[Raylan did feel a twinge of guilt as he pushed most of his meal across the table toward the girl who, he supposed, couldn't be the twenty-three years she pretended. Whenever he got her down to Lexington and fingerprinted, he'd be interested to see if her name was her real one and how old she actually was.
He'd guess eighteen or so, around that mark.]
You'll forgive me if I don't take off the cuffs while you eat.
[Lia pauses in her running mental cussing commentary to glare up at him, arms crossed and one leg jigging up and down under the table.
Stupid, stupid, stupid to get caught and part of her irrationally claims that this wouldn't have happened if she'd stayed in the Southwest because shit always happens in the South-South (she's seen Deliverance, okay, she knows what happens down here). Never mind the drivers out west are Pretty Chill Dudes, and if they weren't, they weren't bitchy enough to complain about how a stick of a hitchhiker girl kicked their ass up and down their trailer, and certainly not to the goddamn feds.
And she sure as hell hadn't swiped his strongbox, no matter what the lying, pawing bastard said - she knew enough trucker code that (even is said bastard totally and righteously deserved it) she wouldn't go that low.]
And you'll forgive me if I tell ya to go fuck yourself.
[She's already caught, so far as she's concerned? It's not like being polite is gonna help the situation and cursing him out can't make it any
( ... )
Now, you already told us - us being the law enforcement professionals of the state of Kentucky - to do that once, and look where it's got you.
[He dribbles sugar into his coffee until he's sufficiently masked the taste of last night's burnt beans and this morning's reheated leftovers, stirs for a good thirty seconds in silence, and takes a long pull from the cup like it's Black Label or a Cuban cigar - not that he's ever been fond of the latter, and decidedly less so these days.]
...Though I don't think I can promise four courses on the other side. Bed, at least. There's that.
Then consider it a more personalized Hallmark card for you detailing exactly what, how, and where you can shove it. I'm just super thoughtful like that.
[She waves and jabs a chicken leg in his general direction to emphasize her point before ripping off a good chunk of it. Even a casual observer would probably point out that chewing should probably last a bit longer than the amount of time Lia (or Georgiann - of course she'd go on the run when that ID was in rotation, fuck her life forever) is devoting to it, but. Whatever. She is trying to multitask between food and taking the piss out of this hick Marshall. Chewing takes a far, far backseat
( ... )
Take your time. The menu's going nowhere, and neither are we. Not 'til that work on the car gets finished.
[He sips at his coffee keeps his eyes on the window, for all the world seeming to watch the street outside the diner. In point of fact, he's keeping his focus on Georgiann's reflection in the glass. He's still not clear on how those parts got ripped out or what she might have done with them - and he'd bet good money on the girl having something to do with it - but at least the delay is only overnight. Could be worse.
He turns to signal the waitress for more coffee and gives Lia a good once-over, eyebrows raised.] Of course, if you dig up the strongbox from wherever you stashed it I expect you could pay your own way from here to California.
[She scowls a bit, annoyed that he's just being all super zen about everything in the face of her repeated barbs - but then. Right. Remember that she's taking him to the cleaners in a gravy boat. Yes.
Nodding respectfully to the waitress, she folds her hands on the Formica, her shiny new bracelets noticeable but not giving a rat's ass.]
Sup, ma'am. Could you do me a solid and walk me in for... Stack of Vermont next to Jack Benny and a shingle that's got some shimmy and shake, and then shake one in the hay with some mud in it? S'just been one of those days, know what I mean?
[The waitress jots it all down with a 'sure thing, hon' and a grin that Lia returns in full before leaning on back against the vinyl cushioning. Sighing with mucho melodrama, she scowls down her nose at him and hopes he gets a decent eyeful of booger for his trouble.]
Look, Grandpa, don't know how much slower I gotta say it before it gets through the sheep you got growing out your ears - I. Didn't. Steal. Shit. Give me five minutes with that lying crapsack and
( ... )
[He huffs out a little laugh and sets his cup down with a soft clink before it gets half-way to his mouth.] How long have you been working the diner circuit, three years? Four? Longer, I'm guessing. Another hard-luck story, a runaway, maybe your daddy hit you or didn't stick around - your tale's been told too many times for me to lose sleep over whether or not you did this crime when odds are fair you've done any number to stay out of the gutter.
[He nods to the waitress, touching the brim of his hat in salute as she refills his cup. Raylan helps himself to more sugar, stirs until he can't see any bits floating in the black any more, and sets the spoon aside.] If you didn't do it, you won't be put away for it. That's the way this works. Until then, eat your pancakes and your bacon and your toast and drink your shake and keep your mouth clean, and maybe I won't be inclined to put you in the trunk on our way south.
Don't start talking like you know factoid number one about me, fuckwad.
[The hands go back across her chest defensively, and she turns away to spare some glare for the window. The guy's a pompous, jaded asshole who doesn't know anything. ...Course, that makes two of them, and that's what stings the worst about it all.
Lia wants to correct him because she's been earning her way like this for six years, and even before that, she hadn't hurt anybody. She'd been a shitty pickpocket and a shittier smash-and-grabber (since people spent more time gaping at a girl knocking them on their asses), but still. Whatever she'd taken that way was slim pickings.]
And there's no if about it, douchebag, but here I sit anyway, stuck with your ugly mug - which? Supremely beyond cruel and unusual just by its lonesome. So you can take that law and order spiel and add it in with the rest of the things as detailed in Hallmark rhyme, 'kay? Peaches.
[She shot daggers at him out of the corner of her eye, practically daring him to go through with the trunk.
( ... )
[He just sighs and signals the waitress again.] If you don't mind, miss, we'll take the check with her second meal. Much obliged.
[He drinks his coffee in silence, looking out the window and at her reflection without saying anything as she finishes his food and waits for her next helping. In his experience, there's only so much you can say to people in these situations - and most things will either earn you an insult or a fist aimed at your teeth. Both, probably, in her case.]
[All he gets is a quiet huff but hey. Least he's finally shutting up. Small midget point in Lia's favor - and the crowd... Gives a collective 'eh'.
But pissy as she is, she gives a genuine thanks and another grin to the waitress when she comes back balancing the three plates and her shake. She's done plenty shifts where customers took their spleen out on the help, and damned if she's gonna be one of those people. Screw that.
It's an effort to butter up and cut her pancakes properly with her hands cuffed together like this, and she nearly misses flipping her hair back from falling into the gooey Cheddar on her bacon, but. Lia prevails through it all - much akin to a managerial type, if she does say so herself. Slurping up the last of her choco-strawberry shake noisily, she stacks the plates best she can for the waitress' sake before turning the sulk back on for Raylan's. Again. Thoughtful like that.]
[He pauses in the middle of pulling a twenty and a ten from his wallet - the rest went on the little card Art gave him for business expenses - to give Lia a look that's a mix of impatience and exasperation. He doesn't answer, though. Just leaves the cash and motions for her to rise as he does.
Their motel is across the street from the diner, their room one with sagging furniture, a dripping faucet, and a television set that flickers with the slightest provocation. Raylan locks the door, slides the chain into place, and tells Lia to sit on the bed while he checks the bathroom windows - too high and too small, even for her - and makes sure there are no surprises waiting under the bed or in the closet. Just because picking her up was a lucky coincidence on the way back from a bigger job doesn't mean he gets to be careless.
Winona would be sniping about paranoia if she were here.] Bed is yours. I'll be on the floor, front of the door should you decide to make a midnight escape attempt.
[He holds up the keys to the cuffs.] I can take
( ... )
[She's done the math in her head (it's practically a reflex at this point) and the thirty's... Deffo more than decent. Not that it makes the guy primero pinto in her book, but least he's not a total shitstain. Whatever.
Scooting out of the booth, Lia flashes a double-handed salute to their waitress before following the Marshall out the door and into Roach Motel. Even with all her years on the run, she's never stayed in a dump like this - the places that she'd squat in at least had fresh air to combat everything else. Her nose wrinkled soon as they passed the desk manager, and it's only gotten worse since getting to the room.
Raylan gets a grade A Look when she's told to sit on the bed because uh - you out your mind? Even if she couldn't smell everything on that mattress, it doesn't look anywhere close to know what clean means - so she stands instead while he checks for bogeys.]
Yeah huh, that'd be a hell to the no. You can take the bed and mazel tov to ya - I already feel like I got the freaking hep standing this close to it. [She
( ... )
[He reaches for her wrist, but pauses before touching her.] If I may.
[After another pause to wait for any objections, he unlocks the cuffs and loops them through his belt. She's definitely finicky, this one, and the fact that she's used to better tells him she's also well accustomed to providing for herself, and small mercy, doesn't do it on her back.] I'll ask for the maid if you'd like. Or see if they can't bring a cot for you - I suspect those might be in better shape.
[No minibar, but it's just as well. He shouldn't be drinking with this one around. First chance she gets, she's gone, and smart-alecky enough to think he won't chase her down or see it coming.] And it's Raylan, if I haven't said. Raylan Givens. Should I keep calling you Georgiann or is there something else you'd prefer?
[She side-eyes him some - first for reaching in the first place, then for the manners on top of it - but doesn't say anything. If he tries anything funny, she can handle it quick enough, and if it's a bit earlier and messier than her original plan, well. Improvisation. It happens.
Except it doesn't and she's left just rubbing her wrists before crossing her arms again.]
Maid, schmaid, you'd need a Mr. Clean nukem to get anything done here. I'm chill with the floor, thanks, Raylan. [And there's an eyeroll because god, could it be any more of a hick name? Probs not unless his middle name was Cleetus.] And George'll work.
[He studies her again, with a kind of blank-faced calm that doesn't leave any room for her to assume he's being lewd, and takes his hat off to set it on top of the TV.] George, then. I'll at least ask for some fresh blankets. Fresh as they'll get 'round here, in any case.
[Raylan drops into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs that he's fairly certain came from the same supply company as the ones in his college dorm, way back when. He stretches, as much as sitting will allow, and then crosses his legs at the ankles. His boots he keeps on, and will until she's asleep or they're on the road again.] If you didn't take the box, where'd it get to?
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He'd guess eighteen or so, around that mark.]
You'll forgive me if I don't take off the cuffs while you eat.
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Stupid, stupid, stupid to get caught and part of her irrationally claims that this wouldn't have happened if she'd stayed in the Southwest because shit always happens in the South-South (she's seen Deliverance, okay, she knows what happens down here). Never mind the drivers out west are Pretty Chill Dudes, and if they weren't, they weren't bitchy enough to complain about how a stick of a hitchhiker girl kicked their ass up and down their trailer, and certainly not to the goddamn feds.
And she sure as hell hadn't swiped his strongbox, no matter what the lying, pawing bastard said - she knew enough trucker code that (even is said bastard totally and righteously deserved it) she wouldn't go that low.]
And you'll forgive me if I tell ya to go fuck yourself.
[She's already caught, so far as she's concerned? It's not like being polite is gonna help the situation and cursing him out can't make it any ( ... )
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[He dribbles sugar into his coffee until he's sufficiently masked the taste of last night's burnt beans and this morning's reheated leftovers, stirs for a good thirty seconds in silence, and takes a long pull from the cup like it's Black Label or a Cuban cigar - not that he's ever been fond of the latter, and decidedly less so these days.]
...Though I don't think I can promise four courses on the other side. Bed, at least. There's that.
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[She waves and jabs a chicken leg in his general direction to emphasize her point before ripping off a good chunk of it. Even a casual observer would probably point out that chewing should probably last a bit longer than the amount of time Lia (or Georgiann - of course she'd go on the run when that ID was in rotation, fuck her life forever) is devoting to it, but. Whatever. She is trying to multitask between food and taking the piss out of this hick Marshall. Chewing takes a far, far backseat ( ... )
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[He sips at his coffee keeps his eyes on the window, for all the world seeming to watch the street outside the diner. In point of fact, he's keeping his focus on Georgiann's reflection in the glass. He's still not clear on how those parts got ripped out or what she might have done with them - and he'd bet good money on the girl having something to do with it - but at least the delay is only overnight. Could be worse.
He turns to signal the waitress for more coffee and gives Lia a good once-over, eyebrows raised.] Of course, if you dig up the strongbox from wherever you stashed it I expect you could pay your own way from here to California.
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Nodding respectfully to the waitress, she folds her hands on the Formica, her shiny new bracelets noticeable but not giving a rat's ass.]
Sup, ma'am. Could you do me a solid and walk me in for... Stack of Vermont next to Jack Benny and a shingle that's got some shimmy and shake, and then shake one in the hay with some mud in it? S'just been one of those days, know what I mean?
[The waitress jots it all down with a 'sure thing, hon' and a grin that Lia returns in full before leaning on back against the vinyl cushioning. Sighing with mucho melodrama, she scowls down her nose at him and hopes he gets a decent eyeful of booger for his trouble.]
Look, Grandpa, don't know how much slower I gotta say it before it gets through the sheep you got growing out your ears - I. Didn't. Steal. Shit. Give me five minutes with that lying crapsack and ( ... )
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[He nods to the waitress, touching the brim of his hat in salute as she refills his cup. Raylan helps himself to more sugar, stirs until he can't see any bits floating in the black any more, and sets the spoon aside.] If you didn't do it, you won't be put away for it. That's the way this works. Until then, eat your pancakes and your bacon and your toast and drink your shake and keep your mouth clean, and maybe I won't be inclined to put you in the trunk on our way south.
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[The hands go back across her chest defensively, and she turns away to spare some glare for the window. The guy's a pompous, jaded asshole who doesn't know anything. ...Course, that makes two of them, and that's what stings the worst about it all.
Lia wants to correct him because she's been earning her way like this for six years, and even before that, she hadn't hurt anybody. She'd been a shitty pickpocket and a shittier smash-and-grabber (since people spent more time gaping at a girl knocking them on their asses), but still. Whatever she'd taken that way was slim pickings.]
And there's no if about it, douchebag, but here I sit anyway, stuck with your ugly mug - which? Supremely beyond cruel and unusual just by its lonesome. So you can take that law and order spiel and add it in with the rest of the things as detailed in Hallmark rhyme, 'kay? Peaches.
[She shot daggers at him out of the corner of her eye, practically daring him to go through with the trunk. ( ... )
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[He drinks his coffee in silence, looking out the window and at her reflection without saying anything as she finishes his food and waits for her next helping. In his experience, there's only so much you can say to people in these situations - and most things will either earn you an insult or a fist aimed at your teeth. Both, probably, in her case.]
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But pissy as she is, she gives a genuine thanks and another grin to the waitress when she comes back balancing the three plates and her shake. She's done plenty shifts where customers took their spleen out on the help, and damned if she's gonna be one of those people. Screw that.
It's an effort to butter up and cut her pancakes properly with her hands cuffed together like this, and she nearly misses flipping her hair back from falling into the gooey Cheddar on her bacon, but. Lia prevails through it all - much akin to a managerial type, if she does say so herself. Slurping up the last of her choco-strawberry shake noisily, she stacks the plates best she can for the waitress' sake before turning the sulk back on for Raylan's. Again. Thoughtful like that.]
You'd better leave a decent tip at least.
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Their motel is across the street from the diner, their room one with sagging furniture, a dripping faucet, and a television set that flickers with the slightest provocation. Raylan locks the door, slides the chain into place, and tells Lia to sit on the bed while he checks the bathroom windows - too high and too small, even for her - and makes sure there are no surprises waiting under the bed or in the closet. Just because picking her up was a lucky coincidence on the way back from a bigger job doesn't mean he gets to be careless.
Winona would be sniping about paranoia if she were here.] Bed is yours. I'll be on the floor, front of the door should you decide to make a midnight escape attempt.
[He holds up the keys to the cuffs.] I can take ( ... )
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Scooting out of the booth, Lia flashes a double-handed salute to their waitress before following the Marshall out the door and into Roach Motel. Even with all her years on the run, she's never stayed in a dump like this - the places that she'd squat in at least had fresh air to combat everything else. Her nose wrinkled soon as they passed the desk manager, and it's only gotten worse since getting to the room.
Raylan gets a grade A Look when she's told to sit on the bed because uh - you out your mind? Even if she couldn't smell everything on that mattress, it doesn't look anywhere close to know what clean means - so she stands instead while he checks for bogeys.]
Yeah huh, that'd be a hell to the no. You can take the bed and mazel tov to ya - I already feel like I got the freaking hep standing this close to it. [She ( ... )
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[After another pause to wait for any objections, he unlocks the cuffs and loops them through his belt. She's definitely finicky, this one, and the fact that she's used to better tells him she's also well accustomed to providing for herself, and small mercy, doesn't do it on her back.] I'll ask for the maid if you'd like. Or see if they can't bring a cot for you - I suspect those might be in better shape.
[No minibar, but it's just as well. He shouldn't be drinking with this one around. First chance she gets, she's gone, and smart-alecky enough to think he won't chase her down or see it coming.] And it's Raylan, if I haven't said. Raylan Givens. Should I keep calling you Georgiann or is there something else you'd prefer?
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Except it doesn't and she's left just rubbing her wrists before crossing her arms again.]
Maid, schmaid, you'd need a Mr. Clean nukem to get anything done here. I'm chill with the floor, thanks, Raylan. [And there's an eyeroll because god, could it be any more of a hick name? Probs not unless his middle name was Cleetus.] And George'll work.
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[Raylan drops into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs that he's fairly certain came from the same supply company as the ones in his college dorm, way back when. He stretches, as much as sitting will allow, and then crosses his legs at the ankles. His boots he keeps on, and will until she's asleep or they're on the road again.] If you didn't take the box, where'd it get to?
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