[ millirific 42 ] cognitive dissonance
title: cognitive dissonance
author: sardonicynic
rating: pg-13
character(s): raylan givens, winona hawkins (justified); sallie reynolds (firefly millicanon)
spoilers: general for the series, just to be safe.
summary: it's a bad idea, and he knows it.
word count: 316
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: apologies in advance to neenie. written for a millirific 42 challenge; prompt: millitime.
The laugh is low and rich, honeyed at its edges.
He knows the sound in his bone marrow -- it's as familiar as the weight of the Glock at his hip and the callus on his gun hand.
Raylan doesn't want to be proven right, but he glances over to double-check.
It's her, of course.
Winona's a few feet down the counter, radiating the same unselfconscious beauty he remembers from Salt Lake City.
(And good Lord, is she beautiful.)
He knew in Utah that she was a Kentucky girl.
Here, she sounds the same because she is the same; all long legs and sweet-tea charm, this Winona has a smile that's not yet careful, eyes that aren't so guarded.
He considers what's left of the bourbon in his glass.
Once it's gone, he considers his options.
(Because he could tell her, he could warn her. He could ask her to avoid a certain bar on a certain street in Salt Lake; he could tell her not to take a certain deputy U.S. Marshal to task with a handful of darts and her superior aim; he could ask her to never pull that same deputy U.S. Marshal into a consolation hug, never breathe that innocent-but-not chuckle into his ear or say better luck next time, cowboy.)
He looks over, where she's getting the welcome spiel from a pretty blonde he's seen around Milliways a time or two.
(He could beg her to make a better decision.)
Sallie refills his glass, giving him a sideways glance along with it.
"Whatever it is, it's a bad idea."
Momentarily surprised, he looks up.
"You think so?"
"Shì a. Leastwise, that look on your face seems to think so."
He curls a hand around his drink with a wry chuckle, wondering what kind of price tag's attached to tempting chaos theory.
"Yeah." He downs a healthy swallow, breathing past the burn. "It is."
author: sardonicynic
rating: pg-13
character(s): raylan givens, winona hawkins (justified); sallie reynolds (firefly millicanon)
spoilers: general for the series, just to be safe.
summary: it's a bad idea, and he knows it.
word count: 316
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: apologies in advance to neenie. written for a millirific 42 challenge; prompt: millitime.
The laugh is low and rich, honeyed at its edges.
He knows the sound in his bone marrow -- it's as familiar as the weight of the Glock at his hip and the callus on his gun hand.
Raylan doesn't want to be proven right, but he glances over to double-check.
It's her, of course.
Winona's a few feet down the counter, radiating the same unselfconscious beauty he remembers from Salt Lake City.
(And good Lord, is she beautiful.)
He knew in Utah that she was a Kentucky girl.
Here, she sounds the same because she is the same; all long legs and sweet-tea charm, this Winona has a smile that's not yet careful, eyes that aren't so guarded.
He considers what's left of the bourbon in his glass.
Once it's gone, he considers his options.
(Because he could tell her, he could warn her. He could ask her to avoid a certain bar on a certain street in Salt Lake; he could tell her not to take a certain deputy U.S. Marshal to task with a handful of darts and her superior aim; he could ask her to never pull that same deputy U.S. Marshal into a consolation hug, never breathe that innocent-but-not chuckle into his ear or say better luck next time, cowboy.)
He looks over, where she's getting the welcome spiel from a pretty blonde he's seen around Milliways a time or two.
(He could beg her to make a better decision.)
Sallie refills his glass, giving him a sideways glance along with it.
"Whatever it is, it's a bad idea."
Momentarily surprised, he looks up.
"You think so?"
"Shì a. Leastwise, that look on your face seems to think so."
He curls a hand around his drink with a wry chuckle, wondering what kind of price tag's attached to tempting chaos theory.
"Yeah." He downs a healthy swallow, breathing past the burn. "It is."