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"Okay firs' of all...I mean blind people in Antarctica can see you're so very pretty, Raylan. Don' believe you lack in dat department. Second..I know but dat jus' means you're gonna find anoddah dangerous t'ing to fill your time wi' because man like you doesn't really just...stop...you know?" A pause. "An' about da boyfriend kine... I DID say you could bring Boyd wi' us when we move."

#goodlawman #Commentary By The Dashboard Light

Day 11: Southern Gothic

“It wasn’t dying that she feared, it was dying bad: leaving her grandboy alone in the world, unprotected, his wounds unhealed. Death, which walked ever through these mountains, knew she would not go down easy.” ― Taylor Brown, Gods of Howl Mountain

#goodlawman #putting the ooooo in spooktober

alt!

This Meme: Not Accepting @goodlawman

~~~~

Let me introduce you to Kibbles.

No that is not her real name, but we will pretend that it is for now.

Kibbles is a White Wolf based Vampire from, shocker, Vampire the Masquerade.

She was clan Brujah and lived up to the reputation for the most part. In the campaign that I played her in, though short lived, was hilarious. She had a counter part in the group. A Gangrel by the nickname of Bits.

Yes, we were called Kibbles and Bits, let that soak in.

Her shining moment was when she was ordered by the head of her Coterie to keep another member in the limo at all cost. He was a politician and she had the advantage of strength over the "face" of the group.

Needless to say, he stayed in the limo after she kicked him in the face, three times, one involving the concrete curb, and proceeded to use his unconscious body as footrest once she drug him back inside and left him on the floor of the limo.

She is all snark and bite. Very little hesitation to follow through with getting results the bloody way if need be.

#Answers from the Goat #goodlawman #Danke Raylan!

to the following in no particular order because i just started at the top of the notes and worked my way down....

thank you all so much for sending well wishes and good juju. as le Turtle mentioned previously on her update....i and my family unit arrived at the inlaws at about 230-300 am tuesday. we are safe and just waiting things out for the time being. Hoping we will have a home to go back to once Ian gets his slow moving 450 mile wide ass out the way and power has been restored. Because that this point power is a given thing we will lose and for a substantial amount of time given last time (with Irma) it took week. tho admittedly our governor did decide to get properly prepped this time around and Line trucks have already been called in to safe areas to be dispatched to where they are needed as soon as the storm is cleared.

(and if anyone that is reading this is or has family or friends in that line of work that volunteered or were assigned to this emergency call for help--thank you so much. you guys make all the difference in disasters like this we appreciate you/them SO much.)

but yes a bird and family are in a completely different state so we’re very much okay and out of Ian’s way. :) just please continue to keep our house and home in your thoughts. It and everyone still down there that chose to or couldn’t leave is going to need it.

@brooklynislandgirl - special thanks for keeping everyone up to date while i didn’t have the capacity and sending all your own good juju. -hugs-

-Crow

#[ post via mobile ]#Out Of Fucks || OOC #brooklynislandgirl #kit-just-kit #mymydrukkari #multi-mused #southern-belle-outcasts #nytehavyn-circle #corinnebaileyrp #goodlawman #kylo-wrecked #tabbyrp #therealgamble #kalaimcgarrett #morgansmornings

@goodlawman

#merry christmas #collage #goodlawman

@goodlawman

Raylan only heard about the encounter after it happened. Lawson was fresh out of Glynco with a desire to prove himself and the privilege of thinking he could start throwing his weight around already. The difference between them being Raylan came out of Glynco with a desire to prove himself but knowing one wrong move would get him sent packing. Raylan already butt heads with him once over boundaries, the kid traipsing into one of his cases like he owned it. Figures he'd try and take ownership, interrogate Kray for something he had no involvement in.

The thing was Raylan couldn't put him in his place, at least not outright, because Lawson was one of those that had connections. Transfer didn't bother him in concept but where he would end up transferred to? They could make that miserable for him. Transfer was the least of his concerns when he got the message from Ronnie that they had to talk.

Now here they stood in the early morning hours when every reasonable 9 to 5 was still in their beds and blissfully aware that another day in the making was a few short hours away. He leaned against the brick wall, one foot resting against it, hat tilted down so the streetlight created more shadow over his face, cradling a styrafoam cup of cheap coffee.

Raylan let Ron start the conversation since he'd called the meeting, silently cursing the junior deputy again. "Kray. Ron," Raylan started, pushing away from the wall and holding up a hand. "I don't give a shit about your connection to the mafia because they are not my case. I chase fugitives and one of the fugitives I was on the trail of ended up dead in front of your place. Location but not the reason," he pointed out softly.

"Marshals get involved when someone runs or is threatened. The whole family though? That ain't our purview. The FBI, NYPD, they got taskforces dedicated to those investigations and there's enough dick swinging in those circles that the rest of us don't want involvement if we don't have to. Lawson would be better off among their numbers frankly. I come because I enjoy the company."

He felt in the company of a kindred spirit around Ron. Maybe the man was connected to crime but so was he, the Givens family had history spanning several decades. Around Ron that didn't define him either, wasn't a mark against him the way some others believed. "You prefer I don't step over the pub's threshold anymore, say so."

Ron wouldn’t pretend to understand the ins and outs of inter-officer, inter-department politics among law enforcement - especially not the American breed he now lived and plied his trade among. Marshals, beat cops, FBI, NYPD-- Off Raylan he’d gleaned what he could about his fellows, but the rest just made up, to Ron, an amorphous cloud of Law that set his teeth on edge and raised his hackles. And that was without a tangible connection - discounting his obvious blood one with mob-centric Reggie - between him and the underworld they were all about uprooting. That had been the point of Ron being in the States at all at first, according to his twin.

They’ll look at you, find nuffin’ ‘n leave th’name Kray well alone

You know though what they say about the best laid plans of mice ‘n men.

Someone somewhere had said that name too loud round the wrong ears, got it pinned to the same board as Family members and now, here Ron found himself -- on a street corner with a Marshal trying to wrap his head around how the dice might fall if he closed up shop to him or kept him round. The reflexive pull back from Law which was his go to felt safer to the once-crook in him. Were this London and he was still neck deep in intrigues that would be the only option for both their sakes. It didn’t do for a gangster to court the police, no matter their species. Even without proof of his guilt, he’d be putting them both in danger.

This though, Ron reminded himself as he followed a taxi with his eyes as it sped past, was Not London. Pulling back sharp here could read as guilt real easy, irrespective of how - for all he looked the spitting image of a fella who was looking to get Made in that specific way only a Family can make someone - he wasn’t that man. Call him the front if it fit, the distraction, the feint, but he was no criminal here. The Feds could look all they pleased. They’d find no dirty money in Ron’s coffers; no clandestine meetings attended by both of the brothers Kray. Just the sharp one with the oily smile and the slick suit.

“--Ray...”

Ron’s gaze moved back to the Marshal once the taxi’d disappeared. He’d not meant to only half name him, but the syllable fell out the same way the words Don’t do this would if the speaker was bone tired. It wasn’t pleading by any stretch, but it’d take a bigger one to miss how Ron disdained the idea of Raylan putting distance between himself and the pub and, by extension, between he and the publican personally. For all he’d not said so aloud - and didn’t think he needed to - he’d come to covet Ray’s company when he visited; had sat or stood with him for what must be hours now chewing the fat, trading snippets of their life stories or just listening as the Lawman decompressed after a day at the office wore him thin. Potential appearances of guilt aside, it’d be a real shame to lose that easy repartee over the prying of an uppity pup of a Marshal who was looking to tangle with the wrong big dog round town.

“--I’d pr’fer” Ron said finally, nodding to the cup of what smelled like bitter brown to him.”Tha’ th’next drink you ‘av in my comp’ny’s one I’ve eivvah bought for yah, or poured for yah.” His brows rose and chin dipped just slightly, the expression landing somewhere between coy and cheeky. “--B’cause tha’ stuff-” Bitter brown was pointed at. “We c’n do bettah than tha’.” Cheeky eased into something a lick warmer and more welcoming, Ron’s lips flickering up at their corners in an almost grin.

“Yer welcome in me establishment, mate. Jus’ leave y’puppy at work, aye?”

#goodlawman #NYC!verse #<- with Raylan #//he's talking about Lawson when he says 'puppy' xD

@therealgamble, @goodlawman Least we all make it look good.

#therealgamble #goodlawman

@goodlawman said: “ you’re not alone, not anymore . ” / & .˚ found family prompts.

tim had historically always been shit at making friends. ever since he was little, he found himself isolating in order to cope with everything in the world around him, until a switch flipped and he found that touch was a better course to numb the emotions raging inside of him. when he joined the military, it had become harder to avoid other people, the inherent brotherhood of warfare uniting even the most introverted of humanity, which included him. mark, jack, as much as tim would die for them, they, in turn, would do anything for him, and for the first time in his life he’d felt as though the burden didn’t rest entirely on his own shoulders. now, colt had killed mark and it was all tim’s own hubris telling him that his murder has been his fault, that he should’ve been able to stop it from happening. either by killing colt or keeping mark from his dealer, though the truth of the matter was that nothing was predestinated and it was mark’s choices that led him to that moment. not that tim would ever forgive himself for it, anyway. sitting around raylan’s teeny motel kitchette table, glasses of whiskey in hands, even the familiar burn couldn’t soothe the ache in tim’s chest.