singillatim | Luck rarely finds coal miners

Entry tags:

Luck rarely finds coal miners - except in cards

Who: Raylan and about town | + Zoey and Fraser
What: ON THE HUNT FOR BODIES WHO ARE INTERESTED IN POKER - also gettin' his doggo and through the mine
When: Front half of July
Where: Milton, Milton mines, everything on the way and Lakeside

Content Warnings: Applicable content warnings go here.

You gotta know when to hold 'em - Milton - OTA

Raylan was out on a mission - Finding enough willing bodies to make up a good table of poker. He had talked to enough people to make up a very short list of people that might be to play poker. 'Might be' wasn't 'would' and even if it was, that very short list did not equal out to a full table. A full table was at least half of the fun of the game. He starts with the Community Hall, writing out a message and pinning it almost proudly to the board. Solid message, he thought, before looking around. It was never too soon to start the recruiting effort.

It wasn't just the hall, Raylan had no issue openly approaching people on the Streets he'd never spoken to before with as polite a- "Hey, excuse me. Raylan Givens," he'll introduce to those he hasn't met, "Yeah, can I ask you somethin' real quick?"

But it wasn't just poker that interested him. There was no dropping the conversation if someone answered his incoming questions with 'No, I don't play poker and I have no interest in learning'; he was interested in the folks that made up the community, both the people that spoke up at the town meeting trial thing and those that hadn't said anything at all. Like he hadn't said anything, expressed nothing beyond a disappointed shake of his head before exiting to avoid the rush of bodies going out. The verdicts that had come down were taken with heavily mixed result, and he couldn't help but prepare himself for the worse case scenario.

Sixteen tons, what do you get? - Closed to Zoey

The mine has been something Raylan has been working up towards since he found out it was here. The sprawling maw of darkness that sat quiet and idle in front of the un-hatted man taunted him with the memories he'd been trying to ignore, the collapse that he and Boyd had narrowly survived, the fires, the gases, the lack of oxygen, the goddamned dust - There was more to worry about in a mine than taking a poorly planned step and falling three hundred feet to your death.

That was several of a larger handful of reasons that Raylan wanted someone who'd traversed them before to guide him through. He had asked Zoey, feeling it was it's own kind of right that the lady who found him out in the middle of the cold and got him to safety would be the same luck charm of knowledge to get them through the mountain. They'd agreed to meet at the mines, and Raylan's knapsack was heavy with a few skins of water, some food, a rope and candle, flintstone and rock, and a knife on the opposite hip of his gun. He'd never been a boyscout but he packed like one. Raylan didn't have much of any kind of faith or close held superstitions, and he didn't fear much of anything. Not guns, not red-headed women or lawyers.

But mines were different. He was glad she had agreed so graciously and without any mocking jabs at his internally categorized weakness. He could have managed it alone, but he knew that madness lived under the ground as much as minerals and his resolve to 'just the facts ma'am' in this painfully specific scenario was faulty. Something about being Downstairs made him twitchy.

Who doesn't love the possibility of a man and his dog - Open around Lakeside and part closed to Fraser

Lakeside was a balm of its own sort after getting through the mine and over that damned bridge. He'd arrived with Zoey, resting at the mining cap and stopping long enough at the lake side itself to marvel at the inland body of water. At least they weren't there to fish, but there was no mistaking that there was something in the water. Raylan imagined this is what fjords must feel like. Still, the option of fishing gave him hope. Food, when his stomach still pinched a little with hunger. Maybe it connected with a river. Maybe there were salmon..

Closed to Fraser

Word of mouth had passed around the fact that new life had, in fact, come to Lakeside. It was an important thing to hear for Raylan, primarily because it proved that the animals could successfully spawn here. That nothing had gotten in the way of that part of the cycle of life, the one that was going to keep them in food, however scant.

Word of mouth had also passed along where Raylan could find the Mountie, though he was polite enough to just ask after the man by his name, but it's plenty enough to send Raylan up towards Fraser's cabin. He wished that he had something to bring, you were never supposed to arrive empty handed and on a whim, pulls out his last two cans of food. If he was going to be asking for something, he would make the nutritional sacrifice. Missing his hat desperately, Raylan knocks on Fraser's door and steps back.

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Raylan grunts quietly and nods in agreement. He could handle a lot of different kind of physical pressures, but when his mental security starts slipping, fear tended to take over. He wouldn't allow for that. He couldn't, because he didn't know what came after that.

"Small town fever already?" He almost smiles. Yeah, the trial and the murder and all that.

"I'll be keepin' an ear to the ground, happy to haul news worth it. I'm actually goin' to find a Canadian and see how modern a resort it is I keep hearing about. That and I'm interested in layin' eyes on these Forest Talkers. Any tips?"

"My tips? Stay the fuck away from them. They're not our problem."

Because they aren't. Whatever the hell they're doing out in the woods, by themselves, in Hickey's eyes? It doesn't matter. They'll deal with it if or when it becomes an actual problem, but right now? They can play creepy cult all they want, as long as he doesn't have to deal with it.

"Yet. Better to know all I can about what's comin' so I know how to best take it. I know what livin' up a mountain can do to a mind and I wanna know how receptive they really are. Or how receptive they aren't."

He was being nice, neighborly but that didn't mean he trusted everything that came down the grapevine. They all had their own biases.

"So if I don't come back, you know what happened," he jokes. He was sure he'd be coming back.

"If you don't come back, I'm sending someone else to pick up your body," Hickey jokes in response. He does think Raylan'll make it back. The man's more capable than half the people here. But as far as Hickey is concerned, might as well make a few jokes about it. After all, Raylan's doing the same.

"Though I am curious. You say they aren't a problem yet. Don't you think bothering them would make it more of a problem than it would be if we left them alone?"

He flashes a grin. It's a hard trek over there, he doesn't blame Hickey for the fact in the jest.

"Ah 'botherin'. I'm not gonna bother anyone per say, just-" You know. Investigate. Sniff around. Split a hair or two. "See what I can see." Anyone with half a nose for it would sense the intent. He wasn't going to kick any hornets nests, but if something happens, it happens.

"I'm not goin' in speakin for any masses or anythin'. Just a lone cowboy, explorin' some woods." Most innocent thing in the world. "Have they killed one of our number yet?"

"Don't think so," Hickey muses. "If they have, it's nobody important."

Which is what matters, isn't it. Hickey knows there are some Interlopers who've risen in importance more than others. If someone like Raylan or Fraser were to die, the whole community would feel it. But someone like Damien? Rorschach? People would notice, but it wouldn't impact everyone else here, would it. There'd just be a 'oh, sorry to hear that' before they moved on.

"That's why I think we should leave well enough alone. Take what we want if there's a cache—if they're stupid enough to let their supplies be found, then might as well steal them. But going in there to be nosy? To see what's what? Nah. There's better uses of your time."

There's something in Raylan's eyes that hardens a little bit at that response. Sure, they may not have been important but neither were any of them. This random collection and wild grab of souls that had been stolen away here - the world moved on with or without them, despite them, sometimes he thought maybe to spite them.

If he vanished tomorrow, there'd be one or two people that might notice his not being around - Lalo maybe, Zoey, Wynonna - but it wouldn't impact a single thing.

"Who decides who is important?" He couldn't help but ask and didn't wait for an answer before continuing, giving Hickey no chance to interrupt him. "The caches I'll grant you - makes no sense to me to keep goods out in the middle of nowhere, and apparently not well kept enough to keep it from the rest of us - " They deserved to have whatever they left stolen off them if they weren't smart enough to hide it well. "-but if they're comin' after no one important, what makes you think they're gonna be satisfied and stop with that? Why not all of us? What if they only want Lakeside and to be left alone? What if they wanna get rid of us completely?"

Did anyone have those answers yet? It wasn't about good or evil or right or wrong, it was about survivalism, pure and simple. Do I need to kill them before they kill me.

"Why'd they want to do that?" It's an honest question as Hickey looks over at Raylan. He gives the other man a little shrug before pointing out, "Getting rid of us completely's a losing battle. I don't know why or how the Aurora drops people in the town, but there's no denying it does that. They'd have to figure out a way to stop that to get rid of all of us."

And whatever that is, whatever the cause of the Aurora is, Hickey knows none of them here, on the ground, can deal with that.

"Nah, I think they also just want to be left alone. We've only got Bill's word about what those people were like before we charged in there and took their caches. He could be wrong."

He shrugs in return.

"I don't claim to understand the mind of activist turned native. Some people get weird ideas, and I suppose that's their right." Just like it was his right to think they were creepy for it. But that's how things went. "But while they may wanna be left alone, some of the stories I've heard suggest they like messin' with people. That doesn't sound like 'leave us alone' to me and considerin' the conversation around them, I don't think I'm alone in that."

He knew he still didn't have all the facts, half of what he was working off of was just the general community mumblings. That didn't feel very smart or particularly well informed.

"This 'Bill' guy though. Wouldn't mind doin' a little talkin' with him too. See where his fits in this whole puzzle and what kinda information he's got about the history of this place."

"Yeah," Hickey shrugs. "But do we know why they were messing with who they messed with? If they really wanted to fuck with us or send a signal, pick off that Marsh girl. Pick off Nazarova. They're messing with people for a reason. Maybe they're messing with those who tried to mess with them first."

It's all speculation and questioning, what-ifs and other possibilities. But Hickey's firm in this idea: those forest people don't have to be a problem unless other people make them one. And he's not entirely sure how the people here will respond. On one hand, based on the fact that everybody was voted 'not guilty' in that ridiculous trial, the general public seemed to not want to deal with anything that had potential consequences unless they absolutely had to. But on the other hand, it only takes one or two people to stir things up enough for everyone to act.

Not like Hickey's speaking from experience or anything.

"You're right, though. About that 'Bill' guy. In between him and Methusalah, I'm starting to think that anybody who's not an Interloper isn't telling us the whole story."

Raylan bobs his head in agreement with half a shoulder raise and drop of his own. Those were very fair and reasonable paths to follow when trying to track down the truth of things. People were, by most all accounts, actually terrible in one way or another. There were a few outliers that were good, but those were few and far between.

"Maybe so. It's a good question to ask." Because without knowing, and hell - even with knowing, Raylan wasn't sold on the fact that this place wasn't one or two terrible happenstances from turning in on itself. It would loom in his personal horizon until he was proven wrong.

The fact that a Forest Talker had already been kidnapped, was already being held hostage, was something outside Raylan's knowledge, otherwise he would have a different opinion. They would be asking for trouble.

"I wouldn't expect any of us outsiders to have the full story. S'always the way it happens in small towns. And I got a feelin' there's still a good bit missin'. We'll see what I end up doin', either way. Play it by ear, decide after an 8 hour walk through a coal mine."

"There's absolutely a good bit missing," Hickey points out, with a little chuckle. Who are these Forest Talkers? What were they doing before the Interlopers arrived? How long have they been at this? Is there something that drove them to this? All sorts of questions that they'll never get answers for. Bill seems perfectly content telling the story he wants to and, as far as Hickey's concerned, Methusalah is useless.

"Though that's one good thing about that walk to Lakeside. You've got plenty of time to yourself to stop and think." There's a moment before Hickey muses, "Wonder what part of this world we'll find next. After all, there's more to this place than just Milton and Lakeside."

Something about activism against the Company building the resort as best Raylan could tell, and as thought before, people get weird sometimes. He always had to leave room in the math for that but that didn't make the long list of questions any shorter.

"Eh, first time over so I won't be by myself, though I sure as hell hope we don't small talk for 8 hours straight," He huffs with half a laugh, sure that they wouldn't and that the conversation he and Zoey would pass would be interesting enough to distract him from the last time he was in a mine.

"At least one blocked passage that I know of. Do we know if we're part of the mainland? I know some people have likely been mappin' out the place, I'd be interested to know how far someone's gotten."

"Knowing our luck, we're on an island," Hickey laughs. Because their luck is shit and Hickey knows it. What with all of this, with all of the nonsense and the ridiculousness they've had to deal with in just a year's time, of course they're on an island. It wouldn't be anything useful like there would be a town just an hour or so's walk away. Nah. He knows how these things happen.

"Nothing's ever run smoothly in this place."

Raylan couldn't find it in himself to laugh with Hickey, even if wryly so. An island made things significantly harder. They'd have to find or build a boat to get to the mainland and need something larger than that if they wanted supplies back to Milton. And sailors to boot. He was no sailor, nor any kind of boat builder.

"Fuckin' figures." He wasn't one to swear much but this situation called for it, at least a little bit.

"Would be our luck, considerin'." Considering how unlucky they all were to be here in Milton in the first place.

"Really, I don't think the land or island status is going to be the biggest problem we'll have to deal with," Hickey says, with a little shrug. "It's the food. This place is cold enough that not much vegetation grows. Eventually, we'll run out of tins scavenged from people's houses. And eventually, the game will leave as well. When that happens, people'll panic. And when people panic, they make poor decisions."

It doesn't matter where they live. It doesn't matter what's around them. The only thing that matters here, to Hickey, in a place like this, is keeping all the basic necessities going. Food. Shelter. Warmth. Lose any of those and they're fucked.

"It's not, but it's a possible solution to all those possibilities. Ones that we're better served to start plannin' for now, rather than later. Tin's'll run out, sure. Hunting will need to be a larger effort. Fishing. Mushroom huntin' and half eating the trees. Figurin' how to store that up. Rememberin' how people used to live before industrialization."

He wishes he had whiskey. All he wants is a drink. It would keep him fed and warm enough.

"If the animals leave, we leave with them. Nothin' really keepin' us here except comfort."

"On that point, we agree," Hickey nods. The only thing keeping them here is a roof over their heads and a steady supply of food. People might try to make it home, people might play house or set up all sorts of cute little projects or start a library or what the fuck ever. But this is just a place. If it doesn't serve it's purpose, there'll be another place that does.

There's a pause as he thinks things over, not sure what to say or how to phrase this. After a moment, he continues with,

"I helped haul half the contents of the bloody ship from Terror to try and find help. I'd prefer not to do it again, but if needs must? I know what I'm capable of."

At least they had that and by the time Raylan comes back, they'll have more than that in common. Not that he was looking to be friends - Hickey was still a murderer, but that didn't mean that Raylan had to make an enemy of him by being an openly judgmental asshole.

His head tilts as he looks over at the Englishman.

"I don't know the full context or details around all that, but considerin' what era of my history you're from, I know there wasn't anythin' fun or easy about it. The experience will be useful. I'd still rather use your poker skills first."

"It was horrible," Hickey says, with a casual little shrug, "and I'd prefer it not happen again. I'd much rather lose at poker."

His casual expression turns to a small smirk of a smile. Hickey knows that he's not the best at poker. But as far as he's concerned, that's what learning and playing these games are for. And as long as they're playing for buttons and rocks, he doesn't mind losing.

"I'm sure you'll hear me callin' the card sharks into feed," he says with a pull of a grin.

"We'll see who shows up to relieve you of those buttons."

"Hopefully I'll be able to hold my own by the end."

Cornelius Hickey has many traits but the most notable one is unearned confidence.

"And if not well-" He shrugs one shoulder. "Watch the others and how they play. It'll give you plent'a information about their tells and choices. Always somethin' to be learned and applied to the next Poker night." Oh yes. There would be more.

"Anyway, I'll look forward to seein' ya there. Til then? I got some shit I gotta do."

"See you then," Hickey responds, with a little nod.

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Luck rarely finds coal miners - except in cards

You gotta know when to hold 'em - Milton - OTA

Sixteen tons, what do you get? - Closed to Zoey

Who doesn't love the possibility of a man and his dog - Open around Lakeside and part closed to Fraser

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