[She's about to stare some more because after all this, he's still gonna take her to Hicksville? What the fuck, man. But then the cavalry arrives and the medics pull her away so they can get some proper work done.
Then she's being taken aside by the uni-cops for questioning after giving her a blanket. Huddling up inside it, it's a lot easier to stick to Raylan's advice than she'd thought. Mainly because she finds it hard to talk, period, so the blabbing thing isn't even an issue.
Eventually it fleshes out to being taken in custody to the room, the guys beating the door down while she hid in the bathroom, then tons of gunfire and snarling until she kneed him. The only part she active lies about is that Chaney was the one who ripped her shirt, which is the least she could blame him for, really.
Somehow it all flies enough for the cops to buy, and eventually somebody gets her some pants - which she's super grateful for. Said gratitude lasts until they drag her back to the hospital and cuff her to a chair in Raylan's room.]
...Custodial issues, my ass.
[She's still got the whole shock and trauma thing but. She's dealing with it in her own way - the way that denies anything is wrong and keeps snarking. Tried and truth method, man.]
[Raylan is drugged. He's very drugged. He's drugged enough to possibly have told Art he loves him, earlier, and while not untrue in the Manly Friendship sense it's still not something you tell a person. If he even did. He's not sure and he's sure as hell not going to ask.
So it takes him a while to realize Lia's even there, let alone orient on where in the room she's sitting.] Oh. Hello.
[He should say something else.] I see they didn't collar you.
[There's a thought forming. Slowly. Slowly.] Wouldn't happen to know what they did with my hat? Gotten rather fond of it, over the years.
[He inspects the bandage on his arm and tries to be upset, or tense, or worried about what might happen come the full moon.
...Mostly he just wishes he had one of those little buttons that Boyd had, so he could decide how high he wants to be.] How'll I know? With this wolf business?
Preeeetty sure they decided it was too blooded and bitted up, so. Put it out of its misery. Probs been taken out with the rest of the hazardous waste already. Another thing you're welcome about.
[She's entirely pulling his chain, since his hat is tucked under his clothes on the other chair in the room. Because this is how she does things. Even when, y'know, the owner of said chain is drugged to the freaking gills.
But then the fun kind of dies and she suddenly decides her fingernails are fucking fascinating.] ...Full moon, I guess. [She peers up at him through her eyelashes and she feels like she should apologize or something. Even though this was totally not her fault. ...It's not, okay - he's the one who dragged her all the way to where she could get sniffed out like this. Damn it, stop feeling guilty.]
[For a second he looks lost, because that's his hat. He's had it for long enough now that he doesn't feel right without it. It's as much a symbol of his authority as the badge and gun, and hell, he's been through life-or-death scenarios with that hat. The superstitious corner of his mind says he needs it, like it's a lucky tie or a security blanket.
He orients on Lia again, sees her looking like a guilty kid, and tries to pick himself up out of the sudden gloom enough to reassure her.] I'll cope. Who knows, maybe you'll be close by enough to... walk me through it.
[If he sounds confused, well. It's because he really has no idea what to say.] Likely as not, they'll let me sign you out for a day. Say you need to visit a sick relative.
[Well, now that he looks like she's just gone and nutpunched Santa Clause in front of him and burned his best present ever, it's not any fun. So she gets up, hefts the chair in one hand (it's not that heavy and the fuzz factor benefits just makes it easier), and walks over to the other side of the bed. Balancing the chair behind her, she snakes the hat out and turns to plop it on his head.] Before you start hitting the juke for some Randy Travis to ease your injured, hatless soul.
[Lia sighs - all souped up melodramatically - as she makes her way back to where the chair was (and if he thinks she drops it down a smidgen or two closer to his bed, well, drugs are a hell of a thing on an old goaty mind like his so whatever).
Sprawled out in her chair, she stares at him incredulously before rolling her eyes.] Oh, what the freaking hell, man? You can't still be believing that crap about the strongbox. If I'd wanted it so bad, I'd have made sure Assface McHandsy wouldn't have been able to say nothing after the fact. [Then it's back to her nails, picking and flicking, as she decidedly avoids saying where she'll be come that moon.] ...And it's, uh. Three days. Just saying.
[Oh. Hello there, hat. He takes a second to adjust it and enjoy the comforting feeling of having it on his head before he answers her.] You're innocent until proven otherwise, et cetera. I personally think he's probably a liar with a grudge, but I'm neither judge nor jury.
[He rubs his eyes.] Three days. Don't suppose you know when the next one is? Full moon?
[She shakes her head because come on, dude, it's just a hat (and a kitschy one to boot). Also 'cause he's still gonna try dragging her ass in.] I'm going back to my initial assessment of you being at least one-quarter Hoover by birth.
Week and a half. Starts on the fifteenth. [The answer comes reflex-fast - shock, I know.] So.
I'd be a hell of a lot richer if that were the case. [He tries to ease himself upright, fiddling with the tubes and IV in an effort to get them off. He has a bad feeling, a sort of nonspecific one at the moment, and he'd rather be mobile and at least a bit clear-headed when he figures out what's making his neckhair stand up.]
Yeah, you'd just be able to suck up all the money with your incredible bionic black-hole-ness.
[She fidgets for a minute, then gets up again, dragging the chair behind with a minimum of scraping. Again she finds herself smacking his hands away.]
Unless you want all that crap falling out and a bunch of nurses coming in and yelling, quit it. This stuff's pretty touchy delicate, so. [It's then that she finds - da-da-da-da~ - the dial for his morphine. Lia clicks it up a few notches, more than enough to make him start feeling rather sleepy in a couple minutes.] There.
[Then she sits back down on the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees and chin in hands. It's kind of hard to do so without the cuff biting into her wrist, but whatever - it'll heal quick enough.]
You got a cell phone? Much as your face is entertaining, I'm kinda getting bored here.
Yep. Soon they'll come in all chorus line style with the candy stripers doing the backup vocals. Then your main doc will come in with a tap routine.
[This is said in perfect deadpan over her shoulder because she is busy going back over to the clothes and rummage rummage rummage - bingo. This is your phone, Ray, and this is Lia thumbing through it. Super basic, no games except the dinky trial ones, and she sighs about as much. ...She's slightly concerned at the number of female names on his contact list, but whatever.]
Should've figured the gadgets would be about as cool as the rest of it. Hat was a dead giveaway.
[Something is not right here. His veins feel like they're burning, which wasn't the case a minute ago, and the rest of him is feeling more like cotton-wrapped lead by the second. He squints at her.] George. What'd you do.
[Keeping her eyes on the phone flipped open in her hand, Lia reaches down into her bag (no longer locked away in the crappy car in the crappy repair shop) for a small pad of paper and a pen. She jots down a number before dropping the pad back in the giant duffel and closing the phone with a nice snap. Only after she's done all this does she look back at Raylan.]
Oh, come on, you ought to be able to figure it out. I know I didn't click up your meds that much. [The phone gets tossed onto his bed, before she grabs at the handcuff on her wrist and starts yanking at it.
Also, if Raylan were to try and find his little nurse-brigade button? He'll find it just out of reach, and if he wasn't about to go off into a drip nap, he'd be able to get to it with some effort.]
[He's fumbling for that little nurse-brigade button right now, but he can't quite get his limbs to cooperate. He brushes it with the tip of his middle finger, and it slides off the side table to swing a few inches from the floor.
Art is never going to let him forget this.]
Don't. [It's slurred, quieter than it should be, and he knows he's sinking into unconsciousness.] George.
[However long she's been off on her own, she doesn't have to be, he tries to say. Whatever her story, she can sort herself out and start again. If she's hiding because of what she is, well, she doesn't need to now, does she?
Raylan relaxes onto the bed. He can't do much else. That hat tumbles sideways off his head and he blinks at her, trying to get the words out and knowing he won't.]
Then she's being taken aside by the uni-cops for questioning after giving her a blanket. Huddling up inside it, it's a lot easier to stick to Raylan's advice than she'd thought. Mainly because she finds it hard to talk, period, so the blabbing thing isn't even an issue.
Eventually it fleshes out to being taken in custody to the room, the guys beating the door down while she hid in the bathroom, then tons of gunfire and snarling until she kneed him. The only part she active lies about is that Chaney was the one who ripped her shirt, which is the least she could blame him for, really.
Somehow it all flies enough for the cops to buy, and eventually somebody gets her some pants - which she's super grateful for. Said gratitude lasts until they drag her back to the hospital and cuff her to a chair in Raylan's room.]
...Custodial issues, my ass.
[She's still got the whole shock and trauma thing but. She's dealing with it in her own way - the way that denies anything is wrong and keeps snarking. Tried and truth method, man.]
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So it takes him a while to realize Lia's even there, let alone orient on where in the room she's sitting.] Oh. Hello.
[He should say something else.] I see they didn't collar you.
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[She jerks a chin in his general direction, then snorts a laugh while rolling her eyes.]
Yeah, also managed to talk us out of flea dips. So you're welcome for that.
[But she's still pretty glad to see he's not dead or dying or anything like that, and this is how she gets that across.]
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[He inspects the bandage on his arm and tries to be upset, or tense, or worried about what might happen come the full moon.
...Mostly he just wishes he had one of those little buttons that Boyd had, so he could decide how high he wants to be.] How'll I know? With this wolf business?
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[She's entirely pulling his chain, since his hat is tucked under his clothes on the other chair in the room. Because this is how she does things. Even when, y'know, the owner of said chain is drugged to the freaking gills.
But then the fun kind of dies and she suddenly decides her fingernails are fucking fascinating.] ...Full moon, I guess. [She peers up at him through her eyelashes and she feels like she should apologize or something. Even though this was totally not her fault. ...It's not, okay - he's the one who dragged her all the way to where she could get sniffed out like this. Damn it, stop feeling guilty.]
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He orients on Lia again, sees her looking like a guilty kid, and tries to pick himself up out of the sudden gloom enough to reassure her.] I'll cope. Who knows, maybe you'll be close by enough to... walk me through it.
[If he sounds confused, well. It's because he really has no idea what to say.] Likely as not, they'll let me sign you out for a day. Say you need to visit a sick relative.
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[Well, now that he looks like she's just gone and nutpunched Santa Clause in front of him and burned his best present ever, it's not any fun. So she gets up, hefts the chair in one hand (it's not that heavy and the fuzz factor benefits just makes it easier), and walks over to the other side of the bed. Balancing the chair behind her, she snakes the hat out and turns to plop it on his head.] Before you start hitting the juke for some Randy Travis to ease your injured, hatless soul.
[Lia sighs - all souped up melodramatically - as she makes her way back to where the chair was (and if he thinks she drops it down a smidgen or two closer to his bed, well, drugs are a hell of a thing on an old goaty mind like his so whatever).
Sprawled out in her chair, she stares at him incredulously before rolling her eyes.] Oh, what the freaking hell, man? You can't still be believing that crap about the strongbox. If I'd wanted it so bad, I'd have made sure Assface McHandsy wouldn't have been able to say nothing after the fact. [Then it's back to her nails, picking and flicking, as she decidedly avoids saying where she'll be come that moon.] ...And it's, uh. Three days. Just saying.
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[He rubs his eyes.] Three days. Don't suppose you know when the next one is? Full moon?
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Week and a half. Starts on the fifteenth. [The answer comes reflex-fast - shock, I know.] So.
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[She fidgets for a minute, then gets up again, dragging the chair behind with a minimum of scraping. Again she finds herself smacking his hands away.]
Unless you want all that crap falling out and a bunch of nurses coming in and yelling, quit it. This stuff's pretty touchy delicate, so. [It's then that she finds - da-da-da-da~ - the dial for his morphine. Lia clicks it up a few notches, more than enough to make him start feeling rather sleepy in a couple minutes.] There.
[Then she sits back down on the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees and chin in hands. It's kind of hard to do so without the cuff biting into her wrist, but whatever - it'll heal quick enough.]
You got a cell phone? Much as your face is entertaining, I'm kinda getting bored here.
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[He fiddles for a moment, but his fingers are a bit numb. He scowls at her.] You'd best not have called them.
[Phone? Right, phone. He waves limply to the stack of clothes she took his hat from.] With the rest of it, I expect.
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[This is said in perfect deadpan over her shoulder because she is busy going back over to the clothes and rummage rummage rummage - bingo. This is your phone, Ray, and this is Lia thumbing through it. Super basic, no games except the dinky trial ones, and she sighs about as much. ...She's slightly concerned at the number of female names on his contact list, but whatever.]
Should've figured the gadgets would be about as cool as the rest of it. Hat was a dead giveaway.
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[Something is not right here. His veins feel like they're burning, which wasn't the case a minute ago, and the rest of him is feeling more like cotton-wrapped lead by the second. He squints at her.] George. What'd you do.
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[Keeping her eyes on the phone flipped open in her hand, Lia reaches down into her bag (no longer locked away in the crappy car in the crappy repair shop) for a small pad of paper and a pen. She jots down a number before dropping the pad back in the giant duffel and closing the phone with a nice snap. Only after she's done all this does she look back at Raylan.]
Oh, come on, you ought to be able to figure it out. I know I didn't click up your meds that much. [The phone gets tossed onto his bed, before she grabs at the handcuff on her wrist and starts yanking at it.
Also, if Raylan were to try and find his little nurse-brigade button? He'll find it just out of reach, and if he wasn't about to go off into a drip nap, he'd be able to get to it with some effort.]
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Art is never going to let him forget this.]
Don't. [It's slurred, quieter than it should be, and he knows he's sinking into unconsciousness.] George.
[However long she's been off on her own, she doesn't have to be, he tries to say. Whatever her story, she can sort herself out and start again. If she's hiding because of what she is, well, she doesn't need to now, does she?
Raylan relaxes onto the bed. He can't do much else. That hat tumbles sideways off his head and he blinks at her, trying to get the words out and knowing he won't.]
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