He wasn't surprised, but he didn't hold it against Roman. They'd had a weird ass fucking day that wasn't really getting better. Even if Raylan did feel a little more settled than when they first broke into this particular conversation.
"Watch out, I'll hold you to that. But sure, okay. Lead the way and maybe tell me where we're goin'?"
He was already following Roman as he moved, so it was progress, in its own way.
"Batting cages, you All American Fucko. If you're well enough to drink, you're well enough to get your ass creamed by a rich kid. I play baseball every year, you know."
He's fully expecting to lose. He's also assuming it's the enclosure that'll have the batting cages. He's also also completely dodging the question about John and simultaneously trying desperately to make sure Raylan starts feeling a little like himself.
Raylan scoffs and turns around to stride back to the counter. "If we're doin' that, the bottle is comin' with us until someone has to drag my ass back up out of there."
Bottle in hand, he could stride more confidently towards the door with a long glance towards the bedroom where James was laid out.
"You think he'll be okay?" His quips about Roman playing ball could wait until they were out of the door; it'd make a good conversation to get them up to the enclosure. If Raylan were honest, he was a little lifted by Roman's suggest, by the fact that Roman would come bat with him at all in the first place.
"James Flint?" Roman's brows scrunch, nose wrinkling.
"Yeah, of course he'll be fine. He's a fucking beast. You really wanna insult the guy by assuming a little bit of an upset tummy is what's gonna do him in? The guy can probably take a fucking canon ball to the face. Come on."
It's easier to speak with confidence if you're used to lying.
He knew that Roman didn't Know. Not for sure. But frankly, Raylan couldn't take more worry; he knew that staying here right now would hit him hard and send him spiraling back down into sucking hole of self doubt and self abuse. At the same time, he felt guilty for leaving at all. What if, what if, what if.
But James was a beast. That much was true, regardless of anything else.
Finally, Raylan does follow, closing the door behind him and taking another deep breath before he's ready to go.
"So what's that mean, 'you play baseball every year'? What's that about."
"I mean I play baseball every year. Sometimes more." Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He continues on, making sure Raylan's finally following him and actually stepping in line with him, patching whatever pace Raylan wants.
"Dad's birthday thing. We fly to Long Island, set up on the lawn, go to town." Correction: the hired help does all of that, and the Roys just fuck around.
"It's a great time. I kick Shiv's ass at it. We've got a scoreboard and everything."
Raylan studied Roman, looking for the lie of it and kindly shortening his pace a little so the man didn't have to run to keep up. He wasn't sure he could handle his own pace right now though, if he were being total honest.
"Once you get done makin' fun of Lexington's battin' cages, hope you know you're gonna havta back all this up. Can't say I ain't lookin' forward to it."
Which was saying something, considering what they were currently walking away from.
"I played in highschool. Goin' to the battin' cages is what I did at home when I was stuck on somethin' or.. frustrated or just.. needed to blow off some steam without ruinin' my face for three days.." He didn't sound overly proud about it.
Roman doesn't have a chance in hell. He knows this. Raylan knows this. It's an easy and open secret--and an easy and open secret like that is much better than mental breakdowns and comatose partners.
"Of course you're a pick-a-fight guy. Really leaning towards the stereotypes about you guys, Raylan, I gotta say."
"Well, whatever works. Legally, you can carry a bat in with you, you know. So long as you got a ball in the trunk.." He'd used that rule to his favor a few times in his life.
They reach the enclosure and Raylan taps them in with his Blackberry, calling up something appropriately titled 'Lexington Cages' before heading down the stairs.
"Besides, sometimes you gotta pick the fight before they do so no one is tryin' to kick in your face with their clets.. Ended up givin' a guy a limp for life in highschool over shit like that."
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"Watch out, I'll hold you to that. But sure, okay. Lead the way and maybe tell me where we're goin'?"
He was already following Roman as he moved, so it was progress, in its own way.
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He's fully expecting to lose. He's also assuming it's the enclosure that'll have the batting cages. He's also also completely dodging the question about John and simultaneously trying desperately to make sure Raylan starts feeling a little like himself.
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Bottle in hand, he could stride more confidently towards the door with a long glance towards the bedroom where James was laid out.
"You think he'll be okay?" His quips about Roman playing ball could wait until they were out of the door; it'd make a good conversation to get them up to the enclosure. If Raylan were honest, he was a little lifted by Roman's suggest, by the fact that Roman would come bat with him at all in the first place.
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"Yeah, of course he'll be fine. He's a fucking beast. You really wanna insult the guy by assuming a little bit of an upset tummy is what's gonna do him in? The guy can probably take a fucking canon ball to the face. Come on."
It's easier to speak with confidence if you're used to lying.
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But James was a beast. That much was true, regardless of anything else.
Finally, Raylan does follow, closing the door behind him and taking another deep breath before he's ready to go.
"So what's that mean, 'you play baseball every year'? What's that about."
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"Dad's birthday thing. We fly to Long Island, set up on the lawn, go to town." Correction: the hired help does all of that, and the Roys just fuck around.
"It's a great time. I kick Shiv's ass at it. We've got a scoreboard and everything."
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"Once you get done makin' fun of Lexington's battin' cages, hope you know you're gonna havta back all this up. Can't say I ain't lookin' forward to it."
Which was saying something, considering what they were currently walking away from.
"I played in highschool. Goin' to the battin' cages is what I did at home when I was stuck on somethin' or.. frustrated or just.. needed to blow off some steam without ruinin' my face for three days.." He didn't sound overly proud about it.
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"Of course you're a pick-a-fight guy. Really leaning towards the stereotypes about you guys, Raylan, I gotta say."
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They reach the enclosure and Raylan taps them in with his Blackberry, calling up something appropriately titled 'Lexington Cages' before heading down the stairs.
"Besides, sometimes you gotta pick the fight before they do so no one is tryin' to kick in your face with their clets.. Ended up givin' a guy a limp for life in highschool over shit like that."