and wounded.

“Yeah, I grew up safe.” He lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I also grew up a liar.”

Edited 2021-01-21 03:37 (UTC)

"Not by your choice," Raylan pointed out. "You were a kid." His face pinched with the emphasis.

"Trust me. It's better to grow up safe and lying then the alternative.. You mentioned Mom - Where was Dad? Was he in the picture?"

Or was Dad why they were in WITSEC to begin with?

"You can tell me to fuck off too, if you want. I can.. go find some other place to put myself."

Maybe another time was apparently right then. Neal set his cup down on the coffee table. Studied his palms. Malcolm knew already. And what had he thought when he told Malcolm? That Peter knew already? How many people would he just tell?

But Malcolm and Raylan had talked about their own fathers with no reservations. Emotion, clearly, but reservations, no.

Neal cleared his throat. "Not in the picture."

He wrestled a moment more with what to say. "Dirty cop. I don't really know much. No one would tell me."

Raylan let several beats pass before he said anything, eyes kept down in his lap for it. Having a criminal for an old man felt like it was on a similar level, but at least Arlo never had legal authority to push that control.

"Probably for the best. If you and your mother were put in WITSEC, it was likely to keep you from him." Raylan looked over sidelong, a bit of concern in the faint pinch of his features. "Daddies are shit anyway. Can't seem to find a lotta stories where they're not."

He lifted his eyebrows a little, eyes closing as he redirected them into his cup again. "Makes me worry about what kinda I'll be, with one on the way."

Neal laughed faintly at the declaration that daddies were shit. "Peter's seems like he was a good man. But Peter's a good man, too."

He wasn't sure if Raylan appreciated touch as much as Malcolm did, but he reached out anyway, squeezing the man's shoulder. "For what it's worth, you seem like you'd be a good one to me."

Edited 2021-01-22 03:42 (UTC)

"Always an acception to the rule," he allowed with a nonchalant, conversationally airy kind of tone. There were always exceptions. His would sadly, never be one of them.

The weight of Neal's hand was a surprise and Raylan looked over, face relenting into a small grateful smile to go with the faint bob of his head. When he'd first gotten here, after the first week or so, he'd started counting the number of physical touches he'd been able to enjoy, even passingly. It was silly and he'd stopped count but it still ticked up in the back of his head.

"Thanks. Shame her mother doesn't agree right now but.." He inhaled deeply again, the sure sign of him trying to reset himself as he lifted his cup up to help cover the end of his statement. "Somethin' to work out when I get back."

Swallowing heavily, Raylan glanced over again. "If it wasn't your father that got you into pool, how'd you get to hustlin'?"

"You've got a girl?" Neal grinned. "You're in trouble. She's going to wrap you around her pinkie as soon as she has the dexterity to do it."

As for the question, well. "There was a pool hall on the way home from school. I got curious." It wasn't like his mom really noticed if he didn't come home right away. "Hung out, saw what people did there. I learned to shark before I ever touched a cue."

The lift in Neal's voice, the obviously kind feeling towards babies and their power, was more than enough to make Raylan's face break back into a smile. One that could have almost looked happy. "I don't doubt it at all. I got another young lady that I'm keepin' an eye out over in Harlan.. She ain't even mine and she knows to call me for something."

Of course, Raylan knew that Loretta was going to end up taking over the county, if she could manage to survive her teenage years and the hell of what the Bennetts had put her through. She'd be unstoppable if she made it to adulthood.

The curl of his smile stayed as Neal answered his question. "I don't think learnin' to shark or playing pool for money is illegal yet, even if I suppose, it is bettin'. You always been in New York? Never gotten the time to check out any of their pool halls, myself but I'm sure they've got 'em."

“St. Louis.” This was so strange. Just talking about his history. The only person who knew this much about him was June, and June was June. He could tell her anything.

“I was born in D.C., but I don’t remember it. We went into WITSEC when I was three.”

"Missouri? Three explains why I don't hear the accent on ya." Not that it would have suited him but maybe Raylan had just gotten used to the New York rounded that came with Neal's vowled curves.

He chuckled a little under his breath. "The fact that you can't remember bein' born is probably a good thing. I hear it's a little traumatic for everyone involved. Since we're doin' this.." His lips curled, a finger gesturing between them both in suggestion. "Might as well come clean."

He leaned over, emboldened in his telling only by Neal's only hesitant admission. "My mother and her side of the family are hill folk. Only come down the mountain with her." He straightened. "I wasn't raised by them or anythin'. Didn't even know til I was a teenager, but.."

It was something to offer in return.

Neal laughed at the remark about not remembering being born, but when Raylan leaned in, so did he. Neal loved a good secret almost as much as a good story.

How did he end up in a house with people who had so many threads of their lives run parallel to his own?

"I didn't know about my dad until I was eighteen. My mom told me he was dead, that he went out a hero." He made a noise that wasn't quite amused. "Funny the things that family forgets to mention."

A laugh. That was a good sign and it fit Neal's face a lot better.

"Makes sense that she'd want to keep you safe. Give you an ideal to look up to that was worth somethin'. Frances tried but.. Arlo didn't give anyone much of any choice, when he was involved. He didn't like her roots. Made her and I both.. dirty somehow." Which they both suffered plenty for. Raylan kept his easy smile anyway, always finding that easier than admitting to how much Arlo had left in and on him.

"Sharkin' had to lead you to somethin' else, right? What's next on your .. resume," he said, huffing a little breath of a chuckle to lighten the word choice. Anything to maybe turn them off the parent conversational path.

"Uh. Well. More like other things led to sharking. Sort of."

He shrugged helplessly. "I forged city bus passes when I was seven so I could go where I wanted, which is what led to the pool hall in the first place."

That made Raylan chuckle, head tilting back a little with it. He glanced over, one eyebrows lifting with the motion.

"That's called workin' the system and really, as a lawman, I think it makes the system healthier. Not that I'm advocating it but.. I tend to only care about federal level crimes. Plenty of people gotta live, shit - we woulda called that ingenuity in Harlan.. If we'd had buses... We didn't. If you think that the fact that I got a badge means that I play by every rule in the book, I will clue you in on the fact that I lost a suspect once because I put him in my trunk and my car got stolen, taken to the crushers."

He was no untainted Angel. He wasn't a crooked cop either, just.. wildly unorthodox in his own Kentucky way.

Edited 2021-01-24 04:08 (UTC)

Neal laughed again, more delighted by the story than he probably should have been. "Please tell me he didn't actually get crushed, or I'm going to feel really bad for laughing at that."

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