onlyhearmusic | [the last voyages] ic inbox

"You think I've never thought about that? You think I haven't been told why?"

He had been told his whole life what a mistake he was. How broken he was. He knew that. He didn't agree with it. He called his skill with his hands a gift and he took pride in his work. And he never looked back.

This place wanted him to but he never needed that. He never needed justification for what he did. He was born this way, he would die this way. That he understood.

"I know why. I ain't like you. You can call it a curse if ya want, I call it a gift. And no sense in denyin' what's been givin'. I use what I got. I ain't afraid of it. I ain't hidin' it no more. I ain't lyin' or pretendin'. Never again."

"No, I call it part of bein' human. We're ugly, capable creatures. But it ain't a gift. It's the same thing any person could do, even if you try for the argument of 'art' which doesn't have legs to begin with. Congratulations. You kill folks. So do I. So has a billion different people over the ages. What I wanna know is why you opted to go after John this time."

It might not have sounded like a question, but it was and by his face and eye contact, he expected some sort of answer.

No, Givens didn't get it. That was all right, no one ever did. The acceptance was like a release and suddenly all the tension ebbed out of him. His expression turned cold and dispassionate, a lack of any emotion where previously there was so much. He looked bored and his tone took on the same quality.

He always found it easy to ignore what didn't interest him. And he was no longer interested in the same rote.

"Why not?" he asked plainly.

It was impossible to miss the sudden de-escalation, the sudden loss of tension and that meant that Collins didn't agree with Raylan on the 'gift' of being able to murder someone. Raylan didn't bother to change his posture or tone in the slightest.

"Mmhmm. Except that suggests to me that there wasn't a reason, not even 'why not'. Did you mean to kill him? Or did you get ahold of that mask and, likely not incorrectly, think it was just that?"

"I'm not allowed to, but that don't mean I didn't want to."

No sense in dodging around that truth. Collins saw red the moment he laid eyes on John Doe and not much else got a thought towards it. Maybe he got a little anxious with the possession; maybe he didn't realize he could kill the entity. But that didn't change the fact that he had always wanted to.

"That's not what I asked."

Raylan was, by and large, very specific with his words and normally, he'd let the answer go, come at it another way but in spite of the calm steely evenness that he maintained, the fact that Collins had murdered Neal, the way it was done, the way Neal was left was still a deep and ugly mark against him.

"I ask if you meant to do it. This ain't exactly a slit throat or a shot to the heart, if you know what I mean."

Edited 2024-01-13 01:08 (UTC)

"Of course not. That thing don't exactly have a throat ta slit or a heart ta shoot." Nor him the weapons to do that with, unfortunately. "But I sure as hell didn't grab tha monster ta be nice ta it."

Because that was also a thing he was doing now: disassociating the Entity from humanity. It was something he understood when he first encountered the creature, and it was a lesson he was keen to reinforce now that he was upset with the Entity. It had always been a monster and it would always be a monster. It was not a friend and it never would be. JD didn't exist. Nor Liam.

Collins sighed explosively. If the damn copper wanted words then so be it. "Yes, I meant ta throw it as hard as I could ta get it off me. It did it's little possession thing tha second I touched it and I told tha demon ta go fuck itself."

"Next time, just let it the fuck go," he says darkly before lifting a finger.

"But that means this wasn't a murder. This was an unfortunate accident done by an asshole. And that's my point. So whatever it is you're waitin' for, ain't no other shoe to drop. I've already talked to JD, and he's fine with your continuin' to work here in the library, so be grateful for that. I can't control out people are gonna react when they find out, but I can at least make it clear where you and I stand about it."

"Next time, I'll stomp on tha goddamn pieces. I'm not yer fuckin' dog!"

His jaw twitched in anger again but he kept most of himself under control this time. At least he wasn't yelling. After another moment of staring contest, he let out a huff of air explosively. "Yer an idiot," he declared and then apparently decided they were done here. He turned his back to Givens and walked away.

Collins was the fucking idiot and Raylan's temper finally gets the better of him, sending him long stepping forward to fist Collins up by the scruff of his jacket and shirt, pushing him forwards as he forces them to keep momentum. He had been trying to do all this 'the right way' and so far, it had gotten him fuckall in the way of progress.

"You're the asshole lookin' gift horses in their mouth," he snarls, shoving Collins at the back wall bookshelf with a goodly amount of force. "Stupid enough to be choose the hard way for the hellva it. You want me to beat your ass for it? Throw you in Zero? Tie you to the deck maybe so folks can get their kicks in and you can wallow in how bad it is for you when you're choosin' that shit?"

Collins grunted as he was assaulted and produced enough leeway to twist himself in Givens's grip so that his back hit the bookshelf instead of being shoved face-first into it. He immediately went for a grip on the lawman that would allow him to fight back via grappling should the need arise. He was practically growling as he stared up at Givens, teeth gritted and eyes glaring daggers, as he listened to the angry man.

This felt familiar. Even the words were close enough to old threats that they struck a chord with him. His grasp tightened.

"Do yer worst then, ya bastard! What do ya want from me? Ta lie? Ta pretend ta give a fuck about any of this? There ain't a person I've killed that I regret killin' and I won't start now. I sure as shite don't regret killin' that monster, and I won't regret killin' you either."

Having fully let go of Collins as he was shoved, there wasn't much to grapple onto, but that didn't stop Raylan from leveraging his height and presence as he looms, eyes almost black in his temper.

"I want you to stop bein' such a fuckin' asshole for no goddamned reason. My not punishin' you for John ain't to 'make you my dog'-" he says, face pinching with a slight drawback in plain and obvious disgust and dismissal. "And if that's all it takes to get you on a collar to behave like a good little boy, then you're a hellva lot more stupid than I though. Guess what Collins, you ain't gonna die here, no matter how much you beg the rest of us to put you outta your fuckin' misery, and you're welcome to try to kill me; I'm happy to put you in the infirmary as many times as you give me opportunity. Go on, keep shittin' in your own bed."

Raylan gestures off to the left with the last, with the same kinda tone you'd use on a dog, and with an almost palpable level of disgust.

Collins could leave, if he wants.

Collins didn't wait for more than two words to make it out of Givens's mouth. Without any physical constraint to hold him back, the killer retaliated for the manhandling. He threw a punch at Givens without holding back. This was a wild animal being cornered and fighting back. He was only seeing red.

Raylan had let go of Collins because he knows how he reacts when he's holding a punchable face, but Collins swinging at him made everything valid. He was glad he took off his hat too, with the way his head snapped to the side with the punch, but Raylan had been in more fistfights than he has counted and Collins didn't have shit on him for height or leverage.

There was no hesitation in Raylan's right, ringed hand coming to answer the punch, aiming downright for Collins's jaw. If it hits, Raylan follows it up with another in a rapid succession, following the momentum and keeping them close.

Collins took the first blow but by the second he had his arm up to guard. Raylan could throw punches at the Irishman all day long if he liked, the killer was an old hand at boxing. He learned to tolerate a stronger man's licks by the time he was eight and this was nothing new or surprising.

The thing about fighting in the Great War though was that trench warfare taught him to be quick and mobile. Same as a scrap on the street. He didn't have any weapons but he was fine with using his bare fists. His ancestors had made a sport of it, he could manage.

His guarding arm caught the blow and deflected it as he sidestepped out of the way. It allowed him to dodge and set up him for a follow-up punch of his own. It didn't matter how large the opponent was so long as he knew what he was doing.

Notably, Raylan was not a boxer, his almost exclusively right hooks being more like hammers. A swimmer kind of lean, most of his real power was in his shoulders - but he was almost impressed that Collins had enough sense left in him after taking one punch to put up a defense. Though it did mean a strike of his own was coming.

He took it across the jaw, head snapping to the side before swiveling back, hands reaching for purchase in Collins' shirt so he could pull the man forward into his swiftly rising knee. His plan was to knee him and shove the man towards the ground, but he had to get through that before opening his mouth.

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