neverleftharlan | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

It had been a while since Raylan had gone far from Lexington for an assignment, the last time being his trip to California, he was fairly sure. Chicago was not his comfort zone, though the stigma of a southern accent did allow for most people to underestimate him. Just another Dixieland moron out of his league in the big city.

He stuck a leg out as his soon-to-be-informant staggered out of a bar apparently owned by a local mafia thug, Marcone, and the man - more of a boy in Raylan's opinion - crashed headlong to the ground and threw up on his way there.

Raylan grimaced. "Now, that just figures. Folks like you never can tell when they've had too much, and can't hold it even if they do."

He kicked the kid, lightly, to make sure he was conscious. The boy groaned and rolled over to show a recently broken nose and chunks of something Raylan didn't want to spend time identifying smeared over his face. Early twenties if that, with ragged brown hair that needed washing and scars from a teenage life of zits and fistfights, if Raylan was any judge.

"Evening," he said, and touched the brim of his hat. The kid stared at him. Raylan waited, then said, "This is where you say hello."

The kid tried to spit at him and Raylan brought the heel of his boot down between the boy's legs. The boy doubled up and rolled back onto his side with a squeaky wheeze.

"I do believe we'll try that again. Good evenin'. I'm Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens, and I would like to ask you a few questions."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Maybe it is," she sniffs back, checking out her nails disinterestedly. "S'worked out for me pretty well so far."

...Though she did go and pay good money for that phone. And god knows she hates a waste. So maybe she won't toss it out just yet. But Raylan needn't know such things.

Lia spends the majority of the ride checking out the streets and trying to remember if she's ever been up here before. ...It's been a while, though, and a lot of those days are all blurry, so. Who knows.

She hops out of the car to give him a grade A stinkeye over the roof of the car. "You want a list of just how useless, or just on a scale of one to ten?"

As (bad) luck would have it, Harry's heading into the pub right now, staff in hand, Mouse on his heels. Working a case for the past week may have been good for his ability to feed himself, but... kind of got in the way of remembering to restock his fridge at any point, and he's starving.

Mouse is a little less focused on getting inside as soon as possible - he stops just outside the door, staring intently down the street at Raylan and Lia. Harry stops too, one hand on the door, and frowns slightly. "What? Do we have something against cowboy hats now?"

The tone might be flippant, but that doesn't mean he's not evaluating the pair as a threat. Survive enough Red Court hits, and you start to learn to recognize one coming. They... really don't look it, and it's hard to imagine even the Red Court would take a shot at him this close to neutral territory. And even if they would, heading inside should solve that problem in the... very, very short term. Harry eyes them for a moment longer, and then opens the door, jerking his head for Mouse to follow him. "C'mon."

Raylan shakes his head, deciding not to give more of an answer than that. When they get inside, the hair on the back of his neck prickles in that unpleasant kind of way that tells him there's more going on than he's seeing. The pub itself is nice, clean, well-maintained with a penchant for the number thirteen and old-world decorations. Fits with whole Irish-and-weird theme.

He swallows down the ill-ease, rests a hand on his belt between his star and gun, and wanders up to the counter, keeping an eye on the other patrons and on Lia at the same time. One in particular has his attention, a familiar-looking fella with a dog the size of a small horse.

Raylan nods to the bar tender, touching the brim of his hat in salute. "Hey there. Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens. I'm here looking for a man goes by the name of Harry Dresden - got sent this way when I asked where to find him."

Lia hops right up on a stool while Ray does his law and order dealio and spins to get a good look around the joint. (Oh, yeah, she is the most mature.) Her initial opinion is that it's kinda hokey, definitely hinky, but s'not that bad a place.

Until she sees the giant freaking dog-thing and then it's not a matter of trying not to stare as much as trying to shut her mouth before her tongue dries out. Because seriously. Big is not even the word for it.

She's so stuck on the holy-crap factor that she almost misses the bartender growling something about whether or not she's even old enough to be in here. "Oh, yeah, lemme help ya on that one, guy," she says before fishing out and flashing a damned fine fake ID that says that 'Susie Jackson' is most definitely legal to be here. Pocketing it again, there's not a bit of preamble before she says ever so brightly, "So. Sup with Cujo on steroids over there. That can't be chill with the health inspectors."

Mouse waves his tail gently as Lia looks at him, doing his best to look friendly and harmless. At least... as harmless as a dog that weighs more than she does can look. Harry reaches down absently to scratch behind his ears, listening silently for a moment or two without looking directly at the marshal. What the hell is a US Marshal doing looking for him?

Mac catches his eye, and Harry smiles slightly in apology. He's lucky Mac puts up with him anymore. But hey, at least they're not vampires...

"He's a service dog," Harry answers with a glib smile. "For my anxiety." He rises out of his seat and walks over to meet the marshal at the bar. Mouse stays where he is for the moment, but he's still watching intently. "How can I help you, officer?"

Raylan's eyes travel slowly between Harry and the monster dog, and he nudges his hat back with one thumb to get a better look at the man who blew four people to shit. Seeing him here, apparently at home and waiting for a drink, stirs that particular kind of fury in Raylan that drives cases to a close. Or a fist through someone's face, depending.

"Deputy," he says. "Not officer." Apparently as an afterthought, he adds, "Or marshal. Either one works."

He gestures back to Harry's table. "I do beg your pardon, interrupting, I just had a couple questions I needed answered regarding your potential involvement in a case I've been working. Might I join you?

"Yeah, can imagine he does wonders for the nerves, considering he looks like he can basically eat anything that ends up ticking ya off," Lis says with a snort. She'd be lying if she's not currently thinking that hey, she can probably take this puppy down easy if Tall and Scruffy here (...the second one, the one without the hat) decides to get him working. But no one asks what she's thinking, so it's not really a thing.

...Except then Raylan does that specific kind of polite voice and Lia goes still for a second, eyes flicking between Raylan and this Dresden dude, because. Uh oh.

"Sorry. Deputy. Of course - have a seat." Harry glances back to the girl who came in with the marshal as he moves back to the table, her sudden stillness catching his eye. That's... probably not a good sign, and it seems a little weird for a US Marshal to be tailed by a girl who, Harry would bet, is not old enough to legitimately own that ID she's carrying around.

"This is Mouse," Harry announces as he sits down, with a nod to the dog. "He's friendly. Who's your friend, marshal?"

Raylan presents Mouse with his knuckles to sniff, fully aware that this monster could and would take his arm off if Dresden gave the word. "He's part horse," Raylan says. He glances over at Lia and sighs. "Georgiann. I suppose I'm too good-hearted, picking up a hitcher, but being nagged at to get her a meal has surely cured me of that."

He leans back in his chair, hat still set back slightly on his head and a musing look on his face. "I had a dog once. Not near this size, of course, a mutt if you ever saw one, rangy thing and not the best looking. He was a good dog, though. Easy to train, protective, went with me everywhere. I suppose Mr. Mouse goes with you everywhere, being a service dog and all - how do you manage travel? Airplanes and such?"

Raylan pushes back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the ground for a moment before he thumps back down and continues. "Anyway, me and my dog, we went everywhere together, folks knew who was coming the minute they saw that ragged mutt turn the corner. And then one year, we went on up to the picket lines, during a strike against I think Lannaster Coal? We went up to the picket lines, early in the day, watch the scabs come on through, herded by the company's gun thugs. They went down in the mines and got to work."

He smiles at Mac as the man brings over two bottles of ale and leaves again. Raylan takes a sip and whistles. "Damn. Well, about half-way through the morning, they got their powder man working, blowing things up, and my dog - well, the shaking and the rumbling started and he lit out faster than I could catch him. Never saw him again. Is that why you left Mouse here went you went and blew up that block in Lexington?" The question is mild, punctuated by Raylan taking another drink from his bottle. "Bit surprising, considering your anxiety."

Lia slugs Raylan in the shoulder (not hard as she could, but enough to remind him that she can) before she slumps down in the chair next to Mouse while rolling her eyes. Talking about her like she's some kind of freaking stray. "Like you could pay my diner tab if I really got going," she grumbles quietly before settling down for story time. "And I don't freaking nag, okay."

...All right, now she's settled, happy? And she's following along pretty well, one hand idly scratching along Mouse's neck. It's half to have something to do, half to be able to grab the scruff and keep the lug back before shit happens and Dresden calls in for the sic. She's not entirely sure how much of Raylan's yarning is bullshit or not - never mind it's not really the point here, still a legit question. Once Ray pops the question, Lia cocks her head to the side and watches Harry out the corner of her eye.

Right now, if this was a cop show, she'd say something to be the supportive, cautious good partner, like how it's really not a good idea to start fibbing to Raylan here. But it's not a cop show and she's really not looking to be sidekick material, and she's pretty sure Raylan's ornery enough without her poking more. Let it never be said that Lia is entirely without some sense in that head of hers.

"I'm not that fond of airplanes," Harry answers slowly, all his bad feelings about this conversation suddenly ratcheting up to eleven. "I drive everywhere." And travel through the Nevernever when he doesn't have another choice, but somehow he doesn't think Mr. Marshal is going to appreciate or accept that explanation.

Mouse's tail sweeps genially over the floor while Lia scratches his neck, but he glances up at her after a moment, and quirks an eyebrow in silent amusement. He sees what you did there, Lia. It's a nice try, at least.

Harry's attention, meanwhile, doesn't waver from Raylan's face, without coming close to actually meeting his eyes. His eyebrows shoot up and he rocks back in his chair a little as the marshal comes to the point of that little story, picks up his own bottle and takes a drink while he thinks back to what, at the time, had seemed like just a false alarm from the Paranet - just concerning enough to convince him to check it out himself, but nothing came out of it.

"I was in Lexington a little while ago," he says with a faint frown. "I remember there was an explosion while I was there, but I was a little busy at the time to run around blowing up city blocks for fun. I could do that right here in Chicago if I really wanted to."

Mouse turns his head slowly to give Harry what might be a reproving look. Or maybe just dubious that Harry's dumb enough to actually say that. Harry realizes that maybe he should not be so flippant with law enforcement officers who don't know him. "If I was the kind of person to do that sort of thing," he adds blandly.

"I know you were," Raylan says, still amicable. "I have a witness that puts you in the vicinity of the explosion, in fact, not an hour prior to the event. Bit of a stand-out, what with the staff and all."

He takes another pull from the bottle, the friendliness gone from his expression. "I suppose Chicago has a higher population density, you get more bodies for your buck. Was the store you blew laundering money for Marcone, maybe skimming more than their share? That's the simplest explanation that comes to mind, given your history."

Lia interprets the look from Mouse as a cue to scratch more thoroughly, so she does. Firsthand fur knowledge tells her just how itchy that shit can get, and besides, it's just a dog. A hugely weirdly giant dog, so what else can the look mean, right. Of course right.

Never mind that she and said the 'just' a dog are practically mirrors with how they turn to stare at Harry here. Because just. Seriously. Seriously. Is he high? (A quick sniff says no, far as she can tell.) Maybe he's just bonkers then. Who knows.

Then again, she and Raylan could also qualify for white-coat status given that they're here talking to a Marcone powder guy like this. Which just brings her back around to the why did I even come here, man train of thought.

Harry goes very still for a moment, eying Raylan with an expression still carefully blank. It's not like he doesn't know the kind of stories that get around about him, but that doesn't mean being he appreciates having them thrown in his face like this.

"I don't work for Marcone." It's almost too even - he's trying for calm and reasonable, but he can't keep all of the annoyance out of his tone or off his face. "I'm a private detective, I work with the police, and I did not blow up that building."

A few of the patrons who know enough about Harry Dresden to be wary of the things that might happen when he gets annoyed are starting to look a little nervous... which is probably not helping his case with the marshal. Damn it.

A frown, less hostile and more confused, twitches across Raylan's face. Something isn't right here. Dresden's genuinely angry at the suggestion he works for the kingpin. He looks down at Mouse and Lia, then back at Dresden, a new thought making its way into clarity out of instinct.

"...Know anyone who'd want me to think you did?"

"Ooh, plot twist," is probably not the appropriate reaction to be having to all of this. Probably. That does not stop Lia from looking one hundred percent unashamed of herself for saying it.

She props her chin up in one hand and waits to see what'll happen next. Besides, Dresden isn't smelling like a liar should, and she can tell that Raylan can tell as much too - even without a super sniffer like she's got. And now that the possible Marcone involvement's gone down a couple notches on the totem pole, she can relax some.

Harry blinks - and then, between the marshal's question and the girl's comment, he really can't help but burst out with a short laugh. "You want the list in order of likelihood, in order of who I pissed off most recently, or just alphabetically?"

Raylan can't help his answering grin, either. "Oh, probably start with likelihood, and you can mark the ones who're recent."

He shakes his head and reaches down to smack Lia lightly on the back of the head before giving Mouse's ears a good scratching. "Lord knows I've had enough people gunning for me over the years to know how it is."

There's a contemplative silence, where he finishes off Mac's ale and savors the taste, before he says, "Though. If you know of any grudges with contacts in Lexington, start there."

Something about this is still bothering him, that barb of instinct that doesn't make sense yet, but probably will in a day or two. He sits up straight and offers Harry a hand as a kind of peace-offering shake. "This isn't to say I won't shoot you or haul you in if I find there's cause to do so, but for the time being, answer me one question - this wizard business. Bullshit gimmick or is there something to it?"

Lia's snort at Harry's answer is interrupted by the whapping going on. She yelps, more surprised than hurt because dude, that was not cool at all. "The hell was that for!" she asks indignantly while aiming a shoe for his shins under the table.

Then she rolls her eyes at the question because aw, man, is he really even asking that. Just - a wizard? This is not Harry Potter, okay, and they did not make a left turn at the yellow brick road. (Again. The hypocrisy. Enough to choke a pig, but not enough to apparently choke a teenage werewolf.)

As Harry runs through the list of people who'd have it in for him enough to frame him for arson and murder... somehow this all becomes a lot less funny. Again. Sending this marshal who has no idea what he'd been getting into against any of those people... Well, Givens would be lucky to come out of it alive, and even then...

The smile slips off Harry's face. "Yeah, I'm really a wizard. And you can believe that or not, that's up to you, but if you don't... I'm telling you now, you're going to have a real problem dealing with the kind of people who hate me that much."

Raylan keeps his hand extended another moment before letting it drop. He eyes Harry, then Mouse, and nods slowly. "I believe you. Stupid thing to lie about, really, and I've seen enough to know that I've got no clue about what's real and what's fiction."

He resettles his hat and checks his ale bottle to make sure it's empty. It's good stuff. Be a shame to waste it. "I would still like that list of names, though."

Lia cannot stop herself when Raylan says he's buying into this guy's bull.

"What are you, high?" Then it hits her that oh, yeah. She met Raylan shortly before he got all mauled by werewolves. Who were in fact after another werewolf. Her. "...Oh. Right."

Okay, so maybe - just maybe, mind - this guy might not be talking out of his ass here. Possibly. But Harry still gets one hell of a stink-eye just on principle. Even as she fishes out her handy dandy little blue notebook and a pen from a pocket, opens it to a blank page, and pokes them across the table to Dresden with a nod. "Quick-like, please."

Harry mostly ignores the girl's initial outburst - disbelief doesn't really surprise him, and he's busy watching Givens, a little confused about how easily he accepted it - but the pen and notebook shoved across the table at him do get his attention. He glances toward her, then smirks as he looks back up at Raylan. "Pretty helpful hitchhiker you picked up, marshal."

He does pick up the pen, though, and pull the notebook toward him, but before he actually writes anything down, he stops. "I want to come with you when you talk to... whoever you want to talk to. It's that, or I keep this to myself, you can go back to Lexington, and I work this out on my own. Okay?"

"She has her uses, now and again." He smiles at Harry, that careful neutrality back on his face for a moment. "I think you mean it's that, or I put you through the inconvenience of an arrest for obstructing a federal investigation. Another arrest, if I recall from your file. So you know how that goes, all the time and the paperwork, et ceterea. And while you're keeping company with the night's crop of drunks and working girls, I'll be off sorting out another way to get what I need. On my own. Which I do suppose you don't want on your conscience, given the warning."

Raylan sighs and leans forward. "Mr. Dresden. I think I've been fairly reasonable thus far. But I have to ask - if I were to say yes to your company, what exactly would you do to the folks we went to see, if one of them did what you're being blamed for?"

"He didn't pick up shit," Lia snorts, but the way she hitches herself up a bit tells a sight more about someone else recognizing her fine talents. "I'm here on my own whatever ya wanna call it."

She says this all with an easy grin even as she slugs Raylan in the shoulder because now and again, you can just freaking bite her. Never mind this 'on his own' nonsense. You are so amazingly denied on this front before you ever got there, Givens, so don't even.

"But I'd just go along and give him the info he wants." She shrugs the advice off for Harry to take or leave. "Makes things super easier in the long run, cause he can get damned annoying when he has to really start on the cowboy Fed junk."

Edited 2011-06-18 06:28 (UTC)