[ five goes back to the commission. conditionally. so long as they save his family, fix his appearance. and, goes unsaid, so long as he can prove his loyalty.
considering he has every intention of screwing them over, it's a fair condition.
this is a timeline where he isn't so lucky as to get his hands on a clue within a day. where he works a few case files before he's asked -- there's these hits, and they really need the very best on it, just a couple of jobs, doesn't he miss getting things done directly? surely the desk job needs some spicing up. and maybe, don't you know it, but the handler might finally have some details about relocating his family to time periods safely away from the apocalypse by the time he gets back.
just don't be long, now.
so he goes. does what he does best, takes out one-two-three-four marks around tennessee, kentucky, couple in georgia before that. gets, not for the first time, the interest of local authorities; but he's a ghost. even better at working unseen, looking like a child.
doesn't have any reason to expect trouble until he's actually, somehow, literally caught red-handed. sloppy, or maybe he's just getting old, or is something of a dulled blade, now that he's had a taste of home again.
doesn't matter right now. what matters is: it's a single man, not a whole team, and five is incriminatingly bloodstained, too near the scene. he'll jump, soon enough, just needs a distraction first.
[ The thing nobody tells you about being a marshal is that a lot of it, the day to day, gets to be boring as all hell. And not in the stuck-in-the-office, too-much-paperwork sense of boring; it's just all the same. Criminals in Kentucky are, by and large, very stupid, skipping town while on probation or running from county to county after they robbed a convenience store of a hundred dollars. It's all the same, and it's killing him. So when he gets a file on his desk for some mystery assassin who's been dotting from state to state without a trace, Raylan throws himself into it. This doesn't smell like a backwoods hick from Harlan; this is something new.
When he actually finds the guy, it's pure dumb luck. He'd been in the area, and maybe he's a couple bourbons down at this point but he's worked under the influence before and it's never been a problem (except for when it has). Art would have a field day if he knew about this. But in Raylan's defence, he's not really under the influence. It takes more than a few fingers of bourbon to get him past that thin brown line.
Anyway – here he is. And he's trying not to stare, for some reason, as if this is somehow embarrassing for one or both of them. It kind of is, because obviously there's been some sort of mistake. He's looking at a six year old.
Raylan props his hand on his hip and tips his head a little to one side, and decides to be diplomatic. ]
You won't mind if I ask for clarification on what it is, then.
[ the mark was -- john ferrer, a local bartender, no one anyone from out of town has heard of. tall and strong, which might mean something if five weren't very, very good at his job. he'd stabbed the poor bastard, a one stroke kill, and some of the blood's still drying on his sleeve, on his cuffs.
if he weren't still in ferrer's house, there's a good chance no one would've ever connected the dots.
then again, they still might not. the man in front of him clearly can't believe his eyes. isn't likely to jump to the conclusion a thirteen year old kid just killed a man in cold blood.
then, abruptly, he shrugs. ]
I heard a commotion in here. Came to see what was going on.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
assassin vs lawman au thing idk man just go w it
considering he has every intention of screwing them over, it's a fair condition.
this is a timeline where he isn't so lucky as to get his hands on a clue within a day. where he works a few case files before he's asked -- there's these hits, and they really need the very best on it, just a couple of jobs, doesn't he miss getting things done directly? surely the desk job needs some spicing up. and maybe, don't you know it, but the handler might finally have some details about relocating his family to time periods safely away from the apocalypse by the time he gets back.
just don't be long, now.
so he goes. does what he does best, takes out one-two-three-four marks around tennessee, kentucky, couple in georgia before that. gets, not for the first time, the interest of local authorities; but he's a ghost. even better at working unseen, looking like a child.
doesn't have any reason to expect trouble until he's actually, somehow, literally caught red-handed. sloppy, or maybe he's just getting old, or is something of a dulled blade, now that he's had a taste of home again.
doesn't matter right now. what matters is: it's a single man, not a whole team, and five is incriminatingly bloodstained, too near the scene. he'll jump, soon enough, just needs a distraction first.
he says, ]
It's not what it looks like.
[ it's exactly what it looks like.]
KICKS IN HERE
When he actually finds the guy, it's pure dumb luck. He'd been in the area, and maybe he's a couple bourbons down at this point but he's worked under the influence before and it's never been a problem (except for when it has). Art would have a field day if he knew about this. But in Raylan's defence, he's not really under the influence. It takes more than a few fingers of bourbon to get him past that thin brown line.
Anyway – here he is. And he's trying not to stare, for some reason, as if this is somehow embarrassing for one or both of them. It kind of is, because obviously there's been some sort of mistake. He's looking at a six year old.
Raylan props his hand on his hip and tips his head a little to one side, and decides to be diplomatic. ]
You won't mind if I ask for clarification on what it is, then.
oh my god where did september go
[ the mark was -- john ferrer, a local bartender, no one anyone from out of town has heard of. tall and strong, which might mean something if five weren't very, very good at his job. he'd stabbed the poor bastard, a one stroke kill, and some of the blood's still drying on his sleeve, on his cuffs.
if he weren't still in ferrer's house, there's a good chance no one would've ever connected the dots.
then again, they still might not. the man in front of him clearly can't believe his eyes. isn't likely to jump to the conclusion a thirteen year old kid just killed a man in cold blood.
then, abruptly, he shrugs. ]
I heard a commotion in here. Came to see what was going on.