Don't start talking like you know factoid number one about me, fuckwad.
[The hands go back across her chest defensively, and she turns away to spare some glare for the window. The guy's a pompous, jaded asshole who doesn't know anything. ...Course, that makes two of them, and that's what stings the worst about it all.
Lia wants to correct him because she's been earning her way like this for six years, and even before that, she hadn't hurt anybody. She'd been a shitty pickpocket and a shittier smash-and-grabber (since people spent more time gaping at a girl knocking them on their asses), but still. Whatever she'd taken that way was slim pickings.]
And there's no if about it, douchebag, but here I sit anyway, stuck with your ugly mug - which? Supremely beyond cruel and unusual just by its lonesome. So you can take that law and order spiel and add it in with the rest of the things as detailed in Hallmark rhyme, 'kay? Peaches.
[She shot daggers at him out of the corner of her eye, practically daring him to go through with the trunk. She'd never tried kicking a car tire out of alignment from inside one of them, but hey. Girl's gotta keep herself open to new experiences.]
[He just sighs and signals the waitress again.] If you don't mind, miss, we'll take the check with her second meal. Much obliged.
[He drinks his coffee in silence, looking out the window and at her reflection without saying anything as she finishes his food and waits for her next helping. In his experience, there's only so much you can say to people in these situations - and most things will either earn you an insult or a fist aimed at your teeth. Both, probably, in her case.]
[All he gets is a quiet huff but hey. Least he's finally shutting up. Small midget point in Lia's favor - and the crowd... Gives a collective 'eh'.
But pissy as she is, she gives a genuine thanks and another grin to the waitress when she comes back balancing the three plates and her shake. She's done plenty shifts where customers took their spleen out on the help, and damned if she's gonna be one of those people. Screw that.
It's an effort to butter up and cut her pancakes properly with her hands cuffed together like this, and she nearly misses flipping her hair back from falling into the gooey Cheddar on her bacon, but. Lia prevails through it all - much akin to a managerial type, if she does say so herself. Slurping up the last of her choco-strawberry shake noisily, she stacks the plates best she can for the waitress' sake before turning the sulk back on for Raylan's. Again. Thoughtful like that.]
[He pauses in the middle of pulling a twenty and a ten from his wallet - the rest went on the little card Art gave him for business expenses - to give Lia a look that's a mix of impatience and exasperation. He doesn't answer, though. Just leaves the cash and motions for her to rise as he does.
Their motel is across the street from the diner, their room one with sagging furniture, a dripping faucet, and a television set that flickers with the slightest provocation. Raylan locks the door, slides the chain into place, and tells Lia to sit on the bed while he checks the bathroom windows - too high and too small, even for her - and makes sure there are no surprises waiting under the bed or in the closet. Just because picking her up was a lucky coincidence on the way back from a bigger job doesn't mean he gets to be careless.
Winona would be sniping about paranoia if she were here.] Bed is yours. I'll be on the floor, front of the door should you decide to make a midnight escape attempt.
[He holds up the keys to the cuffs.] I can take them off or leave them. Or cuff you to the bedpost. Your choice.
[She's done the math in her head (it's practically a reflex at this point) and the thirty's... Deffo more than decent. Not that it makes the guy primero pinto in her book, but least he's not a total shitstain. Whatever.
Scooting out of the booth, Lia flashes a double-handed salute to their waitress before following the Marshall out the door and into Roach Motel. Even with all her years on the run, she's never stayed in a dump like this - the places that she'd squat in at least had fresh air to combat everything else. Her nose wrinkled soon as they passed the desk manager, and it's only gotten worse since getting to the room.
Raylan gets a grade A Look when she's told to sit on the bed because uh - you out your mind? Even if she couldn't smell everything on that mattress, it doesn't look anywhere close to know what clean means - so she stands instead while he checks for bogeys.]
Yeah huh, that'd be a hell to the no. You can take the bed and mazel tov to ya - I already feel like I got the freaking hep standing this close to it. [She ignores the comment about midnight escapades because like hell he'll be able to stop her once she gets going so it's all whatever.] As for the cuffs, dooooon't really care. Whatever floats your boat, Sheriff Woody.
[He reaches for her wrist, but pauses before touching her.] If I may.
[After another pause to wait for any objections, he unlocks the cuffs and loops them through his belt. She's definitely finicky, this one, and the fact that she's used to better tells him she's also well accustomed to providing for herself, and small mercy, doesn't do it on her back.] I'll ask for the maid if you'd like. Or see if they can't bring a cot for you - I suspect those might be in better shape.
[No minibar, but it's just as well. He shouldn't be drinking with this one around. First chance she gets, she's gone, and smart-alecky enough to think he won't chase her down or see it coming.] And it's Raylan, if I haven't said. Raylan Givens. Should I keep calling you Georgiann or is there something else you'd prefer?
[She side-eyes him some - first for reaching in the first place, then for the manners on top of it - but doesn't say anything. If he tries anything funny, she can handle it quick enough, and if it's a bit earlier and messier than her original plan, well. Improvisation. It happens.
Except it doesn't and she's left just rubbing her wrists before crossing her arms again.]
Maid, schmaid, you'd need a Mr. Clean nukem to get anything done here. I'm chill with the floor, thanks, Raylan. [And there's an eyeroll because god, could it be any more of a hick name? Probs not unless his middle name was Cleetus.] And George'll work.
[He studies her again, with a kind of blank-faced calm that doesn't leave any room for her to assume he's being lewd, and takes his hat off to set it on top of the TV.] George, then. I'll at least ask for some fresh blankets. Fresh as they'll get 'round here, in any case.
[Raylan drops into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs that he's fairly certain came from the same supply company as the ones in his college dorm, way back when. He stretches, as much as sitting will allow, and then crosses his legs at the ankles. His boots he keeps on, and will until she's asleep or they're on the road again.] If you didn't take the box, where'd it get to?
Yyyyyyyyyeah, that's gonna be another no. [She hasn't had fleas yet. She would like to keep up this trend. Natty-ass motel blankets with various things caked on them is not going to be helping achieve this goal.] Just give me my duffel, and I'll be just dandy.
[Lia turns, surveying the wall and picking a spot where the wallpaper's not peeling near as much and leans up against it, fingers drumming out nonsense beats on her thigh just to have something to do. She fixes him with a withering stare before starting to slide down to the floor.]
How in the hell am I supposed to know? [She plops on the floor, knees up against her chest. A sullen shrug as she rests her chin on them.] I punched the prick and booked it the hell out of there. End of story until you decided there needed to be a buddy cop sequel.
[He makes an exasperated noise. Oh, so we're buddies now? he thinks, and rubs his eyes.] You're saying he's a liar, well, I'll talk to him once we've got you back in Lexington. Sort all this out. He'll have to come back to testify against you in any case, so who knows.
[He smirks, humorlessly, thoughts straying to Arlo and the cons that man would and still does try to pull.] Maybe it'll turn out he left it under his old top shelf magazines. Been known to happen.
[There's another pause.] Your duffel's in the car, and the car is in the shop, and the shop at this point is closed. You'll do with what we have.
[No. They are most definitely not buddies. Just one of the many reasons this sequel - like sooo many others - sucks ass.]
Bullshit that'll work. Know how I know? He says one thing, I end up in handcuffs. I say other thing, I remain rocking the bracelets. [It doesn't matter she's not in them at this exact moment. Shut up. Focus on the principle of the thing.
She lets her head thunk back against the wall with a groan as she mourns the cash she had in that bag. It'll probably all be ripped off by the time she gets out of this fucking room.] Goooooooooddamn it, but how you do suck. Like rooming with a freaking Hoover.
Bit cynical of you. [Probably right, but still. He leans his head back with a sigh as she goes on.] Bag's in the trunk, trunk's locked. It'll keep. Anyone ever tell you, you-
[He's interrupted by a pounding on the door. Raylan's hand immediately goes to his holster and he motions her back, pointing to the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He shifts to his feet, eases up to the edge of the door - not in front of the peep hole, since that's the first place any amateur puts a bullet - and slides his gun free of the holster.]
Yeah?
[A pause, muted voices, and then another impact against the cheap wood. It splinters and Raylan takes a step back so he can get a better angle to fire.] This is Deputy United States Marshal Raylan Givens. Identify yourselves, if you please, or I make that door and anything behind it into swiss cheese.
[A deep-voiced snarl answers him.] We want the girl.
[Raylan raises his weapon to fix on the chest area, below where the voice came from.] I don't believe that's an answer. Names and purpose, or I shoot. I'll give you the count of three.
Cynical my ass. That's how things are and if you don't know it, you're dumber than I thought.
[And she goes back to glare at him some more. 'Keep'? 'Keep'? He wouldn't be near as calm about it if it was his whole life zipped up in a duffel bag in a totally skeezy chop shop.
She's about to say as much when the door starts getting the rough stuff. Scrambling to her feet, she's already off to the side (opposite the side with the bed, just to be contrary and to have more room to move) before Raylan does anything. Flinching as the door starts to give, Lia freezes when she hears what they're after.
Then she listens and sniffs the air, and whatever small bit of color she had to her drains in a second. The same part of her brain that blamed all of this happening on being in the South notes that her luck must really fucking blow that this is where she finally finds other werewolves. Really unwelcome sounding ones because they do not sound like they want to grab a cup of joe and chat.]
Shit. [Her fists clench and unclench at her sides and without all that bravado puffing her up, she looks younger than her actual age.] Shit shit shit shit shit shit, I need to. Gotta get the fuck out of here.
[With that, she darts across the room, keeping low until she can duck into the bathroom. Fuck these windows being too small, she'll totally gnaw an arm off to make it work.]
George! [In that fraction of a second that his attention shifts from the door, it explodes inward. Of course, he didn't lower his weapon. So the first man through goes down with a bullet in his chest and the next one takes a shot through the arm, and something is not right here. These men aren't moving like men should, particularly not men built the way they are.
The one he clipped turns on him and Raylan plugs him in the head, and then Raylan himself goes down under the weight of the third of the five men. He got a count between bullets. The size of the guy shouldn't mean Raylan can't move. He should at least be able to fight. But the stranger - stubbly, reeking of beer and piss and wearing yesterday's clothes - has him immobile and he can't seem to work an arm free to punch the guy in the face.
The stranger leers.]
Yeah, you gonna shoot me now? [He lets one of Raylan's arms go to reach up and drag off his shirt. Raylan winces as muscle, fat, and scar tissue are suddenly out there for all the world to see.]
Well, if I wasn't before- [He has to get out from under this ass and get to the bathroom, where the other two men are directing their attentions. Raylan clocks his captor on the side of the head with his free hand, and the man jolts and then glares down at him as his teeth and nose get longer and hairier.
What's happening doesn't quite register, because it cannot in fact happen. But where there was a man, there's now a dark-furred and angry wolf braced on his chest. It lunges, he twists, and it sinks its teeth into his shoulder rather than his throat. He bucks, yelling, and gets the gun around enough to shoot the wolf in the leg, and then when it lets go, in the head. Twice.
Six shots. Eleven left.
He hoists the body clear and raises his Glock, orienting it on the man blocking the bathroom door. His friend must be inside with the girl.
Raylan lets out a piercing whistle and fires as the thug's attention starts to shift - and then lets out a grunt of surprise when he's slammed into the wall by the first man he shot.
He didn't miss. He knows that. What the hell is going on?]
[Lia is busy trying to scramble out the transom window above the toilet when she hears the door go. Cursing under her breath and shutting her ears to the gunfire, the sill scrapes at her shoulders as she tells herself that he'll be fine, probably, they're after her and they won't want to blow anything by going and biting at him, right--
Two things happen at once. She hears Raylan shouting and she feels a hand grip her leg. A high-pitched yelp breaks out of her throat before she can stop it, and then she starts kicking and flailing as hard as she can. Not that it does much good as she's dragged back and spun around to face a hygienically-challenged uber-redneck. But much as the rest of him is filthy, his teeth are shining white and clean and sharper by the minute.]
Goin' somewhere so soon, stranger?
[Lia shrinks in on herself, eyes wide and head sunk between her shoulders.] Look, man, I'm not looking to start anything here, okay, I was just getting dragged around by the guy out there and I didn't mean anything by showing up, hell, I'm not even supposed to be here--
[Her babbling's interrupted by Raylan's last shot going wide outside, and it grazes the man's cheek. He snarls and turns to the door - and in that split second Lia sees her chance. Her knee comes up fast and hard, slamming into the guy's crotch with all the force her nature and sheer fucking panic can muster. Then while he's falling to his knees, clutching and gasping, she grabs the lid of the toilet tank and breaks it over his head to put him out on the floor. Another kick to his nuts, and a last one to his chin should be enough to keep him out (she hopes).
Then she strips off her jeans fast as she can - she'll have to deal with losing a shirt, but whatever - and focuses on the change. She bursts out of the bathroom, scraps of cloth still sticking to her fur as the door bangs off the wall, and tackles the sentry from behind as he moves towards the Marshall. Growling and snarling, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder and whips her neck back and forth as he screams and tries to buck her off.
As she's scrabbling with her paws to get some kind of grip, Lia is trying to figure out what in the actual fuck she's doing. She could have just fucking booked it after clocking the guy - SHOULD HAVE - and then kept running without once looking back, but. This is where the fan threw the shit.
She's probably gonna get shot by the schmuck for her trouble. Fuck her life running.]
[The schmuck is, at the moment, wrestling on the floor with another man that's quickly becoming hairier than a French hooker, and wondering precisely when his life decided to go this far sideways. He struggles to keep one hand around the wolf-man's muzzle, loses his grip, and ends up wrapping an arm around the thing's neck and hugging it close so it can't get its mouth around to tear out his throat.
So, it's while he's clutching a wolf to him in a stranglehold and scrabbling for his gun that the third wolf comes diving out of the bathroom to take out thug number... whichever. As though things weren't confusing enough.
The wolf he's holding flails free and rips into his arm as he brings it up again to shield neck.] Son of a bitch.
[Raylan scrambles for his weapon. He brings it up and puts three bullets in the wolf just to be thorough, throws the animal off, rolls onto his stomach, and trains his weapon on the black wolf from the bathroom.] George if that's you, kindly get out of the way.
[The hands go back across her chest defensively, and she turns away to spare some glare for the window. The guy's a pompous, jaded asshole who doesn't know anything. ...Course, that makes two of them, and that's what stings the worst about it all.
Lia wants to correct him because she's been earning her way like this for six years, and even before that, she hadn't hurt anybody. She'd been a shitty pickpocket and a shittier smash-and-grabber (since people spent more time gaping at a girl knocking them on their asses), but still. Whatever she'd taken that way was slim pickings.]
And there's no if about it, douchebag, but here I sit anyway, stuck with your ugly mug - which? Supremely beyond cruel and unusual just by its lonesome. So you can take that law and order spiel and add it in with the rest of the things as detailed in Hallmark rhyme, 'kay? Peaches.
[She shot daggers at him out of the corner of her eye, practically daring him to go through with the trunk. She'd never tried kicking a car tire out of alignment from inside one of them, but hey. Girl's gotta keep herself open to new experiences.]
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[He drinks his coffee in silence, looking out the window and at her reflection without saying anything as she finishes his food and waits for her next helping. In his experience, there's only so much you can say to people in these situations - and most things will either earn you an insult or a fist aimed at your teeth. Both, probably, in her case.]
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But pissy as she is, she gives a genuine thanks and another grin to the waitress when she comes back balancing the three plates and her shake. She's done plenty shifts where customers took their spleen out on the help, and damned if she's gonna be one of those people. Screw that.
It's an effort to butter up and cut her pancakes properly with her hands cuffed together like this, and she nearly misses flipping her hair back from falling into the gooey Cheddar on her bacon, but. Lia prevails through it all - much akin to a managerial type, if she does say so herself. Slurping up the last of her choco-strawberry shake noisily, she stacks the plates best she can for the waitress' sake before turning the sulk back on for Raylan's. Again. Thoughtful like that.]
You'd better leave a decent tip at least.
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Their motel is across the street from the diner, their room one with sagging furniture, a dripping faucet, and a television set that flickers with the slightest provocation. Raylan locks the door, slides the chain into place, and tells Lia to sit on the bed while he checks the bathroom windows - too high and too small, even for her - and makes sure there are no surprises waiting under the bed or in the closet. Just because picking her up was a lucky coincidence on the way back from a bigger job doesn't mean he gets to be careless.
Winona would be sniping about paranoia if she were here.] Bed is yours. I'll be on the floor, front of the door should you decide to make a midnight escape attempt.
[He holds up the keys to the cuffs.] I can take them off or leave them. Or cuff you to the bedpost. Your choice.
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Scooting out of the booth, Lia flashes a double-handed salute to their waitress before following the Marshall out the door and into Roach Motel. Even with all her years on the run, she's never stayed in a dump like this - the places that she'd squat in at least had fresh air to combat everything else. Her nose wrinkled soon as they passed the desk manager, and it's only gotten worse since getting to the room.
Raylan gets a grade A Look when she's told to sit on the bed because uh - you out your mind? Even if she couldn't smell everything on that mattress, it doesn't look anywhere close to know what clean means - so she stands instead while he checks for bogeys.]
Yeah huh, that'd be a hell to the no. You can take the bed and mazel tov to ya - I already feel like I got the freaking hep standing this close to it. [She ignores the comment about midnight escapades because like hell he'll be able to stop her once she gets going so it's all whatever.] As for the cuffs, dooooon't really care. Whatever floats your boat, Sheriff Woody.
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[After another pause to wait for any objections, he unlocks the cuffs and loops them through his belt. She's definitely finicky, this one, and the fact that she's used to better tells him she's also well accustomed to providing for herself, and small mercy, doesn't do it on her back.] I'll ask for the maid if you'd like. Or see if they can't bring a cot for you - I suspect those might be in better shape.
[No minibar, but it's just as well. He shouldn't be drinking with this one around. First chance she gets, she's gone, and smart-alecky enough to think he won't chase her down or see it coming.] And it's Raylan, if I haven't said. Raylan Givens. Should I keep calling you Georgiann or is there something else you'd prefer?
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Except it doesn't and she's left just rubbing her wrists before crossing her arms again.]
Maid, schmaid, you'd need a Mr. Clean nukem to get anything done here. I'm chill with the floor, thanks, Raylan. [And there's an eyeroll because god, could it be any more of a hick name? Probs not unless his middle name was Cleetus.] And George'll work.
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[Raylan drops into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs that he's fairly certain came from the same supply company as the ones in his college dorm, way back when. He stretches, as much as sitting will allow, and then crosses his legs at the ankles. His boots he keeps on, and will until she's asleep or they're on the road again.] If you didn't take the box, where'd it get to?
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[Lia turns, surveying the wall and picking a spot where the wallpaper's not peeling near as much and leans up against it, fingers drumming out nonsense beats on her thigh just to have something to do. She fixes him with a withering stare before starting to slide down to the floor.]
How in the hell am I supposed to know? [She plops on the floor, knees up against her chest. A sullen shrug as she rests her chin on them.] I punched the prick and booked it the hell out of there. End of story until you decided there needed to be a buddy cop sequel.
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[He smirks, humorlessly, thoughts straying to Arlo and the cons that man would and still does try to pull.] Maybe it'll turn out he left it under his old top shelf magazines. Been known to happen.
[There's another pause.] Your duffel's in the car, and the car is in the shop, and the shop at this point is closed. You'll do with what we have.
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Bullshit that'll work. Know how I know? He says one thing, I end up in handcuffs. I say other thing, I remain rocking the bracelets. [It doesn't matter she's not in them at this exact moment. Shut up. Focus on the principle of the thing.
She lets her head thunk back against the wall with a groan as she mourns the cash she had in that bag. It'll probably all be ripped off by the time she gets out of this fucking room.] Goooooooooddamn it, but how you do suck. Like rooming with a freaking Hoover.
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[He's interrupted by a pounding on the door. Raylan's hand immediately goes to his holster and he motions her back, pointing to the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He shifts to his feet, eases up to the edge of the door - not in front of the peep hole, since that's the first place any amateur puts a bullet - and slides his gun free of the holster.]
Yeah?
[A pause, muted voices, and then another impact against the cheap wood. It splinters and Raylan takes a step back so he can get a better angle to fire.] This is Deputy United States Marshal Raylan Givens. Identify yourselves, if you please, or I make that door and anything behind it into swiss cheese.
[A deep-voiced snarl answers him.] We want the girl.
[Raylan raises his weapon to fix on the chest area, below where the voice came from.] I don't believe that's an answer. Names and purpose, or I shoot. I'll give you the count of three.
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[And she goes back to glare at him some more. 'Keep'? 'Keep'? He wouldn't be near as calm about it if it was his whole life zipped up in a duffel bag in a totally skeezy chop shop.
She's about to say as much when the door starts getting the rough stuff. Scrambling to her feet, she's already off to the side (opposite the side with the bed, just to be contrary and to have more room to move) before Raylan does anything. Flinching as the door starts to give, Lia freezes when she hears what they're after.
Then she listens and sniffs the air, and whatever small bit of color she had to her drains in a second. The same part of her brain that blamed all of this happening on being in the South notes that her luck must really fucking blow that this is where she finally finds other werewolves. Really unwelcome sounding ones because they do not sound like they want to grab a cup of joe and chat.]
Shit. [Her fists clench and unclench at her sides and without all that bravado puffing her up, she looks younger than her actual age.] Shit shit shit shit shit shit, I need to. Gotta get the fuck out of here.
[With that, she darts across the room, keeping low until she can duck into the bathroom. Fuck these windows being too small, she'll totally gnaw an arm off to make it work.]
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The one he clipped turns on him and Raylan plugs him in the head, and then Raylan himself goes down under the weight of the third of the five men. He got a count between bullets. The size of the guy shouldn't mean Raylan can't move. He should at least be able to fight. But the stranger - stubbly, reeking of beer and piss and wearing yesterday's clothes - has him immobile and he can't seem to work an arm free to punch the guy in the face.
The stranger leers.]
Yeah, you gonna shoot me now? [He lets one of Raylan's arms go to reach up and drag off his shirt. Raylan winces as muscle, fat, and scar tissue are suddenly out there for all the world to see.]
Well, if I wasn't before- [He has to get out from under this ass and get to the bathroom, where the other two men are directing their attentions. Raylan clocks his captor on the side of the head with his free hand, and the man jolts and then glares down at him as his teeth and nose get longer and hairier.
What's happening doesn't quite register, because it cannot in fact happen. But where there was a man, there's now a dark-furred and angry wolf braced on his chest. It lunges, he twists, and it sinks its teeth into his shoulder rather than his throat. He bucks, yelling, and gets the gun around enough to shoot the wolf in the leg, and then when it lets go, in the head. Twice.
Six shots. Eleven left.
He hoists the body clear and raises his Glock, orienting it on the man blocking the bathroom door. His friend must be inside with the girl.
Raylan lets out a piercing whistle and fires as the thug's attention starts to shift - and then lets out a grunt of surprise when he's slammed into the wall by the first man he shot.
He didn't miss. He knows that. What the hell is going on?]
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Two things happen at once. She hears Raylan shouting and she feels a hand grip her leg. A high-pitched yelp breaks out of her throat before she can stop it, and then she starts kicking and flailing as hard as she can. Not that it does much good as she's dragged back and spun around to face a hygienically-challenged uber-redneck. But much as the rest of him is filthy, his teeth are shining white and clean and sharper by the minute.]
Goin' somewhere so soon, stranger?
[Lia shrinks in on herself, eyes wide and head sunk between her shoulders.] Look, man, I'm not looking to start anything here, okay, I was just getting dragged around by the guy out there and I didn't mean anything by showing up, hell, I'm not even supposed to be here--
[Her babbling's interrupted by Raylan's last shot going wide outside, and it grazes the man's cheek. He snarls and turns to the door - and in that split second Lia sees her chance. Her knee comes up fast and hard, slamming into the guy's crotch with all the force her nature and sheer fucking panic can muster. Then while he's falling to his knees, clutching and gasping, she grabs the lid of the toilet tank and breaks it over his head to put him out on the floor. Another kick to his nuts, and a last one to his chin should be enough to keep him out (she hopes).
Then she strips off her jeans fast as she can - she'll have to deal with losing a shirt, but whatever - and focuses on the change. She bursts out of the bathroom, scraps of cloth still sticking to her fur as the door bangs off the wall, and tackles the sentry from behind as he moves towards the Marshall. Growling and snarling, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder and whips her neck back and forth as he screams and tries to buck her off.
As she's scrabbling with her paws to get some kind of grip, Lia is trying to figure out what in the actual fuck she's doing. She could have just fucking booked it after clocking the guy - SHOULD HAVE - and then kept running without once looking back, but. This is where the fan threw the shit.
She's probably gonna get shot by the schmuck for her trouble. Fuck her life running.]
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So, it's while he's clutching a wolf to him in a stranglehold and scrabbling for his gun that the third wolf comes diving out of the bathroom to take out thug number... whichever. As though things weren't confusing enough.
The wolf he's holding flails free and rips into his arm as he brings it up again to shield neck.] Son of a bitch.
[Raylan scrambles for his weapon. He brings it up and puts three bullets in the wolf just to be thorough, throws the animal off, rolls onto his stomach, and trains his weapon on the black wolf from the bathroom.] George if that's you, kindly get out of the way.
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