The Universe's Mixer

Raylan didn't know what to make of The City. His first full week in the expansive metropolitan bubble had been strange, to say the least. The City had provided him with everything he needed, as judged by an outsider's perspective. They provided him with a home, a motel room similar to the one he'd left in Kentucky (but thankfully not owned by that monochromatic fellow on the hill,) and a job with local law enforcement. In fact, so far as he could tell, The City was fixin' to keep him around for a while. An officer of the peace? On his first day, he jokingly paid a visit to the civil enforcers who'd left a message on his phone and was surprised to find himself greeted with a nameplate and a badge. An amusing dream, right? But then the dream lingered into a second day. And then a week. And then two weeks. Or was it that he only imagined time to have past so quickly? Raylan never pretended to be a very smart man. Quick witted and aware of his surroundings, but no genius. Maybe there was some truth to this illusion.

He'd been told on his first day that he was far too calm in his accepting on the bizarre and unexpected. He could only surmise that his reaction was half laced in shock and half in whiskey. But it spoke something of his character that he didn't have a nervous breakdown, nor cry himself to sleep.

Keep yourself busy.
( Go then. There are other worlds than these. )

Welcome to the rally for Jack Heart!

There is a stage decorated nicely in the candidate's colors, right at the edge of the park. There is a table with refreshments for free, and another where you can get signs supporting your candidate to hold, or put on your lawn or in your windows, they even have bumper stickers for your car. There are balloons tied everywhere to draw your attention. There is a podium on the stage where the candidate will stand.

In his speech, the candidate will speak about:

Family values.
Education.
Economics.
His platform.

And he will answer a few questions for you!

Raylan watched as Boyd Crowder drove off in Ava's Ford pickup truck and, though every instinct in him said that he ought to be frustrated and annoyed for the other man's sudden turnaround, he was pleased. In fact, a small smidgen of a smirk crept at the corner of his lips. Well, damn if he wasn't just a little bit surprised by the events of the last thirty minutes. This went far beyond hinky. But he supposed that some people were just meant to keep running into each other. Meant to have their lives intertwined on a never ending roller coaster. He and Boyd seemed to be two of those sorts of people. Like magnetic poles, attracting and opposing at the same time. Hell if Raylan was ever going to understand the mechanism of crazy that churned in a mind like Boyd Crowder. The man was beyond shifty. He was smart, and he was most definitely insane. But there was method in that madness, Raylan was sure of it. Which was why he had never fully fallen for his old friend's baptist rejuvenation. Something about woodland preacher just didn't sit right where a Crowder was concerned. He supposed, by law, he should have chased after the truck and arrested the man. But Boyd came back for him. (Such a strange relationship they had -- like jealous lovers, always returning to each other's side for more suffering.) And so Raylan decided to let him off. For now.

Which was just to say that he would give him a head start.

Raylan climbed into the black town car, on loan from the Marshals' office. (He was supposed to have it checked it two hours ago.) Funny how a shootout could distract a man from his civic duty of punctuality. When he buckled into the driver's seat, his phone buzzed. Winona was calling.

You've gotten yourself into a sticky pickle now, haven't you, Raylan? His subconscious was even more of a smart ass than he was.

The phone buzzed once. Twice. Three times before he started the engine and answered the call.
( What's wrong? )