villagelogs | 028-029 » the winds of change

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028-029 » the winds of change

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central Mathias.
WHEN: Days 028-029
WHAT: A town meeting is called.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Ikiryo"

DAY 028
SOMETHING ON THE WIND
Another day dawns in the fair town of Mathias. The sky is a blanket of light grey, tiny specks of snow lightly falling as the hours pass. It makes the town feel almost quaint, the scenery quite peaceful in its winter garb. But beneath the veneer of peace there is a pervasive dread of something approaching. Something inevitable is on the wind, something that has come before and will come again...

Throughout the day, residents will consistently experience feelings of deja vu, that sense of having done or seen or said something before that can never be fully recalled. It happens again and again, tugging at the back of their minds, the memories just frustratingly out of reach.

Residents will also notice a note pinned around town:

The note can be found on the town hall's bulletin board and the front doors of many town establishments, including the Grey Gull, the library, and the boarding house. At the bottom of the note it is specified that the meeting will take place "tomorrow, when the sun is over the town square."

NEW ARRIVALs
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake on the frozen lawn of the town hall atop a snowdrift. They had best hurry inside and get warmed up before hypothermia sets in.

DAY 029
A GATHERING OF MINDS
In the late afternoon when the sun hangs over the town square, residents will converge upon the Town Hall, where a larger meeting room has been filled with rows of chairs. After most people arrive, John Constantine stands and addresses the room... and then sits again. A grand introduction, truly.

Residents are encouraged to share their experiences and information they have gathered in the town while holding questions until the end. Rather than getting tangled in the intricacies of each person's tale, it seems better to absorb the broad strokes and try to connect the puzzle pieces to get a look at the bigger picture that is the mystery of Mathias Township.

THE INEVITABLE
As the meeting comes to an end and residents begin to converse among themselves, the feeling of something approaching and sense of deja vu begin to build, becoming almost oppressive as night falls. An hour after nightfall, residents learn the reason for these sensations that cease immediately as the earth begins to rumble. The buildings shake, furniture tumbles, and breakables crash to the floor as the earthquake sets in without warning.

The tremors last around a minute, far longer than a normal earthquake, and then the town settles again. There are no aftershocks, which many may note is quite unusual. Residents will find quite a bit of mess in their homes and other locations around town, but there is no structural damage to be found despite the intense shaking.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER is fairly typical of a northern winter. The sky is grey, the temperature hovers just below freezing during the day (colder at night), and a light snow falls during both days. Residents should bundle up when going outside and not venture too far into the dark night...

— THE FOG remains blocking the paths in the forest, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper, and it also now blocks the northern section of town, beginning just before where residents know the chasm in the earth to be. Venturing into the fog is ill-advised.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue with Sherlock Holmes being the latest victim of the town's unsettling whims.

OOC NOTES
— TOWN MEETING STRUCTURE The town meeting section of the log is designed for characters to share any information they would like to with the other residents in attendance. ICly, characters should "hold questions until the end" with the intent that they can get the Big Picture first and connect any dots they see. OOCly, this means players should post their character's information sharing tag in the Meeting section, but the actual conversation about whatever they share happens after the meeting proper in the Mingle section. That way, these conversations can happen however players prefer, be that one-on-one or in small or large groups.

— HOUSING Please be sure your character's housing arrangements are up to date on our list. We're missing a few people and it really helps to know where everyone is for planning. Frequent updates for wandering characters are perfectly acceptable.

— THE BULLETIN BOARD has been updated. Players should note there is a change to the wall near the board that may be of great interest to some residents.

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It was a delicate balance, the handing back and forth of the responsibility stick but somehow the cowboys seemed to manage it well. He wasn't going to let Doc go full tilt in front of company though, looking at Doc now, he should have considered saying something sooner.

"Look, I get you don't like crowds when they ain't buying ass or whiskey, but you know how small towns are. We all gotta go, c'mon," he said, patting Doc's arm with the heavy suggestion that he get up from the arm of the couch like he was a grown man. "Sorry this wasn't on the drinkin' calendar but you gotta tell people about the museum. They deserve to know, so .. get up, c'mon."

"You could go wearing my hat 'nd they wouldn't know the difference," he grumbles. It wasn't full tilt so much as it was Doc talking to the floor stroking the carpet pile. It was a miracle that he managed to make it onto the couch last night. Or maybe the miracle is called Raylan.

"I already told 'em about the museum. There be a dozen polite 'go away' signs stuck all over it." If people won't respect the signs why the hell would they listen to some asshole preach about it? Speaking of which, he needs one of those 'go away' signs right now to stick on his face.

"Nobody even wants me there." And by nobody he means the organiser because he recognises that handwriting. "And I don't want people to know I'm in town." Nevermind that he's been enough of a wandering social butterfly that he's met more than half the town on his own. The number of people who know he's that John Henry Holliday he can still count on the one hand. And he would like to keep it that way.

Raylan had spent the night in his chair nearby, a little concerned that Doc was going to start vomiting and choke on it and had taken it easy the night before just to counterbalance Doc's attempts to turn into a gasoline flavored fish. He didn't know if it was how much they'd been drinking or what, but he'd seen Doc drink more to get the level he had last night.

There was Some Concern.

But for now, Raylan took a deep breath in through his nose and squatted down to be on Doc's level, one hand settling on Doc's left upper arm - half to steady himself, half to try and get Doc's attention off the carpet and onto him.

"It's very rude to call me nobody, what happened to your manners," he chided with a mock serious tone and a lift of his eyebrows, belayed only by the twitch of the edges of his lips. "You know as well as I do that people can't read, generally speakin' and ignorance is only gonna turn out to put more bodies on our doorstep to bury out back." Those were the easy points.

"What do you mean you don't want anyone to know you're in town? You know what the story is - you can play it. Tell 'em what they know. Keep the truth to yourself if you want, they got no rights to know you, but you still need to come.. Go around this town often as you do with gift baskets of concern and care, you don't think they don't already know you're in town?" C'mon now.

Despite the words, his tone was light, however matter of fact. Good natured.

"You ain't even gotta stay to talk afterwards."

It was a good night though. Even if their clothes stayed on- well. Most of their clothes stayed on for most of the night. One bloodshot eye cracks open, unable to glare at Raylan long enough before his gaze softens and he turns towards the light, acknowledging Raylan with a grunt. He's still refusing to let go of the couch cushion he has clutched onto or get up, but at least Raylan got him moving. Baby steps.

"Some people know some asshole who calls himself Henry has taken up residence in 1306 Phillips Drive. Occasionally they show up bleeding out of a few gashes and holes and they know they can get that kinda problem fixed here. What else is there to say?" Most of the things he has learnt don't lead anywhere. The photos, the museum, the phantoms, the spirals in the ceiling. They're just dead ends that will encourage some young fellow to go do something stupid. He would rather not contribute to some reckless fool's untimely demise.

"This is the one day I wanna stay here," he tries to bargain. Doc is never around inside the house at this time, but he's tired and nursing one hell of a self-inflicted headache. "You should go. Learn what you can."

It had been a good night, having that many souls gathered together bullshiting and talking and laughing, even if it was at the expense of Malcolm's restraints; Klaus and Five were good souls, however grump Five might be by nature.

Raylan gave him a look. He had tried the kid gloves, the nice path; Doc was pushing him towards frustration now.

"Now you decide to not be the Sunday church service welcomin' everyone with a basket of goods and a shoulder to lean on. Don't make me use your name. Take some aspirin, have a cup of coffee, put on a nice face and tell these poor stupid people why the Museum is dangerous. It was what, you and Negan? I don't know if he's goin'," Raylan said with a glance up the stairs, "But you both got to. Perspective is important, especially in the situation we're in, don't get these people killed outta their own ignorance."

It was a strategy, but one he stood behind. So what if he was using a little bit of guilt to motivate the good doctor from his couch post.

Ugh. Negan. He's probably going to go running around the Town Hall telling everyone about that special bond they shared on what they thought might have been their last night on God's lily white Earth. Doc scrubs his face and clutches a cushion against his face, holding still for a few more precious seconds. He hates it when Raylan's right and it involves him doing something he would rather not do.

Taking a deep breath in, he nods a couple of times, moving head of hair visible against the cushion. Fine. He'll get up. Just- not right now. He wants to feel sorry for himself for a few more minutes. Especially if only Raylan's watching him in this sorry state. If any one of the other three showed up he'd be up and out of the couch like he'd drunk only water last night and he's ready to take on the rest of the day.

He'd take the nod with a pinch of salt and, walking around to the far side of the couch, drop down onto it with a heavy sigh.

"There any particular reason you hit the bottle extra hard yesterday?" Normally, he'd offer a casual out on the other side of that statement but.. No. Not today. Not after.. what almost happened a few nights before.

Oh, he knows this conversation. Has had it multiple times. But even a better marshal than the one lingering close by couldn't get much out of Doc Holliday when he decided he didn't want to talk. It's unlikely that Raylan would succeed.

"Am I under arrest?" he counters, too tired and hoarse to have any bite in those words. Pulling the cushion away so he doesn't sound so muffled, he looks over at Raylan, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch the only evidence that he hadn't become a boneless lump overnight.

"I had one bottle and couldn't stop." He thought they had an agreement about not talking about their drinking. Folding his arm back, he closes his eyes and scratches his eyebrows, breathing out a sigh. "It happens."

Raylan gave him another look, one that read much like 'Oh please' before he shook his head, attention back on the middle of nothing in the room.

"I'm older than you are now, unless you had some liquor to cure your liver down where you were-" He wasn't going to say 'well', he could intimate it without drawing such sharp attention to it. "But we both know it's still a choice. Get down into your own bullshit so why bother stoppin, right?"

It wasn't the drinking that was the problem. It was the kinda drinking fueled by whatever was in Doc's head that had him gripping to the couch like it was life raft and Raylan was asking him to go swim in the ocean. He'd seen a lot of sides to Doc. The petulant one was new.

"Hnh. You can say 'well'. I won't have a violent reaction or shoot you in the face." That's about as much as he wants to talk about his time down the well though so Doc just turns to look up at the ceiling, one arm folded over his stomach. This couch, comfortable as it is, can barely fit him - he wonders how they managed to both be on it at the same time.

Wynonna really brings the petty, stubborn, sulky adolescent out of him sometimes, but he hasn't really had the opportunity or given himself the space here to be anything more than a man who compartmentalises everything but is capable of the occasional melodramatic spiel that deceives everyone into thinking he is just as expressive about himself as when he's telling a story or giving someone else advice.

Doc rolls his wrist and flicks the cushion squarely at Raylan's face like a basketball before propping himself up on his elbows, pulling his legs in close. It's a terrible mistake to be moving but he's starting to get up anyway so he might as well just follow through. Turning over his shoulder, he reaches behind him to grab his hat. The more the hem of his shirt rides up the more it appears as though he's got the history of the Frontier carved into his skin.

Once his fingertips brush the rim of the hat and pulls it in closer, he swipes it off the table and sits up in one smooth motion, affixing it on top of his head and letting his fingertips drift down and fall away from the hat.

"I haven't been to Sunday church service in over a hundred years. God can wait a few more minutes." While Doc gets his shit together. He's a different man with the hat alone, but a coffee and aspirin, as suggested, and a cold shower and a fresh change of clothes wouldn't hurt.

Raylan's lips tightened in a passing look of acknowledgement that said he wasn't really going to take the advice underwing unless he felt he needed to. If he could avoid pointing fingers at it directly, he would. He had plenty of words that got it across all the same.

He didn't know if Doc's sinking into the couch was a concession or not, but there was no mistaking what the pillow flying at his face meant, and he laughed a little as it fell away, grinning foolishly. Well, it was movement and he didn't have to use his commanding voice, so it was a victory over all. He didn't hold the petulant against Doc, if he couldn't be a little petulant in front of Raylan, Raylan obviously wasn't doing his job.

Raylan saw the hints of scars from under Doc's shirt - questions for another time. The gunshot wound was an easy guess - A gunslinger getting shot wasn't extraordinary, but Doc had clearly been through more.

He saw the way the walls were pulled back up with the seating of the hat, knowing far to well exactly what that was like. The hat was it's own protection, a security blanket of mystery that they could duck away from life from, give it the backs of their shoulders and not think twice about it.

"I'll start the coffee," Raylan said, patting Doc's knee before he pushed to his feet. He knew better than to push or talk any more about it - Doc had agreed and he wasn't going to chance him changing his mind. "Hair of the dog that bit you," he offered with a finger and a lift of his eyebrows in question.

Doc grunts in response at the offer. How a man says 'yes' and 'thank you' in one succinct noise is a honed artform that all stoic cowboys aspire to, but one they have likely mastered, and ultimately a shared language between them. He can't attest to how much more palatable a finger of moonshine is dumped into a cup of coffee but they don't drink either of those for the taste. Or at least, he doesn't.

"I'll get cleaned up upstairs." It would still take him longer than the coffee would after a quick shower and a few minutes hunched over the sink, mostly because he's got layers to put on, but once he's fully suited up, wearing his waistcoat and hat and old time charm like armour, he'll be ready to take on whatever the day is planning on throwing at him.

It also means he'll feel less inclined to lounge around at home since he's already gone to the trouble of getting ready to head out. It would only be too easy to just decide halfway that he would just not go after all.

He assumes that Raylan will be going as well, because he's bringing Raylan's coat with him when he returns downstairs.

"Was it always this quiet when it's just us?" Doc asks casually when he slips back into the kitchen. It had been just the two of them for a little while before, but he had gotten so used to all this activity, to background conversations and music and footsteps, to all the little details like the added laundry load and the little quirks that the other boys in the house reveal about themselves when they leave their things lying around, that it feels different when it's just the two of them again.

It was a language Raylan well understood though he couldn't say when he got fluent in it. Sometime in his late twenties maybe, when some of the perceptions of what life would allow his adult life to be like. What was better kept under his hat and what he could freely share. It was something else on a very long list of things that Raylan didn't think about.

By the time Doc got back downstairs, the coffee was done and Raylan was leaning against the counter, cup in hand. There was a matching one on the counter, and Raylan poured out for him once he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Part of him was relieved that he wasn't going to have to go and drag Doc from a bed he's errantly fallen into or something, considering how much he had complained about going in the first place.

"Gotten used to the sound of 'em, huh?" Raylan smiled crookedly and slid Doc's cup across the counter before gesturing for his jacket. He wasn't going to rush them out the door, they still had to find Malcolm and Neal but he appreciated it being fetched. "Can't say I haven't either. The sounds of a full house are a good one, unless everyone's pissed. Helps that we got some decent guys."

Decent enough to get along well enough to live together in such a place. Raylan was grateful for that too.

Would have been nice to have fallen face first into an empty bed. Luxurious even. But since he said he would go, it seemed unfair on Raylan to have to get the wheelbarrow out and roll his stubborn ass there.

"Oh I don't know," Doc drawls as he leans over to give Raylan his coat, returning to his side of the bench promptly to pick up his coffee with his left hand. Even after being forcibly unarmed after all these weeks he has the bad habit of always keeping one hand on or close to his hip.

"Everyone in this town's a little-..." Doc trails off and takes a sip of his coffee, eyebrows furrowing as he struggles to find the word. Not indecent, or off-kilter necessarily, but Doc still believes there are no good men here.

"...damaged goods." That will do.

"Would've shot Negan by now," he changes the subject quickly. "Maybe just in the leg." For being an annoying, shitstirring jackass constantly testing Doc's patience. The New Yorkers, by contrast, have grown on him quite quickly, and he is almost as fond of them as he is fond of Raylan. Through no fault of their own, Doc feels that there are certain expectations about how he needs to be around Neal and Malcolm that he doesn't feel around Raylan.

Which unfortunately means he's the one getting saddled with Doc being stubborn and needing a lot of coaxing to get out of the house.

"What do you hope to gain, going to the Town Hall today?"

With a murmur of thanks, Raylan sets down his cup and shrugs it on with an inevitable bit of flare as he sunk into it and recollected his cup, taking back to his lean on the counter.

"Most everyone is damaged goods; Mathis just likes her toys pre-broken." No, he wasn't going to let the subject change without at least a comment on it. You'll notice he didn't call anyone good - but Neal and Malcolm were decent at least. Those were hard enough to find so no looking gift horses in their mouths.

"Might be good we don't have our guns then. You'd just have to patch him back up again. That and I doubt it'd be a great thing to walk in with them on. Though I would anyway, if we did have 'em. I want to see all the faces we've gathered. Hear what the people will say. Their experiences fill out the corners we can't see by virtue of havin' our own shit to deal with. Still lookin' for the vampire - Sure as shit haven't forgotten about that.. Town Hall's the one place and time everyone's going to be in the same room to be weighed. We should know who we're here with. What they've got to offer. What they know. Especially considering the options that are in front of us."

He tilted his head. "If you're already over the line on possibly shootin' Negan, why's he still here? Not that I mind, I like him well enough. Hasn't given me any reason not to."

"It has been a while since we have all gathered," Doc agrees. He wouldn't mind if the house threw a party every so often, like their first batch of moonshine and last night, but they won't be able to fit everyone in and the cleanup's a bitch, and they might not get as many people as a Town Hall gathering would.

"We would learn something new. Maybe meet some friendly new faces." Or unfriendly ones that they will need to be keeping an eye out for.

At the mention of Negan, Doc sighs, gulping down another mouthful of coffee, buying himself some time to respond.

"This house welcomes everyone. What kind of gentleman would I be to kick someone out?" That's a superficial response and they both knew it. Doc swirls his coffee and sets it down, chewing on his bottom lip before continuing.

"Negan comes from a place like Miss Ellie. He shouldn't be left alone. If something were to get me, I trust that he would put me down with his bare hands if he had to. Now I know you are a man who gets things done, but you... you would try to find another way. And he would take care of Malcolm in my place, no questions asked." Whether Negan wants to tell anyone else that his wife had been terminally ill is his business. He suspects he wants to let that topic die. Doc isn't keen on bringing it up either. In either case he trusts that Negan knows what being there for Malcolm entails, and he has some sins on that front that he wouldn't mind atoning for.

Raylan wouldn't be opposed to another house party, a smaller group he didn't have to feel so awkwardly hosting about. The good news was that the house would have that party and he would still have no idea until it was about it happen. Not a totally unpleasant surprise. The cowboy nodded his agreement, glad that Doc wasn't arguing about those points, at least.

There was a different between not wanting to see people and not caring about the state of the place they were in and who was around them. If it had been the latter, Raylan might have started worrying.

Raylan tilted his head a little at that superficial response - it even sounded like a half automated script that Doc ran just to keep perceptive people off the scent. He didn't believe it and gave Doc all the room he needed to actually answer.

He couldn't help but scoff a laugh that threatened to break into a real one. "So he's back up, in case I don't do what needs doin?" Raylan breathed out, eyebrows lifting over a shake of his head. "Doc, I'll kill you if I think you need killing. And I've killed enough men, I think I know when that is. You're not dyin' anytime soon. You wanna say he's here out of the kindness of our hearts, fine, but don't set it out like I'm not willing or capable to see done what needs to be done."

Raylan might try to find another way, if there was one, but he wouldn't put anyone in danger doing it. And while his gut sank at even the idea of having to put Doc down, a sterile term that kept it all at arms length, if he had to, he would find a way.

"I'm not saying you aren't capable. You are capable of more than you let on. I am saying I don't want to ask you to do it, on account of our. Friendship. It does not have to be you." And it would not be, if Negan was around. And Negan wouldn't waste time pursuing dead ends, neither. 30 seconds was all it took to change everything, for Doc and Wyatt. If they only had thirty seconds or less around here, they couldn't afford to even hesitate.

"Besides." Doc sets what's left of the cup of coffee down, swallowing as he watches the ripples in the drink and the inky partial reflection staring back at him.

"If Malcolm likes him, he can stay." Of course Doc would take it into consideration if Raylan didn't. He seems to have fallen into a habit of deferring to the Marshal, as Malcolm had observed. But he thinks Negan handled Malcolm fine in the Boarding House. Neither of them had mentioned anything to the contrary. He knows the seriousness of what Malcolm is going through and probably wouldn't make light of it if his help was needed. That alone makes it important to keep Negan close.

Oh. Raylan's light defensive sarcasm melted away at that unexpected sentimentality. Yes, of course they were friends but that.. was more blatant care about what it would do to Raylan than he was used to. People looked at him to get shit done, good or bad, and he was meant to shoulder it wordlessly. Except Doc.. wasn't.

He watched Doc's downturned face, trying to get what he could from it. What he got was a fraction of shame, something else under Doc's hat and the struggle to stand up to the responsibilities they'd taken on here.

Raylan turned his coffee cup back and forth on the counter thoughtfully before nodding. "If that's what you want. It matters what you want too, to echo the other night." To use Doc's words against him. "I know Malcolm would agree with me."

He took a deep breath, hips shifting as he shifted his weight. "There's some painkillers in the general store, if you want me to fetch 'em later. Somethin' to keep around when your head is tryin' to crack open."

"I don't know what I want anymore," Doc says with a sigh. It is the most honest he has been in a while. Or maybe he wants too many things. Sometimes it is easy to just throw in the towel and claim to not know instead of facing up to the fact that he does know, and trying to figure out what to do with what he knows.

He finishes his drink and his eyebrows furrow at the strength of the moonshine closer to the bottom of the cup. He might look fine on the outside but the hangover is shredding him to pieces on the inside. If Malcolm had kicked up a ruckus last night he had slept right through it, which probably sets his limit to around one and a half bottles if he wants to be able to function the next day.

"I'll try 'em," he agrees. "And I'll." Try not to be so... alcoholic. "Behave. Next time. Hope I didn't say or... do anything, make anyone uncomfortable."

He wasn't alone in that. The more time he spent here, the more confused Raylan got, double so when he thought too much about Malcolm and Doc specifically. Somehow, Raylan did not expect that to get better. They'd stumble their way through it either way, but not without someone to lean on.

"I'll fetch 'em anyway. They'll help take the edge off your headache." He eyed Doc from the underside of his hat brim.

"You behaved fine. A nice properly loose gentleman. Don't worry, no honors were infringed upon or taken advantage of." A brief injection of humor. Doc hadn't gone to bed with anyone, as far as he'd known about, at least last night. "What made you sink into it last night? You were fine and then.. you started hittin' it harder. What happened?"

He hasn't allowed himself to be a 'properly loose gentleman' in a while so the observation gets a small chuckle out of him. Sometimes he says shit when he's drunk - not to the extent that Klaus does even when he's stone cold sober - and while Doc has cultivated a healthy amount of patience, he can snap and say cruel things, especially when he's pissed off or too drunk to care.

Breathing out a sigh, Doc straightens up and brings his empty cup to the sink. Five miserable guys in a house trying to pretend they've made peace with the way things are. Things are bound to happen.

"I'm never as fine as I look to be, for starters." They're just doing it for the sake of the New Yorkers and they both know it. At least Doc is willing to be honest about it when it's just the two of them alone in the house. On the topic of Negan, however, he doesn't even know how to bring that up or explain it or if he even wants to.

"Negan got under my skin," is what Doc ends up saying. He sets the wet cup upside-down to dry on the rack. "That's all."

"Well no shit, Sherlock," Raylan retorted to the first as he followed over to lean his hip and hand on the counter, fully abandoning his coffee in favor of, apparently, being a caring pain in Doc's ass. Of course they were never fine but the unspoken rule dictated a lot.

Though, if Doc was willing to break that, they could make an exception for each other.

"The fact that he got under your skin says somethin' and I'm startin' to get the sense that this isn't just about personality clashes. Not just a smart mouth and sharp attitude." His head tilted to one side a little. "What's got you in a twist?"

It's probably not just Doc. Negan would probably have a field day with Raylan too if he was on the other side of an interrogation table. But whether it's because Doc usually has the patience to deal with anyone and anything other than Negan or because he perhaps wrongly perceives that Negan doesn't seem to pester the other people staying in 1306 half as much as he targets the gunslinger, or hell maybe it's whatever they had said and thought on the night in the museum, Doc feels it personally.

"We'd both had a lot to drink. He annoyed the hell out of me in the bathroom. I thought--" Doc averts his gaze, tilting his head, scratching his eyebrow, then his cheek. He grips the edge of the benchtop he's leaning against, knuckles going white. There's a line. It is a murky as swamp dregs line when it comes to Doc, but it's still there. Sometimes the line moves, but it is clear that some people, like Raylan, are on one side of the line, and other people, like Negan, are not. And while he didn't mind some people encroaching upon it, Negan does manage to find the most infuriating way to push him.

"For some unfathomable reason he couldn't use the damn kitchen sink to 'wash his hands'. I thought maybe he had other reasons, for moving in." For all that he is open and accepting of whatever the hell other people want to do, long as they're not hurting anyone else, he doesn't want to talk or deal with his own internal strife. Doc Holliday is a mixed bag of 'anything goes' and 'repressed asshole', chatty and quiet, classy and tasteless, gentleman and hooligan all at the same time, and it's not always obvious what the current state of those paradoxes are.

In this particular instance, getting this much out of him is like pulling all the teeth in his upper jaw one by one with pliers. He's not saying much more than that.

"We just said some things we shouldn't have." Last week and last night inclusive. Maybe he is saying some things he shouldn't be right now, too.

Whatever it was, Raylan could see just how twisted on it Doc was. He didn't seem to have any liver chewing tendencies, more like liver drowning violently in a tub full of moonshine and they were keeping that pace pretty well. Raylan didn't want to see more of it; who knew what kind of toll it would actually take on Doc?

Not one to dive headlong into his own issues, he understood how hard it was to actually say some things. The doors it opened, both in the house and in himself. So he'd let Doc tell it at his own pace to a non-judgemental and equally patient ear.

"Can't say I blame you, considerin'." Not a lot of casual conversation happened in the bathroom. Astute hazel eyes studied Doc's profile. "You don't wanna accidently say more things you think you shouldn't," he guessed. He let a beat pass, considering how to broach it before continuing. "Maybe he did. Doesn't mean you don't havta say anythin' you don't want to, you already know that."

His best guess was that Doc felt he had to, return in kind or have been cornered somehow.

"As I hear it told, wantin' to say somethin' isn't a bad thing, depending on what you're talkin' about.." He left that door open - What were they talking about?

028-029 » the winds of change

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