“I told him I would probably do it if I was the one it had been offered to. The fact that we’re here, that the Admiral could fix it, that I’d never have the chance back home. I’d be too curious to say no. But I also told him it worries me and makes me jealous and I don’t trust Lark.”
And doesn’t know yet that he’s gone.
He smiles a little at Raylan’s mention of alternatives to lycanthropy. “Malcolm isn’t exactly prone to doing the low key version of anything. But you’re right. Adding something new to your life just to try and fix what’s broken—it never works out well.“
"Well, not trustin' Lark isn't really an issue right now. And it makes me feel Other with him in a way I don't like but.." He shakes his head a little.
"Nothin' we can do about that except make our own choices in response. And if Lark comes back, I'm beatin' the livin' shit outta him." Might shoot him once for good measure too, even if he knew nothing would stick.
"Exactly what it sounds like, love. He turned Malcolm and then left. Left, got taken away, it doesn't much matter. He turned Malcolm and now isn't here to help him understand what the hell is happening. But apparently 'they' took him hunting and he caught a moose so I should be reassured."
"Good." And unlike his other 'good's, this one was heavy and cold. Full of darker intent.
But he takes and lets a deep breath, thumb stroking on Neal's leg again.
"But now neither of us are alone in shoulderin' some of this feelin'. Only thing we can do is wait and see. As well as distract ourselves with wine and good company."
Of course, there was still more digs that Raylan hadn't mentioned but he couldn't handle talking about marriage right now. Not if he could avoid it. It would only lead to questions about his choices and he couldn't handle that either.
"Why don't you tell me about what the other bottle you brought while I finally get around to payin' attention to the first?"
There's that at least. The not being alone. It's better than the alternative. Neal has realized and internalized that much over the past however many years--with others and hurting is better than alone and safe. Mostly. As long as you leave yourself a way out. As long as you don't go in so deep that there's no easy escape.
Neal makes an obliging noise, in the middle of taking a drink from his own glass. He clears his throat, his whole mood brightening at the question. "It's an Italian dessert wine, a 2008 Valentino Butussi Picolit. The picolit is the grape varietal, dried to concentrate the sugars of the fruit prior to fermentation."
He sits up a little more, warming to the topic as he speaks. "It's the hotter-climate equivalent of ice wines, where they let the fruit freeze on the vine so the sugars get separated from the water. Both techniques leave you with a much smaller pressing of very intensely sweet juice, and the picolit grape in particular is a sweet fruit that tends to have a low crop yield to begin with."
He holds up the glass in his hand. "Technically this would do better paired with a meal, something heavy on fats and strong flavor, like duck or beef, but a dessert wine is meant to be just that, something you can have on its own or with a mild dessert, so the focus is on the wine itself."
As soon as Neal lights up, Raylan is glad he asked. The stuff with Malcolm was heavy and called for drinking something harder than Neal's wine, and he wanted their kept company to be something more than them drinking their feelings and being frustrated and sad. Raylan pays astute attention, aside from grabbing his glass from the table so he could take a sip, free hand coming back to settle on Neal's legs.
"I should cook for you sometime. I can do beef. We'd have to get some and I'm sure it wouldn't be nearly as fancy as what you're probably used to, but.. I'd like it all the same. Havin' a dinner with you. How'd you come to knowin' so much about wine?"
Or, honestly, about any of the crafty con things that Neal knew, but it was always better to take things one question at a time and Raylan wanted to learn more about Neal's passions, what got him into art and safecracking.
“I’m used to a lot of things, trust me.” He smiles down at his glass. “I’d like that, though. Having dinner.”
As for the wine— “At first necessity, then fascination. When I started working a richer circuit, I needed to at least be able to pretend I knew what I was talking about when they busted out their prestige bottles and preened over things in their collections. I brushed up on the basics, learned how to bluff my way through those kinds of conversations, but the more I bluffed the more I actually learned, and the more I learned the more interesting it was.”
Raylan nods. "Dinner it is." It would be something more elevated than fried chicken. He wasn't sure what yet, but he'd figure it out.
"Fake it until you make it but you fell in love." It was cute really. "I'm afraid my only real engagement with it is white women book clubs that I wasn't allowed to be at. Wasn't quite at box wine level, but they hit it hard. Nothin' like passion." Passion looked good on Neal. Made his eyes shine with a brightness that felt like it would light up the whole room.
"So is that the same for everythin' you were forgin'? Just seein' if you could achieve the same result?" Had Neal ever made wine?
Neal tilts his head back and forth in a 'yes and no' gesture. "I started..."
He looks down at his lap with a small smile, then away. "I started by forging city bus passes when I was seven. I wanted to get to school on time and I'd tried just about everything else."
He settles against Raylan a little more comfortably and rests his head on Raylan's shoulder with a sigh. "Then I found out people would pay for the passes, since they were good and public transportation could add up, so I sold some. Had a couple of people con the seven-year-old out of his hard-earned ill-gotten gains, and started learning how to do that, primarily so it wouldn't happen to me again. I was sharking at a pool hall before I hit puberty, placing bets with the money I got from bus passes and then driver's licenses and other fake IDs. Learned pool, started taking strangers for all they were worth. And as a result of that I got really good at running away."
This was comfortable. Nice. Casual. Like snuggling in for the evening in front of the tv but instead it was the sea and wine.
"Mm, started early, huh?" There was no rebuke in his tone. "So what you're tellin' me is that when I finally get you over a pool table, you're gonna wipe the floor with me? I do love a challenge."
No, Neal would win, flat out.
"Or foot races, apparently. But you don't run in these suits anymore, do you?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And doesn’t know yet that he’s gone.
He smiles a little at Raylan’s mention of alternatives to lycanthropy. “Malcolm isn’t exactly prone to doing the low key version of anything. But you’re right. Adding something new to your life just to try and fix what’s broken—it never works out well.“
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"Nothin' we can do about that except make our own choices in response. And if Lark comes back, I'm beatin' the livin' shit outta him." Might shoot him once for good measure too, even if he knew nothing would stick.
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no subject
"Exactly what it sounds like, love. He turned Malcolm and then left. Left, got taken away, it doesn't much matter. He turned Malcolm and now isn't here to help him understand what the hell is happening. But apparently 'they' took him hunting and he caught a moose so I should be reassured."
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“If he ever comes back, I’m going to make his every waking moment a misery.” The calm, level way he says it does not imply he’s joking.
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But he takes and lets a deep breath, thumb stroking on Neal's leg again.
"But now neither of us are alone in shoulderin' some of this feelin'. Only thing we can do is wait and see. As well as distract ourselves with wine and good company."
Of course, there was still more digs that Raylan hadn't mentioned but he couldn't handle talking about marriage right now. Not if he could avoid it. It would only lead to questions about his choices and he couldn't handle that either.
"Why don't you tell me about what the other bottle you brought while I finally get around to payin' attention to the first?"
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Neal makes an obliging noise, in the middle of taking a drink from his own glass. He clears his throat, his whole mood brightening at the question. "It's an Italian dessert wine, a 2008 Valentino Butussi Picolit. The picolit is the grape varietal, dried to concentrate the sugars of the fruit prior to fermentation."
He sits up a little more, warming to the topic as he speaks. "It's the hotter-climate equivalent of ice wines, where they let the fruit freeze on the vine so the sugars get separated from the water. Both techniques leave you with a much smaller pressing of very intensely sweet juice, and the picolit grape in particular is a sweet fruit that tends to have a low crop yield to begin with."
He holds up the glass in his hand. "Technically this would do better paired with a meal, something heavy on fats and strong flavor, like duck or beef, but a dessert wine is meant to be just that, something you can have on its own or with a mild dessert, so the focus is on the wine itself."
no subject
"I should cook for you sometime. I can do beef. We'd have to get some and I'm sure it wouldn't be nearly as fancy as what you're probably used to, but.. I'd like it all the same. Havin' a dinner with you. How'd you come to knowin' so much about wine?"
Or, honestly, about any of the crafty con things that Neal knew, but it was always better to take things one question at a time and Raylan wanted to learn more about Neal's passions, what got him into art and safecracking.
no subject
As for the wine— “At first necessity, then fascination. When I started working a richer circuit, I needed to at least be able to pretend I knew what I was talking about when they busted out their prestige bottles and preened over things in their collections. I brushed up on the basics, learned how to bluff my way through those kinds of conversations, but the more I bluffed the more I actually learned, and the more I learned the more interesting it was.”
no subject
"Fake it until you make it but you fell in love." It was cute really. "I'm afraid my only real engagement with it is white women book clubs that I wasn't allowed to be at. Wasn't quite at box wine level, but they hit it hard. Nothin' like passion." Passion looked good on Neal. Made his eyes shine with a brightness that felt like it would light up the whole room.
"So is that the same for everythin' you were forgin'? Just seein' if you could achieve the same result?" Had Neal ever made wine?
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He looks down at his lap with a small smile, then away. "I started by forging city bus passes when I was seven. I wanted to get to school on time and I'd tried just about everything else."
He settles against Raylan a little more comfortably and rests his head on Raylan's shoulder with a sigh. "Then I found out people would pay for the passes, since they were good and public transportation could add up, so I sold some. Had a couple of people con the seven-year-old out of his hard-earned ill-gotten gains, and started learning how to do that, primarily so it wouldn't happen to me again. I was sharking at a pool hall before I hit puberty, placing bets with the money I got from bus passes and then driver's licenses and other fake IDs. Learned pool, started taking strangers for all they were worth. And as a result of that I got really good at running away."
He grins at Raylan sidelong when he says that.
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"Mm, started early, huh?" There was no rebuke in his tone. "So what you're tellin' me is that when I finally get you over a pool table, you're gonna wipe the floor with me? I do love a challenge."
No, Neal would win, flat out.
"Or foot races, apparently. But you don't run in these suits anymore, do you?"
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This is comfortable. Peaceful. “I started when I was nine, but I haven’t kept my skills up the way I should. You might stand a chance.”