Deputy US Marshal Givens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tinstar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-05-04 10:23 am
tinstar) wrote in singillatim2024-05-04 10:23 am
Just a miner flashback
Who: Raylan and whoever runs into him
What: Getting settled and poking around
When: Early May
Where: Around Milton, it's outskirts, the Milton Mine Entrance
Content Warnings: Possible mentions of claustrophobia, mine death, illness; Drinking
Raylan had spent his first night in the community hall, though sleep wasn't something that he saw much off, dozing lightly under his Stetson for an hour or two at one point to give everyone a break from him eyeballing them. The time was spent figuring - wrapping his head around all the metaphorical doors that had been opened, 'what it all meant', planning for the next day and not a single thought about his ex-wife. The latter of which was a blessing and the amount of fat he'd been given to chew kept the Jim Beam bottle that sat heavy in his jacket closed. He had a feeling whiskey was going to be in short supply.
A very practical minded man, as soon as the sun was up Raylan and his hat were out of the door, collar turned up to fight against wind on his neck. He knew that not everyone lived in the community hall and no offense to dorm rooms but he was well past collage dorm room age. He was a man who needed his own space, his own door. So he set out onto the small town and studied what he could. It was almost heartening to see a clothing store, and it was the first place he poked his head into, followed very shortly after by the hunting supply store. He was sure that most of the stock had been raided, but there was no harm in seeing what they had and he could be found picking through what was left. It garnered him a bag at least, to store the few long sleeve shirts and one heavy jacket to wear instead of the denim he was currently sporting. Denim wasn't great at beating back the cold.
But once he had a bag of goods, he set out to see if he could find a house that could keep him out of the cold. Then he could worry about if he was going to eat today. It was strange to have to think about it in this way, but Raylan was taking things one step at a time. Stabilize himself, see what he could see, meet who he could and take the general social temperatures. What kind of mess had he found himself in?
Eventually, he finds himself on Greene Street and into a humble little house, one that seemed relatively untouched, and decides to claim it as his own. Though he didn't know if there was a way to do that beyond just inhabiting the place. He'd figure that out too.
Raylan had been told where Lakeside was and how to get to it but the obstacle that needed to get worked through was the mines. The Marshal might not look like it, clean, unstained by the coal dust that permeated his blood and history, but he'd spent near a year down in a mine and he wasn't eager to get back in one. He wasn't a man that was scared by much - no gunslinger or brutal terrorist ever get him feeling fear, but mines were different. He knew what could happen, regardless of if it was being actively mined or not. He could almost still feel the rush of carbon monoxide that rushed after the men when the collapse happen, could still almost hear the cries of surprise and terror. He'd worked so hard to get away from mines, to get away from the life that came with living by them, living with them, and yet here he was all over again.
19 and desperate to get out of Harlan. Desperate to be something more.
Despite the wind kicking up, he couldn't bring himself to leave, stuck somewhere in his head as he stares into the dark depths. No matter what happened, he knew he'd eventually be back in that pit, in that darkness.
Raylan's priority was getting himself settled and as comfortable as one could manage in a place like this, spending a few days cleaning the small cabin he's claimed and hunting around for some basic tools. Nails, boards, a handsaw. Not only did it give him a chance to look around a bit more, but it gave him time to think and time to stand in front of the message board, reading over everyone's various pinned up pieces of paper. He knows he should be less happy about the lack of cell signal, the lack of cell really, but it was one tiny relief that he'd enjoy. Until he didn't enjoy it anymore, anyway.
[You can find Raylan ambling around Milton or at the Community Hall! Feel free to make your own starter if you like!]
What: Getting settled and poking around
When: Early May
Where: Around Milton, it's outskirts, the Milton Mine Entrance
Content Warnings: Possible mentions of claustrophobia, mine death, illness; Drinking
A Chilly welcome
Raylan had spent his first night in the community hall, though sleep wasn't something that he saw much off, dozing lightly under his Stetson for an hour or two at one point to give everyone a break from him eyeballing them. The time was spent figuring - wrapping his head around all the metaphorical doors that had been opened, 'what it all meant', planning for the next day and not a single thought about his ex-wife. The latter of which was a blessing and the amount of fat he'd been given to chew kept the Jim Beam bottle that sat heavy in his jacket closed. He had a feeling whiskey was going to be in short supply.
► In Milton
A very practical minded man, as soon as the sun was up Raylan and his hat were out of the door, collar turned up to fight against wind on his neck. He knew that not everyone lived in the community hall and no offense to dorm rooms but he was well past collage dorm room age. He was a man who needed his own space, his own door. So he set out onto the small town and studied what he could. It was almost heartening to see a clothing store, and it was the first place he poked his head into, followed very shortly after by the hunting supply store. He was sure that most of the stock had been raided, but there was no harm in seeing what they had and he could be found picking through what was left. It garnered him a bag at least, to store the few long sleeve shirts and one heavy jacket to wear instead of the denim he was currently sporting. Denim wasn't great at beating back the cold.
But once he had a bag of goods, he set out to see if he could find a house that could keep him out of the cold. Then he could worry about if he was going to eat today. It was strange to have to think about it in this way, but Raylan was taking things one step at a time. Stabilize himself, see what he could see, meet who he could and take the general social temperatures. What kind of mess had he found himself in?
Eventually, he finds himself on Greene Street and into a humble little house, one that seemed relatively untouched, and decides to claim it as his own. Though he didn't know if there was a way to do that beyond just inhabiting the place. He'd figure that out too.
► Milton Mines
Raylan had been told where Lakeside was and how to get to it but the obstacle that needed to get worked through was the mines. The Marshal might not look like it, clean, unstained by the coal dust that permeated his blood and history, but he'd spent near a year down in a mine and he wasn't eager to get back in one. He wasn't a man that was scared by much - no gunslinger or brutal terrorist ever get him feeling fear, but mines were different. He knew what could happen, regardless of if it was being actively mined or not. He could almost still feel the rush of carbon monoxide that rushed after the men when the collapse happen, could still almost hear the cries of surprise and terror. He'd worked so hard to get away from mines, to get away from the life that came with living by them, living with them, and yet here he was all over again.
19 and desperate to get out of Harlan. Desperate to be something more.
Despite the wind kicking up, he couldn't bring himself to leave, stuck somewhere in his head as he stares into the dark depths. No matter what happened, he knew he'd eventually be back in that pit, in that darkness.
► Wildcard
Raylan's priority was getting himself settled and as comfortable as one could manage in a place like this, spending a few days cleaning the small cabin he's claimed and hunting around for some basic tools. Nails, boards, a handsaw. Not only did it give him a chance to look around a bit more, but it gave him time to think and time to stand in front of the message board, reading over everyone's various pinned up pieces of paper. He knows he should be less happy about the lack of cell signal, the lack of cell really, but it was one tiny relief that he'd enjoy. Until he didn't enjoy it anymore, anyway.
[You can find Raylan ambling around Milton or at the Community Hall! Feel free to make your own starter if you like!]
no subject
She's not sure about the victims, though. “The first one didn't fight back, but I don't know about the guys who were killed at the church. Maybe ask the boat doctor, curly-haired bloke with glasses.”
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"I'll ask, once I meet 'em. Either way," he says, taking a deep breath with his last set of words and letting it out as he continues to talk like an man that chooses to not dwell on ever demon lurking around the corner. "Sounds like a pretty shitty way to go. There any rhythm or reason to the folks it puts down or are we.. talking mindless consumin' monster kinda thing."
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“Legend has it that it'll eat the entire world, in the end.” It's not hard to believe it in those moments when it comes to town.
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"Well at least that ain't new - pretty sure the world's gone through a few of those kinda gods and religions before." And they were all still there, kicking around. Whatever this Darkwalker was, he doubted it was gonna live all the way up to that legend. That wasn't to undercut what it could do, but - the whole world was a lot, after all.
"There's no.. weird cult shit around this is there? In the population here? Floated ideas of sacrifice of appeasement?"
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"I'm familiar with how weird people can get when they're isolated and isolated away from the rest of civilization and it's basic comforts. What kinda superstitions can pop up after a while. What that kinda shit can lead to."
He'd hate to see that happen anywhere where he had to then exist.
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"I dunno about before, though. Like, before us. When the first group of people like us got here there were bodies all over town. Looked like some of 'em killed each other."
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"How do you mean? Like madness or fights in the street?"
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That's normally what happens. Or his imagination remained as dark as had been accused.
"But I understand people are still findin' cans of goods, stretchin' whatever the old man brings and huntin? How's that goin'?"
cw animal death I guess
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He takes and lets a sigh. "Y'all must be doin' somethin' right to have made it this long. I'm hopin' I'll find a place to contribute sooner rather than later."
Every day was goods, supplies getting consumed and Raylan had zero issue with pulling his own weight. It was the best way to help everyone survive.
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He points at the house he thought she'd been headed to before diverting towards him and his new front porch.
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“Yeah, neighbours. You should talk to the mountie. He taught me to do snares for rabbits.”
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"A Canadian Cop? The... fuck, what is it. Royal mounted brigade or somethin'?"
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“There’s one here, real earnest wilderness guy. I bet he’d help.”
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"Then I suppose I'll ask him. He got a name? Or should I just keep an eye out for the all red jacket and hat that rivals mine?"
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