It was a look Raylan bore quite a few number of times, the same terrible 'about to wage a world of hell down on you' kind of unstoppable determination that was the last face many men saw before bleeding out.

The hand was enough to stop him, for a minute, and Raylan turned his head carefully, schooling his expression into something fake and causal to match his normal cadence, the one he used to tell stories about his life as often as he did like he was talking about what kind of bourbon he drank. Eyebrows lifted - he was considering everything you said Klaus, yeah.

"Then what will we have lost by losin' the town hall? There's nothin' in there worth the paper it's printed. What if we're stuck here? Then we're in the same position as before just dead once over for it. Maybe it'll bring somethin' out, somethin' we can blame for all this shit." And, in the end, that's what Raylan was looking for. Something to fight. Something to blame, something to take out his fury upon. If not offered than forced into the light of whatever kind of fucked up 'day' this was.