This was the second 'party' their house had hosted and he didn't know which one of the men he lived with to blame first, but once he knew who was coming and that it wasn't, in fact, the whole goddamned town, he calmed down and helped get to work. Well, not much more work than making sure there weren't any errant bottles in the living room.
Kitchen, before dinner
Not being the type to rush to the door and play host, Raylan would leave that to Malcolm, opting instead to linginer in the doorframe of the kitchen for a little while, watching the food get made and listening to the passing conversation. Eventually, he got himself a drink and found someone standing alone to meander up to, bottle in hand.
"Someone pour you somethin' yet? Not like we're dealin' with top shelf here but.. Impolite to not offer, party and all." It didn't matter if the person lived there - Parties were meant to be had with drinks in hand.
Dinner
Hearing dinner being called was more than enough to draw Raylan out of whatever conversation he was having, happy to continue it as they all settled down at the table. If he looked real close, it might look like a celebration. Even if that was just a celebration of them surviving this long, he'd take it. There was something reassuring about sitting with people around a table. It'd been too long since he had.
He would be easy to ply into conversations, happy to argue over baseball or what book overlap there was, guns or runnin' money, or the fine art of ripping copper pipes from walls. He missed good general conversation like this and the amount he ate reflected it. The man had to have a hollow leg.
Post dinner Fat, happy and with a fresh pot of post dinner coffee brewed, Raylan followed the crowd into the livingroom and found a chair to sit in, one legs skewed widely. He was on his fourth drink so far, but he was sure no one noticed and if they did, he was sure they didn't care. Welcome to being in his home.
"That was fantastic Neal, thank you. I'm glad someone here can cook because we probably shouldn't be surviving on eggs and bacon alone."
no subject
Kitchen, before dinner
Not being the type to rush to the door and play host, Raylan would leave that to Malcolm, opting instead to linginer in the doorframe of the kitchen for a little while, watching the food get made and listening to the passing conversation. Eventually, he got himself a drink and found someone standing alone to meander up to, bottle in hand.
"Someone pour you somethin' yet? Not like we're dealin' with top shelf here but.. Impolite to not offer, party and all." It didn't matter if the person lived there - Parties were meant to be had with drinks in hand.
Dinner
Hearing dinner being called was more than enough to draw Raylan out of whatever conversation he was having, happy to continue it as they all settled down at the table. If he looked real close, it might look like a celebration. Even if that was just a celebration of them surviving this long, he'd take it. There was something reassuring about sitting with people around a table. It'd been too long since he had.
He would be easy to ply into conversations, happy to argue over baseball or what book overlap there was, guns or runnin' money, or the fine art of ripping copper pipes from walls. He missed good general conversation like this and the amount he ate reflected it. The man had to have a hollow leg.
Post dinner
Fat, happy and with a fresh pot of post dinner coffee brewed, Raylan followed the crowd into the livingroom and found a chair to sit in, one legs skewed widely. He was on his fourth drink so far, but he was sure no one noticed and if they did, he was sure they didn't care. Welcome to being in his home.
"That was fantastic Neal, thank you. I'm glad someone here can cook because we probably shouldn't be surviving on eggs and bacon alone."