villagelogs | 065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 065-071
WHAT: The residents of Mathias reunite under unnerving conditions.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross "Outside"

DAY 065-071
ASSIGN TO OBLIVION
“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes
place in the interim, there are some things we can never
assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.”
— Haruki Murakami

Only two days have passed since the town was fractured, leaving residents cut off from those they'd come to know and even care for. A mere two days of wandering the new streets, uncovering more secrets that continue to make little sense of this strange place. Two days with sunrises, sunsets, and nights that seem like any other.

And yet.

When residents wake on this third day, they will find that much has changed. All around them, wherever they may be, there are signs that time has passed without them. Dust covers everything, indoors and out, even areas that were spotlessly clean seemingly hours ago. The residents themselves are covered as well, dust clinging to their hair, skin, and clothing—

Clothing that they may not have been wearing when they went to sleep. Each resident, regardless of the state they were in previously, is now clad in a pair of white pajamas, with long pants and button-up shirts. Those who thoroughly explored Baneberry Hall will easily recognize these articles as identical to those well-stocked in the decaying great house. On top of this, the clothes they wore from home have disappeared, along with anything else they may have brought with them when they arrived or items from home that have been found within the borders of Mathias.

There is no sign that anyone has entered their place of shelter, nor is there any sign of what may have been done with these items or how they came to be wearing these clothes. The dust all around them is undisturbed, almost as if they had been sleeping there for quite some time, though it seems impossible for such a thing to have occurred naturally.

THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the lawn of Town Hall, at the center of the little town square. They, too, are bereft of any items from home and clothed in the identical white pajamas. There are shops all around them, with houses just beyond, and at first glance, everything seems almost picturesque. Except for the silence that is at times so complete as to be maddening... Welcome to Mathias.

SUMMERTIME
— When summer arrives, so too does an outdoor stand in front of the General Store. Sporting a handpainted sign proclaiming Whateley Farm, the stand is overflowing with a variety of produce: berries, plums, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, green beans, leeks, onions, peppers, potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, and garlic bulbs. These do not replace the produce offerings normally found inside the market, but they do behave strangely. The stand replenishes sporadically, sometimes every other day or every five days. There is no discernible pattern to when it replenishes, nor is there any sign of how it came to be there at all.

— With the now-complete reverse change of season, much of the autumn debris has cleared from around town. Only a few stray leaves and fallen branches remain, their crisp colors at odds with the warm summer days. The forest has also cleared of much of the fall detritus, making it easier to both follow the paths and potentially spy things that might be out of the ordinary.

CONDITIONS UPDATE
— THE WEATHER Summer has arrived in Mathias, bringing with it warm days that average 70°F and comfortably cool nights. The skies are clear throughout the week save for Day 68 when a light rain falls from a grey sky throughout the day.

— THE FOG has maintained its new boundaries.
— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated from the western section of town entirely.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.

— DISAPPEARANCES AND DEATHS continue! Max Guevara and Liz Brundy have disappeared, and now that everyone is back together, residents will notice that Yennefer, Number Five, and Tony Stark have also vanished.

— ALCOHOL supplies have run dry, save for any dregs that have been squirreled away by individual residents. Moonshine can still be acquired by those in desperate need.

OOC NOTES
— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made. IC events are also helpful to know about in advance so they can be included in the log write-ups.

— MOD STATUS My non-RP life is busy and chaotic and I continue to ask for your forgiveness and understanding as game things continue to be slower, as I cannot promise timely mod responses beyond weekends and even that is not wholly guaranteed.

— ITEMS FROM HOME All items from home that characters would normally possess have vanished for this log and will return in the next. This includes clothing and possessions they had when they arrived in Mathias, items that were found in the rain, and items that were found in Baneberry Hall and removed from the property. Items from home that were left behind by other characters no longer in the game have also vanished. (All other items and clothing still remain, it is only items from characters' homes that have disappeared.)

— BANEBERRY ITEMS The items from home that were not removed from Baneberry Hall in the last log have vanished from the property. These items will not reappear in the next log. (Please be sure to comment in the appropriate spot on those logs about the state of your character's item for inventory purposes, ie whether they were removed from the property or left behind.)

— ACTIVITY CHECK Beginning with June's AC (posted at the start of July), all tags that consist of only dialogue will count as 0.5 points, not just those that occur in an inbox thread — this applies to both AC and AP totals. This adjustment is an extension of what has been in place since the start of the game: that all dialogue-only inbox tags counted for a half-point. Since such tags have occurred regularly in log threads as well, the half-point status is simply being extended to all tags regardless of location in order to be fairer in point distribution. (Examples will be provided in the AC post to assist with proper counting.)

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Both of Doc's hands are on Raylan's hips faster than the Marshal can blink and he snaps Raylan back to the exact same spot he was standing on, an audaciously bold move denying him his drink and closing the distance between them at the same time so that Raylan has to squeeze out from where Henry is pressed right up against him, trip over the gunslinger's foot if he wants out.

It's a little forceful, yes, but not enough to bruise. Doc is trying not to let his frustration show. Grown ass men don't cave in to daydreams. And it should go without saying that it's a tad irresponsible to have Doc be the one to burst bubbles that Raylan needs to be bursting. Malcolm won't listen to Doc - he didn't listen the first time Doc tried to talk some sense into him - and likely neither would Tim.

"I ain't done with you 'til I say I'm done." Aggressive? Doc Holliday? Nonsense! The gentle old relic has a heart of gold. He would never.

"...I am sorry. You deserve better, too. You deserve to keep-... something, out of all this. But I-- you and I both know. What Mathias gave, she will take back from you. You won't get to keep any of this. I wish it were different. I would give you the world if I could, Raylan." His tone softens considerably, as does his grip on Raylan's hips.

It was a bold move and one that worked, moving Raylan back into his place, hands propping on the counter as he needlessly caught himself. He could feel the steel in his eyes, the set of his own jaw; there better be a good reason you stopped me. He wasn't looking to get punched again and the last thing he wanted to do was swing on Henry. There were other options that didn't involve his heart getting pummeled, literally or figuratively.

It was also a little hot, a mental sidenote that had nothing to do with anything.

I ain't done with you 'til I say I'm done. He shouldn't read too much into it. Right?

Raylan's features slowly softened in kind, the steel of self-defense melting back into the soul weighing tiredness that he'd been carrying around before. His hands fell from their place and settled back on Henry's hips, as he considers those words, eyes wandering over the features of Henry's face.

"I don't want the world.." What if I just wanted you? "What I want is to be able to do with them what I do with you. Enjoy the time we've got. Enjoy what, yes, Mathis has given us. I wish things were different too. 'D steal you away to some back country, Henry, some porch for as many years as you'd let me." Was that too close? Maybe. Fuck it.

"But I can't. So," he continued with an intake of breath, eyebrows lifting a little, hands sliding a little further around the gunslinger. "Since I know I won't get to keep any of it, I want all of it while I can have it. Where it doesn't matter what town I'm in. Where it doesn't matter what next year is gonna bring. Yes, they hurt. So do I. So do you. If it is too much, then they will make their severances, but I will not cut off my hand to save my foot. Not here. It will only make us all suffer more."

Yeah, well, everything Doc does is a little hot, especially seen through lost-all-the-shits-I-was-gonna-give-three-glasses-of-'shine-ago lenses. Raylan will just have to get used to it.

"God made men like us withstand the pain so that other people don't have to get hurt." Other people like Malcolm. Like Neal. Maybe, to a certain extent, even like Tim. But Doc isn't going to talk Raylan into fixing this mess he's made tonight. Not until he's sobered up enough to start slicing off limbs to save his bleeding feet. And if Doc is the one who has to do the cutting then so be it. Tomorrow he'll sharpen his knife. Tonight they can just enjoy their last supper. Indulge in whimsical little fantasies.

"I would have stayed." For Raylan. In some back country. For as many years it would take until it came time to dig a hole under the big old tree and bury an old man he was happy to have called his friend. If the logistics and complications of it all wasn't something either of them had to consider, he would have even stayed there 24/7. This is a promise he is willing to make, because they are both realistic and tired and bitter enough to know that they're just dealing in hypotheticals, and that nothing stays forever before shit happens to one or the both of them. Not even cowboys on porches where they might belong.

"We don't have years," he agrees quietly, leaning in close until their foreheads and noses are touching, and he can close his eyes and breathe in that eau de shampoo-moonshine-Raylan. The arrival of summer brings with it promises of unpleasantly balmy nights to come. They should make the cooler nights last while they can.

"But you have me now." Boldly stealing a soft, chaste kiss from Raylan's lips. "Here." And another. "I don't mind. A little more suffering."

"God made us to stop their sufferin', there's no stoppin' Life or savin' them from it," he argued gently with a shake of his head. Trouble would always follow men like them, that was a fact that Raylan had long settled his protests with. It wound together both strands of their conversation in it's own way, but the second half of what Henry had said was more important than following arguments on God that could be had when they were sweat soaked and sheet tangled.

It wasn't that he didn't know he'd do terrible things for Henry. It wasn't that he didn't know that Henry would do terrible things for him - shit, he already had. But those few, simple words were enough to cement it all in a reality that didn't have shifting sands underneath it, as most all of them did. In the reality they would never have, and here, they were going to have each other.

That didn't mean he was going to let the man do any kind of cutting. Raylan had stubbornly cemented this mess and whatever Luck God was watching over him was just going to have to deal with that.

Raylan let his eyes flutter shut with Doc's as he leaned their faces together and hummed a short, contented note into the chaste kiss, lips following for a fraction of a second for a great set up to the following kiss. This dangerous, equally foolish man, out here in his own mess with the Marshal. "I plan on keepin' you all night," he murmured warmly. "With only the sweetest kinda suffering. The moonshine and a fully empty upstairs with not a single soul plannin' on comin' by. Paradise."

You know, Raylan, you’d probably said the same thing last time. Before they fell asleep, sweat soaked and sheet tangled and all, and Malcolm burst in on them draped all over each other like a slutty oil painting. At least this time it probably wouldn’t be too much of a surprise.

With a long, suffering sigh, Henry’s hands linger low on Raylan’s waist as he pulls back a little, cocks his head to one side and raises one pointed eyebrow.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were tryin’a wine and dine me first...” he drawls, a dry, deadpan sort of taunting humour that occasionally triumphs over the dribbles of wit and wisdom.

“Suppose I could settle for paradise.” At least the wine part would be covered. And admittedly, it does sound nice, in a selfish sort of way, not thinking about the other house and the people in and around it, not worrying about this shithole at the warped end of the universe. They can be alone together, without censure or admonishments, have their back country moment uninterrupted.

Don’t mind him stalling. He’s just going to steal another kiss while he can. Touch where he can. Slide his hand down into Raylan’s... back pocket. Maybe there’s something he can grab while they’re there on the road to paradise.

"Well, a wooin' before dinner stirs the appetite, doesn't it?" The question was given with an utterly innocent look over a shit eating grin, something that Raylan managed quite easily. Somehow, the long suffering sigh was a victory.

Maybe Henry was walking around, talking shit about how well Raylan was willing to integrate, talking about his idea of what he thought Raylan's life was like, because he wanted the Marshal for himself. Raylan could find a way to be okay with that, especially in the face of Henry's face, eyes all soft around the edges and happy enough to hang out for an evening with the Marshal. Why would he fuck this up when it was so good?

He could handle a few more indirect lashes.

Raylan smiled into the kiss and broke it with a chuckle as a hand found it's way into his back pocket. It might have been an excuse to grab his ass but it made him feel young again. Well. Younger.

"Besides, I need to fuel up for my strength." He could almost hear the old joke coming.

"Appetite's already stirred," Doc drawls with one lifted eyebrow. No conscious, deliberate attempt on his part to tease Raylan, most likely. It's just what any shameless flirt would have said.

"Ffffar be it from me to deny any old man's needs," he jokes predictably. Raylan did set himself up for a cheap shot. He can't expect a gunslinger not to take it.

"Suppose I'd better let you go then." True to his word, he slowly extracts himself from Raylan's back pocket and takes a small step back, and then another. He ain't done with Raylan Givens, it seems. Not by a long shot. But he'll give the Marshal some space, some time to warm up.

Don't mind him while he turns half his back to Raylan and takes a swig out of the bottle of moonshine he'd been working on. There's no foul play in this house, no sir. No assertion of any dominance or fucking around with the cowboy props, neither. Just a couple guys having a drink; nothing to see here.

There was very little about Doc that wasn't a conscious deliberate attempt. Even the way he drew away, jabbed his joke, eyes twinkling like he was on the way to playing Santa to some homeless kids. Hell, even the way he drank was a tease, a lure to those that had eyes for it.

And something about it all made Raylan want to rush through food. Grown man like him could clear a sandwich in under thirty seconds.

"I got sandwiches," he said, clearing his throat a little as lazy finger finger points towards the fridge, to follow with a few lazy steps. "Leftover soup and a microwave to get it hot. We got cheese sandwiches, one deli meat and two egg salad sandwiches. What're you hankerin' for?"

"Whatever you're not having." Doc seems content to make do with everyone's leftovers around here, and it's no different when it comes to food. He will try to be helpful at least, offering up a choice if that was too vague. "But egg's fine."

He's not really sure if they ought to be done with the conversation they weren't having about Raylan's assortment of lovers. The people who had gotten hurt deserve a little more than this blasé half-sober attempt that Raylan is putting forward. But he doesn't feel like Raylan wants or actually needs to hear it. Nobody else needs to kick a man while he's already down and beating himself up over his frustrations.

It ain't even any of his business, truth be told. Maybe he can get away with just hanging around and making sure Raylan don't drink himself to death tonight. Help himself to some of that 'shine to ease the load. They're too comfortable with each other's silences for Doc to just not say anything and expect that Raylan will rush in to fill that void. But he expects that one or two things might slip out during or after dinner.

Egg sandwiches and leftover soup. He really knows how to woo a cowboy.

He was right - Raylan didn't want or need to hear it. He knew he'd set himself up in a vice for all the emotional protections that it gave him; he knew what the 'right' thing to do was, but the 'right' thing wasn't in his ability here in Mathis. At home? At home, where he had his job, his distractions, his government sanctioned punching bags - there harder lines could be drawn.

They had suffered enough. He had been physically beaten enough. They would suffer more. They did not need to add anymore fuel to that fire. Let them have what they could, however fractured it was.

"Egg, comin' right up. Goes pretty good with the beef broth I got here, though I don't know of much that doesn't." It was transitional small talk, nothing that needed following up on. A few minutes and a run or three through the microwave and Raylan was serving parchment wrapped sandwiches and bowls of hot soup.

"When was the last time you talked to Negan?" Oh, he was aware he wasn't the only one that had had a fit over the last couple of days.

"Negan?" He's not sure what Negan has got to do with anything. But Doc will play along. "Just under a week ago, in Baneberry Hall, when I told him to take his things out of my room and go or I'd kill him with a butter knife."

Doc clearly isn't mincing his words. Negan has a tendency to spout nonsense, add a dramatic flair to everything. If he'd told Raylan any sort of rubbish, Doc would rather set the record straight.

"I wa'n't aware you two were... all that close," Doc adds. Just in case Negan is on the list of bedwarmers-turned-lovers too. Not that it would have changed his tone any, but maybe he would have said something to Raylan about kicking Negan to the kerb had he known.

Raylan's eyebrows lifted. Well. No beating about that bush. Good. Once spoons and their glasses were dropped off at the table, Raylan sat himself and picked up one of his sandwich halves.

"Not as close as you," Raylan answered, a glint of knowing in his eyes - he knew - "But dying and livin' with a man doesn't make me a stranger. I already know about Negan's memory-" The cold showmanship of it all was impossible to set fully away. "So you wanna give me the details of why you kicked him out? Worried that he's gonna do that to us or pissed that he turned out to be capable of that level of violence?"

He took a bite of his sandwich, but his eyes didn't leave Doc's face. A bit of Marshaling required attention.

"What," Doc asks flatly without really asking. He'd never said anything about Negan, and everyone knows Negan is full of shit, so of course Doc's going to play dumb.

But that was inextricably part of it. Doc had felt disappointed in himself for... doing the things Raylan knew they had done. A little betrayed.

"You know, I'd-- I had felt sorry for him," Doc admits. Which was not why the things between them had happened. But that's neither here nor there. He hasn't started on his sandwich yet but no doubt he can make quick work of it - as soon as they've stopped talking about Negan.

"I should have known better. You said you saw the memory? Tell me, in all your years of service, how many men have you shot between the eyes that enjoy doing what Negan did half as much as he did? You ever thought about moving in with them?"

Raylan wasn't going to grace the 'what' with an answer, but he did flash a faint scoff of his features - an impressive trick in of itself. 'Get his things out of my room?' Come on now.

"Generally speakin', I don't live with people, so we're already off the beaten path there but none of the guys I've seen, say, shove a stick a dynamite down the throat of a guy and light the fuse, were in the Zombie Apocalypses. Now, look," he said, lifting a hand to stop whatever arguments might come with the half defense.

"It bothers the hell outta me that he could do that. Even if it was a show, and it wasn't, it takes a very harsh suspension of humanity. One that he hasn't been forced to suspended here. Mathis and us have given him no reason. Did he tell you why? For whatever grain it might throw onto the scales of situation, that's just as important. It's half of why the men I put down aren't held against me."

'They were bad guys' That wasn't good enough. 'They drew on you first' Half the time he pushed them to it. To say nothing of what he would do in his future.

Edited (Spacing edits) 2021-07-19 22:45 (UTC)

Doc has to bite his lip when Raylan stops him. Zombie apocalypses, as with any other trying circumstances, brings out the worst in people; just makes people do the things they are already capable of. They also bring out the best in people. Mathias is evidence that there's no need to be swinging barbwire bats around.

"It don't matter why! If you done me wrong I'll shoot you. I don't bring Winona and Willa and all of goddamned Harlan to make 'em watch the spectacle. Could you live with yourself when he snaps one day and goes to town on Malcolm like that? You weren't here to shovel your entrails and brain matter off the ground to bury what shreds of your rotting flesh were left." Not that what Raylan went through in the 'Other Mathias' wasn't traumatic. But that's neither here nor there.

"Goddammit, Raylan." You're making his blood pressure spike, tugging on all these tightly shut compartment doors threatening to make him spill.

Something in Raylan's eyes hardened a little, not unkindly, against Doc's insistence. The Gunslinger, however bitterly realistic he could be, failed to understand the kind of man he was sitting across from. Raylan knew what it was to hold a life in your hand, consider it, and snuff it out without a flinch of humanity. He knew what it was to watch someone else string a life out for the fun of it.

It was justified.

"Henry, it matters why. Context matters and half the time, the context makes it worse and cements the position," he replied, tapping his finger on the table in emphasis of 'cement'. "He's not going to go feral on Malcolm, Malcolm is under the umbrellas of his people, and it's the same danger anyone else here poses. He already knows that if he even glances that way and I catch wind of it, he will suffer 15 different kinds of hell."

Hell he was sure Doc would help with, if it came down to it.

"If someone walked into your town and killed all the people that you were protecting, would just shootin' 'em be enough? You think you'd have any place in that head of yours for thinkin' about lessons, or do you just kill 'em all and keep walkin'?"

Either way, it didn't make them much better than Negan.

"This is the one thing I can do to keep people safe. The one thing Mathias deigns fit to cede to my control. I intend to take it. I am tired of cleaning up afterwards. Of shoveling and burying and trying to make the nightmares go away. What use is there to kill him after the deed is done? Maybe you're a lawman - maybe he's gotta do the crime before you can do jackshit about it. I ain't. And my world don't work that way." He would love to hear Raylan try to convince him that a man like that deserves a second chance. Just because he said 'sorry' a half a dozen times to cowboys who don't even need to hear the apology and has no doubt justified the brutality to himself, sleeps like a baby for all his sorries.

"I teach you a lesson, you teach me a lesson - when does it end? We wouldn't'a done what he'd done if we were in his shoes and you know it." Wyatt made this mistake, incurring a wrath that is still going strong long after his death. Doc doesn't intend to repeat it.

"If you honestly think I pose the same danger to the boys, I would gladly leave the house too. Wouldn't even make a scene of it or tell you how sorry I am for shooting some assholes."

"Putting a man out onto the streets in a place like this is the only thing you can do?" Raylan echoed, eyebrows lifting in his incredulousness as one finger gestured at nothing in particular on the table. He was sure that brain of Henry's was more creative than that. He let Doc continue without any other interruption, face simmering back down to a nonplussed but attentive expression.

"Men like us? We all pose 'a danger'," he started, head pulling back a fraction with a 'what do you mean' kind of expression. "The best point of law is catchin' 'em in the act, not lettin' them get away with it - we do save people, thank you very much and men like him, capable of that, need a weather eye but we cannot crucify him for shit he did back home. That'd be like lockin' everything up because Neal used to be a thief or killin' the Vampire that lives in town because he exists. We can't work like that here. We're not livin' in their situations. They did not ask to be here either. But they are. We can't leave him to fendin' for himself, Henry. Not in Mathis. Not here."

Anywhere else? Sure. Raylan was fine with how Doc felt about it. Changing that point of view wasn't really the point.

"We have to stick together."

Had Doc considered that Negan would just shack up with someone else and possibly or possibly not pose a danger to them? That he was simply just shifting the same problem outside of 1306, possibly out of sight and a little out of mind? No, he clearly hadn't, or he might have said and done things differently. It had sort of worked out in his head that Negan would just find somewhere to stay on his own. And honestly, would it bother him much to hear that Negan got his face eaten by the fog or torn to pieces or turned into a zombie? No, he would have just shrugged and slept like a baby. Whatever that says about Doc.

He sits in relative silence, pouring himself out some moonshine. If he snaps back at Raylan now he'd say something he can't take back. He's burned too many bridges that way that he knows better by now.

"This i'n't a matter of what he did back home. This is who he is. We wouldn't be 'a danger' if we weren't judging ourselves on the kind of men we are, whether we're back home or here or on some sunny beach in Florida. I ain't buying that two-faced sheep in wolf's clothing lie he's selling. Nor am I interested in catching anyone in the middle of violent acts. You're pushing for a system where Arlo gets caught in the middle of breaking your bones. I'm kicking him out before he can lay a hand on anybody."

Doc pours himself out and downs more moonshine before he gets even more worked up. He doesn't bother standing or making any movement towards the porch when he starts rubbing himself down for a much-needed cigarette.

"I don't even know why we're discussing that repulsive man." Even when he's not in the room, he's all up in Doc's face pushing his buttons. God damn. But as Doc rests his elbow on the tabletop, cigarette burning away between his curled fingers, it's clear that he's relenting. Raylan did raise a few good points. Sow a few seeds of doubt. Doc just-- isn't the better man that Raylan either wants or expects him to be.

"...but we are better equipped. To deal with that kind of situation." Another deep puff of his cigarette, gaze sweeping across the table, and he's inching closer to that halfway compromise. If it was really necessary, Doc could kill him with his bare hands and live with himself quite easily. If it was really necessary, Doc was capable of all manner of unspeakable things and it wouldn't bother him none. He can't say the same for anyone else.

Knowing the value of a little silence to let tempers simmer back under control and collect your words, he opted to dig into his sandwich as Henry thought it over, unbothered to be eating during this kind of conversation. Life went on and so did his stomach.

"So he can go and lay hands on others. Sounds a lot like offsettin' responsibility." Raylan had noticed and figured either Henry didn't care enough or hadn't realized. He wasn't attacking or admonishing the man for it, but it did bear mentioning. Even if Henry had just tried to bring Arlo into it. Nice try. He didn't expect anyone to be any kind of man. They were who they were who they were and most of them were arguably shitty people. Himself included.

Only friends got to take care of friends, and if that meant he and Doc had to do something ugly in response, they would handle it without too much sentimentality.

"We're talkin' about him because of the boys. Neal and Malcolm want him home. They know what he did and they don't care. Which, we can both have our opinions on that, but that's still the case. They asked as part of the conversation that let me back into the house." And Henry could guess at how good Raylan was at telling them no to something he could absolutely do.

"Negan loses his shit on us or anyone the way he did that man, we'll hogtie him and throw him in the tunnels. You know how badly that sucks - if you need a contingency plan." Because he'd been right. There was no point in killing anyone who would resurrect again anyway.

Edited 2021-07-23 15:41 (UTC)

If Raylan never mentions Wyatt Earp again, Doc would cease to mention Arlo Givens also. Until then, the men and the women and the daughters - they're all fair game. At least he has the decency not to mention that Raylan did leave Arlo alive for many more years to come, didn't he?

"You gon' buy them a pony from the next timebendin'-murdertown-over-yonder when they ask for that too?" Doc asks with an irritated little tsk. The whole reason they're sitting here right now, fan-splattered shit going everywhere is tied up in Raylan's reluctance or inability to say no.

There is a line between indifference and cruelty. Doc doesn't make a conscious effort of staying on one side of that line. But he does honour it. He'd rather kill the man, let him wash up on the beach tomorrow than subject him to the tunnels. Those dark holes in the ground, they had broken him. Left him sobbing lying in the dirt pleading and begging for someone, anyone to please come back for him, watching his own sanity slip away between his fingers. He would not put anyone through that particular torment. Not even Negan.

"I don't like it." That much should already be obvious. "Anybody who wouldn't want to get their hands dirty for nothing would like it." And that is how Doc sees it still. Unwanted, uninvited trouble that will cause an inevitable mess he will have to clean up afterwards.

"But it's a free country. You do as you please." Whether it's the cigarette or the moonshine or something else entirely, Doc has decided he's not going to let Negan have the last laugh and ruin his evening.

That's hardly fair - Wyatt was Docs friend and (assumed) lover. Arlo was an abusive asshole Father. Raylan had no choices in that, Henry had all of them.

Raylan gave him another oh please scoffing look at that sharp assertion and picked up his glass for a swallow. The boys were not eight years old; they were full grown men and that kind of suggestion undercut them more than Raylan. Not a great look, no matter how Henry felt about it. But he wasn't saying no or pushing his case and Raylan didn't think he'd leave without some kind of dust up. So he'd take it, thank you very much. A win given, no matter why, was still a win and Raylan rarely felt badly about that.

"Then I will. He'll come back, you won't murder him with your butter knife right off the back, the boys can work on the edges and I'll turn him towards anyone we happen to want to have a bad day. You might hate him for what he's capable of usin' but here, we can't afford to let those kinds of assets be turned against us. If you want a more pragmatic view."

But mess or not, Doc wasn't going to have to clean it alone. Raylan wasn't going anywhere.

Negan is a full grown man too. There is no turning him one way or another. Not even if he's trying his damnedest to be the village bicycle.

"I don't hate him," Doc clarifies. "He is lewd. And uncouth. And he intentionally pushes my buttons." Doc isn't claiming to be 'above it all' or 'better than that' but it should go without saying that he finds it unnecessary, and irritating. Like a summer fly in the middle of a humid night buzzing incessantly past your ear that you simply can't get rid of.

"I'm getting another bottle out," he grumbles as he leans forward and pushes himself up to his feet. He's going to need it if they're going to be talking about Negan for much longer.

"That's why I said 'might'," Raylan argued conversationally as he crumpled up the paper for his sandwiches and basketballed them into the trash. Raylan couldn't help the scoff of a half chuckle at Doc's arguments. "That's most of the world, Henry. You're gonna find more people like him than not. Unmannered and illspoken doesn't mean much beyond people bein' 'normal' nowadays."

As Henry came back with the second bottle, Raylan pushed his glass out for a refill.

"But you've got a right to your opinion and I'm not here to try and change your mind." Just trying to make sure Negan can get back in the front door. "'Sides, blink too long and we'll all be gone anyway and it won't matter."

"And I'll not have you go down that path if I can help it," Doc insists. And he can most definitely help it. He is not above slapping that pointing hand away to make a point either if it's necessary. To his consternation, the 21st century turned out like nothing he'd imagined it would. Just because he is not unwilling to adapt to the new world doesn't mean he has to like it or be less of a gentleman just so he can fit in with the other cave animals. Raylan don't have to stoop so low neither.

Before he sits, he pours a tall glass out for Raylan when he returns and contemplates fleetingly to drink from the bottle before doing the civilised thing and pouring himself a glass.

Fortunately, Negan never got in the back door so there's no need to be extending invitations that-a-way.

"Don't say that," Doc chides as he swallows and lowers his glass, placing it silently back onto the table. "It has mattered. You mattered."

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