[Well, now that he looks like she's just gone and nutpunched Santa Clause in front of him and burned his best present ever, it's not any fun. So she gets up, hefts the chair in one hand (it's not that heavy and the fuzz factor benefits just makes it easier), and walks over to the other side of the bed. Balancing the chair behind her, she snakes the hat out and turns to plop it on his head.] Before you start hitting the juke for some Randy Travis to ease your injured, hatless soul.
[Lia sighs - all souped up melodramatically - as she makes her way back to where the chair was (and if he thinks she drops it down a smidgen or two closer to his bed, well, drugs are a hell of a thing on an old goaty mind like his so whatever).
Sprawled out in her chair, she stares at him incredulously before rolling her eyes.] Oh, what the freaking hell, man? You can't still be believing that crap about the strongbox. If I'd wanted it so bad, I'd have made sure Assface McHandsy wouldn't have been able to say nothing
( ... )
[Oh. Hello there, hat. He takes a second to adjust it and enjoy the comforting feeling of having it on his head before he answers her.] You're innocent until proven otherwise, et cetera. I personally think he's probably a liar with a grudge, but I'm neither judge nor jury.
[He rubs his eyes.] Three days. Don't suppose you know when the next one is? Full moon?
[She shakes her head because come on, dude, it's just a hat (and a kitschy one to boot). Also 'cause he's still gonna try dragging her ass in.] I'm going back to my initial assessment of you being at least one-quarter Hoover by birth.
Week and a half. Starts on the fifteenth. [The answer comes reflex-fast - shock, I know.] So.
I'd be a hell of a lot richer if that were the case. [He tries to ease himself upright, fiddling with the tubes and IV in an effort to get them off. He has a bad feeling, a sort of nonspecific one at the moment, and he'd rather be mobile and at least a bit clear-headed when he figures out what's making his neckhair stand up.]
Yeah, you'd just be able to suck up all the money with your incredible bionic black-hole-ness.
[She fidgets for a minute, then gets up again, dragging the chair behind with a minimum of scraping. Again she finds herself smacking his hands away.]
Unless you want all that crap falling out and a bunch of nurses coming in and yelling, quit it. This stuff's pretty touchy delicate, so. [It's then that she finds - da-da-da-da~ - the dial for his morphine. Lia clicks it up a few notches, more than enough to make him start feeling rather sleepy in a couple minutes.] There.
[Then she sits back down on the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees and chin in hands. It's kind of hard to do so without the cuff biting into her wrist, but whatever - it'll heal quick enough.]
You got a cell phone? Much as your face is entertaining, I'm kinda getting bored here.
Yep. Soon they'll come in all chorus line style with the candy stripers doing the backup vocals. Then your main doc will come in with a tap routine.
[This is said in perfect deadpan over her shoulder because she is busy going back over to the clothes and rummage rummage rummage - bingo. This is your phone, Ray, and this is Lia thumbing through it. Super basic, no games except the dinky trial ones, and she sighs about as much. ...She's slightly concerned at the number of female names on his contact list, but whatever.]
Should've figured the gadgets would be about as cool as the rest of it. Hat was a dead giveaway.
[Something is not right here. His veins feel like they're burning, which wasn't the case a minute ago, and the rest of him is feeling more like cotton-wrapped lead by the second. He squints at her.] George. What'd you do.
[Keeping her eyes on the phone flipped open in her hand, Lia reaches down into her bag (no longer locked away in the crappy car in the crappy repair shop) for a small pad of paper and a pen. She jots down a number before dropping the pad back in the giant duffel and closing the phone with a nice snap. Only after she's done all this does she look back at Raylan.]
Oh, come on, you ought to be able to figure it out. I know I didn't click up your meds that much. [The phone gets tossed onto his bed, before she grabs at the handcuff on her wrist and starts yanking at it.
Also, if Raylan were to try and find his little nurse-brigade button? He'll find it just out of reach, and if he wasn't about to go off into a drip nap, he'd be able to get to it with some effort.]
[He's fumbling for that little nurse-brigade button right now, but he can't quite get his limbs to cooperate. He brushes it with the tip of his middle finger, and it slides off the side table to swing a few inches from the floor.
Art is never going to let him forget this.]
Don't. [It's slurred, quieter than it should be, and he knows he's sinking into unconsciousness.] George.
[However long she's been off on her own, she doesn't have to be, he tries to say. Whatever her story, she can sort herself out and start again. If she's hiding because of what she is, well, she doesn't need to now, does she?
Raylan relaxes onto the bed. He can't do much else. That hat tumbles sideways off his head and he blinks at her, trying to get the words out and knowing he won't.]
[It takes another moment of trying and no small amount of growling, but she manages to break off the handcuffs and they fall with a tinkle to the tiled floor. Rubbing her wrist, Lia walks over rather calmly to the bed and replaces the hat on Raylan's head. The smile on her face says one thing - 'welp'.]
Not George. [And she flicks the brim of the hat once before turning on her heel. In one smooth motion she scoops her duffel off the floor and swings it up onto her shoulder as she heads for the door.] Later, Ray. So long, and best of luck.
[And she shuts the door behind her before darting to the nearest stairwell to get the hell outta here.]
[When he wakes up, it's to Art's mocking laughter and the declaration that next time there's a little teenage side-dish to pick up on the way back from important work, he'll have Rachel do it.
You know, Raylan, someone reliable. Someone who doesn't end up shooting people every time she takes a road trip, or losing fugitives every time she gets distracted
( ... )
It'd taken Lia the better part of a week to get back to sand and sky and those little tourist-bait cacti in a pot they sold at roadside stands. Soon as she sets herself up in a new town - going by Teresa Maly and working at the Scaled Back Eatery (nice place, lizard motif, decent tips) - she buys the cheapest, prepaid cell phone she can find. The day after her little 'camping trip' is over is spent trying to figure out the best way to pose the big question.
She types out the message once it hits her and presses SEND.
its ten oclock the day after the full moon - do u know where ur werewolves are_
[Raylan gets himself some coffee. He has lunch, checks in with Winona, fills out some paperwork. Gets the afternoon coffee for the office and does some more paperwork. As it's getting on toward evening, he pulls his phone out and contemplates the text.]
[It takes long enough for him to reply that Lia runs through a whole number of possibilities.
Maybe she copied down the number wrong - in which case she's just gone and totally confused a random person. Maybe he traded in his cell phone for a truck - ...what, it's the South, it could happen. Maybe he'd died in the hospital - but he'd seemed okay enough and the doctors weren't all up in his business. Maybe he'd turned anyway and gotten shot by all the crazy gun-toting redne- okay, not considering that.
By the time she actually gets a quiet bzz bzz, she's actually maybe getting kind of worried about things. It all flies out the window at the smartass remark because hey, she's already claimed that responsibility here. No one else gets to snark but her.]
didnt know they moved that shit to kentucky. watch out 4 probes
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[Well, now that he looks like she's just gone and nutpunched Santa Clause in front of him and burned his best present ever, it's not any fun. So she gets up, hefts the chair in one hand (it's not that heavy and the fuzz factor benefits just makes it easier), and walks over to the other side of the bed. Balancing the chair behind her, she snakes the hat out and turns to plop it on his head.] Before you start hitting the juke for some Randy Travis to ease your injured, hatless soul.
[Lia sighs - all souped up melodramatically - as she makes her way back to where the chair was (and if he thinks she drops it down a smidgen or two closer to his bed, well, drugs are a hell of a thing on an old goaty mind like his so whatever).
Sprawled out in her chair, she stares at him incredulously before rolling her eyes.] Oh, what the freaking hell, man? You can't still be believing that crap about the strongbox. If I'd wanted it so bad, I'd have made sure Assface McHandsy wouldn't have been able to say nothing ( ... )
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[He rubs his eyes.] Three days. Don't suppose you know when the next one is? Full moon?
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Week and a half. Starts on the fifteenth. [The answer comes reflex-fast - shock, I know.] So.
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[She fidgets for a minute, then gets up again, dragging the chair behind with a minimum of scraping. Again she finds herself smacking his hands away.]
Unless you want all that crap falling out and a bunch of nurses coming in and yelling, quit it. This stuff's pretty touchy delicate, so. [It's then that she finds - da-da-da-da~ - the dial for his morphine. Lia clicks it up a few notches, more than enough to make him start feeling rather sleepy in a couple minutes.] There.
[Then she sits back down on the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees and chin in hands. It's kind of hard to do so without the cuff biting into her wrist, but whatever - it'll heal quick enough.]
You got a cell phone? Much as your face is entertaining, I'm kinda getting bored here.
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[He fiddles for a moment, but his fingers are a bit numb. He scowls at her.] You'd best not have called them.
[Phone? Right, phone. He waves limply to the stack of clothes she took his hat from.] With the rest of it, I expect.
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[This is said in perfect deadpan over her shoulder because she is busy going back over to the clothes and rummage rummage rummage - bingo. This is your phone, Ray, and this is Lia thumbing through it. Super basic, no games except the dinky trial ones, and she sighs about as much. ...She's slightly concerned at the number of female names on his contact list, but whatever.]
Should've figured the gadgets would be about as cool as the rest of it. Hat was a dead giveaway.
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[Something is not right here. His veins feel like they're burning, which wasn't the case a minute ago, and the rest of him is feeling more like cotton-wrapped lead by the second. He squints at her.] George. What'd you do.
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[Keeping her eyes on the phone flipped open in her hand, Lia reaches down into her bag (no longer locked away in the crappy car in the crappy repair shop) for a small pad of paper and a pen. She jots down a number before dropping the pad back in the giant duffel and closing the phone with a nice snap. Only after she's done all this does she look back at Raylan.]
Oh, come on, you ought to be able to figure it out. I know I didn't click up your meds that much. [The phone gets tossed onto his bed, before she grabs at the handcuff on her wrist and starts yanking at it.
Also, if Raylan were to try and find his little nurse-brigade button? He'll find it just out of reach, and if he wasn't about to go off into a drip nap, he'd be able to get to it with some effort.]
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Art is never going to let him forget this.]
Don't. [It's slurred, quieter than it should be, and he knows he's sinking into unconsciousness.] George.
[However long she's been off on her own, she doesn't have to be, he tries to say. Whatever her story, she can sort herself out and start again. If she's hiding because of what she is, well, she doesn't need to now, does she?
Raylan relaxes onto the bed. He can't do much else. That hat tumbles sideways off his head and he blinks at her, trying to get the words out and knowing he won't.]
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Not George. [And she flicks the brim of the hat once before turning on her heel. In one smooth motion she scoops her duffel off the floor and swings it up onto her shoulder as she heads for the door.] Later, Ray. So long, and best of luck.
[And she shuts the door behind her before darting to the nearest stairwell to get the hell outta here.]
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You know, Raylan, someone reliable. Someone who doesn't end up shooting people every time she takes a road trip, or losing fugitives every time she gets distracted ( ... )
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She types out the message once it hits her and presses SEND.
its ten oclock the day after the full moon - do u know where ur werewolves are_
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Area 51
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Maybe she copied down the number wrong - in which case she's just gone and totally confused a random person. Maybe he traded in his cell phone for a truck - ...what, it's the South, it could happen. Maybe he'd died in the hospital - but he'd seemed okay enough and the doctors weren't all up in his business. Maybe he'd turned anyway and gotten shot by all the crazy gun-toting redne- okay, not considering that.
By the time she actually gets a quiet bzz bzz, she's actually maybe getting kind of worried about things. It all flies out the window at the smartass remark because hey, she's already claimed that responsibility here. No one else gets to snark but her.]
didnt know they moved that shit to kentucky. watch out 4 probes
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