OPEN.

[poleaxed]

ill put an img here l8r.

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[poleaxed]

She wasn't expecting this to get her, but it does. She laughs, a short, quick thing; she doesn't want to give him too much of an advantage, let him know she's charmed. "Washing your feet in the sink. Yeah, I can see the appeal."

[ultimatums]

"Mhm, exactly. Only happens once in a blue moon but sometimes we get a real good one."

[poleaxed]

She makes a motion with her hands, encouraging. "So tell me about a real good one, Mister Marshal."

[ultimatums]

"Well..." He puffs out a sigh. "Back when I worked in Miami, there was this fella. Just been caught after a year-long manhunt. He was runnin' a pretty good grift, actually, he started out sellin' contemporary art to rich folks, made up all these artists and blabbed on about the symbology and whatnot, but it was all just shit from his garage. He was involved in other stuff, too, far less savoury stuff, as fellas like that tend to be. But after he got caught, we took the house, held onto it for a while. Beautiful beachfront property."

[poleaxed]

Her eyes briefly unfocus as she pictures it, grinning: a place to spend time, sleep and shower in peace, drink on the beach and laze around. "Sounds pretty fuckin' ideal. You do the manhunt part, too?"

Under the booth, her boots knock against his.

[ultimatums]

"FBI investigates, we apprehend. You ever been to Miami?" He caught that look on her face, not that it was all that subtle, and he'd rather talk about Miami than the job.

[poleaxed]

"Yeah, I done some work in Florida. They got good races in the summer." She figures she might as well talk about something interesting in her life. "You arrest folks for drag racing?"

[ultimatums]

"Marshals? No. Long as you don't rob a bank right in front of my eyes, I don't give a shit what you do in your free time."

[poleaxed]

She grins. "So you could go to a race and cheer me on?" He won't, but the fantasy is nice.

[ultimatums]

"Sure, if I got nothin' else goin' on. There much of that in Lexington?"

[poleaxed]

"If you got shit going on at 2AM, that's your problem," she says. "There's always racing if there's a university." She moves her finger over the brim of an invisible hat and taps her nose.

[ultimatums]

Raylan's lips drawing up a little at the corners at her bit of theatre. "So are you any good?"

[poleaxed]

A real light enters her eyes, lightens her expression: this is something she's passionate about, and her enjoyment lifts her spirit, even if all she's enjoying is talking about it. "Most racers can't work their own cars. Racing got carpetbagged by rich kids a while back. But it's different when you drive the car and you made it, you can really feel it. So... yeah, I'm better'n average."

[ultimatums]

"Makes sense," he says, nodding evenly. "What kinda car d'you drive?"

[poleaxed]

"A '87 Chevy Capri. I got it on sale at a police auction. Kept the paint job and everything." She speaks in the glowing tones one would use to describe a child. "Everything's just flatbed inside. Light as air."

[ultimatums]

Raylan props an elbow on the bartop, naturally leaning into her space with the changed angle. "You really like cars, huh."

[poleaxed]

She leans into him, excited to meet the challenge (it's always a challenge). "And cowboys."

[ultimatums]

"Well," he says, voice low, "not sure if I count, per se. I just wear a hat."

[poleaxed]

She reaches over to tap his hat on the bar. "I'm saying we share a common interest, but I can't stop you from picturing yourself, huh?"

[ultimatums]

"Who says I like cowboys?" He does, but that's not the point.

[poleaxed]

She picks up his hat, puts it on her head. "Just a hunch."

[ultimatums]

"I tried it on and it fit," he says, tapping the brim so it tilts down over her eyes.

[poleaxed]

She laughs, unable to stop herself. He's charming. She can't understand why he's trying to be charming to her-- maybe she's just easily charmed by his bullshit. It's not like that's never happened before. "That tends to happen before you buy a hat, yeah. What's your favorite cowboy movie, Mister Marshal?"

She tilts the brim back up, eyes bright despite herself. Her hair is mussed around her forehead, a thick strand falling over one eye.

[ultimatums]

"That's a big question," he says slowly, clearly giving it some real thought. "Well, I s'pose you can't go wrong with Tombstone."

[poleaxed]

They have, perhaps, too many shared interests. While Tombstone isn't her favorite, she's watched it enough to know several lines by heart-- it's not her fault they play it in hotels a lot. She won't quote it to him, though. She's easy one way, but she won't let herself be easy the other-- the way women sparkle on dates, desperate to soak up affection. She sips her drink and gestures for another.

"We all got our patriotism somewhere. I guess yours is more for smart-talking lawmen."