"Long been a disinfectant, alcohol," he reasoned back with a wave of his hand; were they really making room for this kind of carefree - Was that concern? - conversation? Apparently so. But it was still fodder for the real point.
The more Negan explained himself, the higher Raylan's eyebrows crept with incredulity. No, he completely understood striking back but what he saw wasn't that. People were, generally and in times of strife, utter and complete shitstains. It was an unleashing of rage far past a point he was keen to accept, even in the apocalypse.
"You didn't have to, no. Shit, Negan, I coulda handled the first five without flinchin' but you didn't stop." An accusatory finger came out, pointing as lazily as ever as he continued. Raylan wasn't no pussy about violence or death or anger or rage but- "It ain't just me and the house I'm worried about - you weren't killin' your own people;" Were they his people? Raylan would like to think so, Negan stayed with them, they all had a grand time at poker or dinner or skipping rocks across the goddamned sea. None of that shit was a put on. None of the worry that had creased Negan's face as they found each other in the other Mathis or when they'd gotten back was bullshit.
So it was hard to reconcile the differences.
"I think you worked some shit out on that poor bastard's head. Put on a goddamned show. If some shit goes down and we end up out of our minds and murderin' each other, is that what I can expect to be walkin' outta my house?" The shit that would come back to their porch alone, to say nothing of how horrific it was.
no subject
The more Negan explained himself, the higher Raylan's eyebrows crept with incredulity. No, he completely understood striking back but what he saw wasn't that. People were, generally and in times of strife, utter and complete shitstains. It was an unleashing of rage far past a point he was keen to accept, even in the apocalypse.
"You didn't have to, no. Shit, Negan, I coulda handled the first five without flinchin' but you didn't stop." An accusatory finger came out, pointing as lazily as ever as he continued. Raylan wasn't no pussy about violence or death or anger or rage but- "It ain't just me and the house I'm worried about - you weren't killin' your own people;" Were they his people? Raylan would like to think so, Negan stayed with them, they all had a grand time at poker or dinner or skipping rocks across the goddamned sea. None of that shit was a put on. None of the worry that had creased Negan's face as they found each other in the other Mathis or when they'd gotten back was bullshit.
So it was hard to reconcile the differences.
"I think you worked some shit out on that poor bastard's head. Put on a goddamned show. If some shit goes down and we end up out of our minds and murderin' each other, is that what I can expect to be walkin' outta my house?" The shit that would come back to their porch alone, to say nothing of how horrific it was.