abrightboy | (Reply)

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"People I deal with usually lead with gun barrels," Raylan conceded easily. He made no excuses for how situations seemed to crop up around him. "Victim of the times and situation, I'm afraid."

Like many places, it needed a coat of paint, the yard was largely untended but not to the point of wild, just overgrown, but the windows were dressed with cream print and the porch was clear, decorated with a lone rocking chair and a wooden spindle, the ones used for large industrial cording set on it's side as a table. People here were poor and those who weren't usually aimed to not look like they were.

Raylan knocked on the door with one hand, his off hand coming up to rest on his holster and unsnap the securing snap.

"Miss Rochester? US Deputy Marshals, open up."

Silenced answered him and after a long moment, Raylan glanced at Malcolm, unholstered his weapon and opened the screen door, before opening the front door and stepping in, gun half raised.

If no one answered him before, they weren't going to answer him again, and as Raylan stepped into the dining room, he saw why.

"Well goddamn," he said, eyes sharpening in disgust as he views the murder scene before him.