Closed - What's a little hike to the coast?

[tinstar]

Who: Raylan, Big Tim™, Zoey
What: Traveling to Silverpoint
When: Middle of June
Where: On the road to Silverpoint; Silverpoint

Got that itch to see the waves again.

It had started out as a small thing. An idea that Raylan had gotten in his head, fed by locational claustrophobia. He'd been in Milton longer than he'd planned, for good reasons, but Tim was settled and the first wave of explorers had come back without stories of terror and trauma. Milton struck him too much like Harlan, even if the people were different. It was the small coal town of it all, one he'd been able to manage fairly well so far, the fact of which only made it more suffocating to stay. Thankfully, it was barely a discussion at all between him and Tim - the sniper got Raylan's plan with the first question of Raylan's packing and preparing, and was promptly invited along. Raylan would worry otherwise anyway, so he was happy when Tim said he'd come. Raylan was sure that Zoey, who he'd talked to a few days before hand as the idea was brewing and rallied into also coming with him, wouldn't mind.

Though how the pair would deal with their similar colorful circumstances wasn't something he could anticipate. Nor was how he was going to deal with it, considering the feelings of his that keep bubbling up around all the barriers he's ever built up.

The Marshals were prompt sort of men, especially with the never-ending sun fucking up any sense of day or night, and met Zoey at the edges of Milton at the mouth of the relatively new path out of the town. Both packed down with some gear and Goose between them, Raylan grins as Zoey joins them. Between the three of them, he was sure they were going to be just fine. Maybe even better than fine.

"Ready to go see what's over the horizon?" He really did love to get the hell out of wherever he was stuck at, when it came to places. "Wind's a little sharp but I don't think we'll have any trouble." He looks over at Tim, with a "What do you think?"

Comments

[pythianwoman]

She keeps an eye on the both of them as they push on, because just because they’ve been in the most recent bullshit this place has thrown at them doesn’t mean it won’t throw something else at them on their way out of the aforementioned bullshit, too. So Zoey keeps an eye on her two travelling companions. They’re her people, after all. Like hell she’s not having their backs. She might not be able to see trouble coming before it shows up anymore, but she can still do her best to stop them from being caught up in it when it does.

Fond purple and pinks swirl intensely in her aura for a moment at his words before immediately being broken by irritated, immensely annoyed black. Fuck the tricks this place pulls. She doesn't say a word, just staunchly ignoring her aura and turning the conversation towards more important things. “I’d like to pay my respects, too.” Zoey hadn’t gone on the bear hunt that had ended Young Bill’s life, hadn’t had a chance to pay respects properly before now. (She’d done her own little ritual, in the Ancient Greek style, but paying respects at his cabin feels… right.)

“Fingers crossed. More supplies and real whiskey, more alcohol in general, would be a really good fucking find.” She’d lucked out in that the house she’d claimed as her own had had a decently stocked cellar, but given the state of the world they’ve found themselves in it wouldn’t hurt to restock it a little. There’s a reason why she brought an empty satchel. “Wouldn’t mind some new books to read, either. Maybe find more information about general goings-on. A few more puzzle pieces, anyway.”

[comfortablyerect]

"You had me at whiskey," Tim says. It was in fact the very last word of Raylan's sentence, but maybe that's telling in its own right. Young Bill met his untimely demise shortly before Tim got here. All he has is stories, word of mouth, what little people have said with a wound so fresh. Not the personal attachment Zoey and Raylan have.

Though he's not unfamiliar with paying respects to strangers who died fighting the good fight. He's actually all too familiar with it.

The air feels thin and dry. Drawing in a full breath is becoming increasingly more difficult, but he's managing. It's different from the shortness of breath that comes with the desert's heavy, oppressive heat -- at least there's not sand gritting between his teeth -- but it's the same mind over matter training. A steady in and out, a constant redirection of his focus.

"Figure there's still a whole lotta puzzle pieces scattered about Silverpoint left to find. Too much for one trip unless we plan on stayin' awhile."

[tinstar]

Raylan glances over at Tim with a flash of a grin and, impulsively, fires back with, "What, not at my mad musical conversation with Fendi way back when Boyd started blowin' up churches?"

That was, by any and all accounts, forever ago. Ages, years. Tim might not even remember so readily, but Raylan did. It was going to be one of the only situations where Raylan actually longed for the Kentucky heat of summer, and all the damned bugs with it.

He nods at Zoey in agreement on all her points. "I'm hopin' we find some more answers there. Maps, last correspondence, some hint as to what the last connections to the outside world. Some way to.. I dunno. There's gotta be a lighthouse if there's a coast, right? Definitely enough for a second trip out."

He pauses, panting softly. "We goin' up in elevation sharply and I not notice somehow?"