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)
singillatim2024-10-02 07:35 pm
tinstar) wrote in singillatim2024-10-02 07:35 pm
Soap and hot water isn't enough to wash away the sin
Who: Raylan and possibly you?
What: Lil tiny post event log for recovery and secret feelings
Where: Around Milton + Hot Springs
When: Early October
The stink of death and murder was a hard one to wash off when you only had a pot and a rag and whore's baths weren't cutting it anymore. Raylan was able to stand it all of a day and a half before he and Goose are trudging slowly and painstakingly up towards the hot springs with a filled pack on his back. The plan? Build a fire, lay out clean(er) clothes, and scrub as much of the blood and dirt and Everything off him as the soap and hopefully hot water could get. He had to be careful around his freshly stitched wounds but they weren't deep enough to cause too much concern and he was sure there was some hippy-dippy reason that mountain hot water was good for that, actually. His shoulders and hands would be glad for a soak and he didn't anticipate having any issues around other people seeing him naked. Ladies maybe, but he hoped he was lucky.
Goose wasn't there to bathe, just to keep him company while he tries step one in the handbook for 'How to Feel Human again'.
Despite the ache of Raylan's movement, gait slower than normal with a little hitch in his left side, he didn't have enough whiskey to stay home and brood. So he went to work, carrying a beaten, wooden toolbox around, loaded with as many tools as he thought would be useful, and knocked on house doors where it looked both like someone might live and also like it had gotten the shit kicked out of it. Houses that were too far gone were looked over, picked through and it didn't feel much different than the corpse robbing he'd done himself not so long ago. Reasonable people will argue that it's better that goods went with the living, was useful. That didn't make him feel any better about it.
That should keep him busy and not thinking for a few days, or exhaust him to the point of not thinking anymore which was nearly as good.
He's fine, this is fine.
What: Lil tiny post event log for recovery and secret feelings
Where: Around Milton + Hot Springs
When: Early October
Hot Springs
The stink of death and murder was a hard one to wash off when you only had a pot and a rag and whore's baths weren't cutting it anymore. Raylan was able to stand it all of a day and a half before he and Goose are trudging slowly and painstakingly up towards the hot springs with a filled pack on his back. The plan? Build a fire, lay out clean(er) clothes, and scrub as much of the blood and dirt and Everything off him as the soap and hopefully hot water could get. He had to be careful around his freshly stitched wounds but they weren't deep enough to cause too much concern and he was sure there was some hippy-dippy reason that mountain hot water was good for that, actually. His shoulders and hands would be glad for a soak and he didn't anticipate having any issues around other people seeing him naked. Ladies maybe, but he hoped he was lucky.
Goose wasn't there to bathe, just to keep him company while he tries step one in the handbook for 'How to Feel Human again'.
General - Around Milton
Despite the ache of Raylan's movement, gait slower than normal with a little hitch in his left side, he didn't have enough whiskey to stay home and brood. So he went to work, carrying a beaten, wooden toolbox around, loaded with as many tools as he thought would be useful, and knocked on house doors where it looked both like someone might live and also like it had gotten the shit kicked out of it. Houses that were too far gone were looked over, picked through and it didn't feel much different than the corpse robbing he'd done himself not so long ago. Reasonable people will argue that it's better that goods went with the living, was useful. That didn't make him feel any better about it.
That should keep him busy and not thinking for a few days, or exhaust him to the point of not thinking anymore which was nearly as good.
He's fine, this is fine.
no subject
“Not bad up there,” she says, jerking a thumb toward the house behind her. “Must have been a good wind direction. Believe it or not, I missed the whole thing. I was down at the greenhouse when the shit really hit the fan.”
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"It survive? Your greenhouse?" Farming was important, cultivating food sources that might get them through a thin winter - he was all about protecting the greenhouse and any efforts towards it.
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"Sounds like we'll have to make sure they've got full bellies. All of 'em. Caught a girl breakin' into my house, while I was inside, probably lookin' for the same thing a couple of weeks ago. From what I hear, the younger kids that got talked down got eyes on 'em so we'll see if they cause any more trouble after bein' brought into the fold."
He was going to stay away from them - likely as not, he was the furious boogeyman of someone's dream after that bloodbath, and he didn't want to face that.
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Winter is on its way back, unfortunately.
She makes a face when he says a girl broke into his house, despite the fact that she's broken into Louis’s house before and she used to break into Lalo’s house all the time.
“Skinny little thing with dark hair? She was in the greenhouse too, snooping around. It-” Chloe freezes for a moment, eyes unfocused. She doesn't want to talk about Spencer. “Well. It sounds like she's been breaking into a lot of places. I think she's just scared.”
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His eyebrows lift and he's nodding a little at the passing question - bang on.
"I don't blame her. I gave her a hot meal and sent her back out on her way - told her to go back to the community center. Good thing I did, too. My house wasn't as lucky as yours, but its nothin' some cleanin' and light repair won't fix up."
He pauses for a second, chews over the question and then asks it.
"We got any idea what the plan is for all the bodies?" All those folks that didn't make it. "Forest decomp?"
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“Interlopers typically get buried in the churchyard,” she answers, “so long as we can safely retrieve the bodies and they haven't made another request. I want to be cremated, myself. Dad was a devout Hindu and I guess some of it rubbed off.”
She sighs, looking up at the sky for a moment. “As for the cult guys, I don't know. They used to cut each other up, over in Lakeside. Maybe they want to do that.”
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"We should let 'em. Send their people back to the natural process if that's what they want.." He looks off in the distance for a minute before adding: "Grew up knowin' I'd be put in the ground. Hell, even got a headstone waitin' for me since I was thirteen years old. Just a question of when.."
Seeming to realize he's wandered a bit in his own head, he corrects with a soft clearing of his throat and a shift of his feet.
"Anyway. Someone's gonna hav'ta movin' bodies, and I guess that I'll be one of 'em."
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That might be what the Forest Talkers think they're doing too, who knows?
“Yeah. I think it's gonna be like Midsummer again. Lots of people got fucked up bad enough in the fighting that people who could do anything at all had to pick up the slack.”
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Not that they would have to worry about rot with as cold as it's gonna get but the last thing they needed to add to this place was the horror of stumbling across a body while walking around town. He looks over.
"How do you feel about pushin' a wheelbarrow? Makes for a terrible kinda date and I'm happy to pay for it with a whole half of a bottle of real actual whiskey tonight for the work tomorrow."
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It does the job but it tastes like paint thinner.
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And while he didn't know it yet, it was probably better that that half bottle not be in his possession in the end. The one bottle he'd put back for emergencies would be more than enough to constitute self abuse. And that he wouldn't want to be sharing.
"Thought it's the least I can offer, considerin' the work."
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It didn't take long to fetch those wheelbarrows, or too long before they start running across corpses, cold and haunting and a devastating display of aftermath as much as the ruined and burned out houses around them. They needed something to talk about that wasn't what they were doing or what had happened.
"Farmin' somethin' you did at home? Or is the green thumb a hobbiest kinda thing? I never could manage plants, but then again, bein' home to water them is probably an important first step." Having a home was also something that was required, he supposes, though plenty of people might argue that a motel room is just as good as anyplace else.
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“Nah. Too much of a free spirit.” She hasn't exactly ever had a stable living situation since she’d left home as a teenager. “I travel a lot, you know. Not much of that here, so I can try out the domestic stuff.”