Quarles's glanced at both men as they moved, more worried about the Marshal and his gun than Malcolm and his barbs by the way his eyes returned and lingered on Raylan before taking back to shifting between them, his knife trading hands so that when he spun back around to better keep both the men in his sight, the blade was still pointing towards Malcolm.
"People only looked at the fact that he murdered, not why. Not for what. Not for the art of it." Quarles's eyes lit up, like he had an idea. "You two get to be my lucky audience!"
Raylan was more focused on the kid than the monologuing. He couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, and his sandy hair was a mess with sweat, dirt, and blood. Raylan wouldn't be surprised if a homicide of his parents were later reported.
"You know how I hate to miss a show but if you think we're doing anything other than you putting that knife down, you're sadly mistaken," he replied cooly.
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"People only looked at the fact that he murdered, not why. Not for what. Not for the art of it." Quarles's eyes lit up, like he had an idea. "You two get to be my lucky audience!"
Raylan was more focused on the kid than the monologuing. He couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, and his sandy hair was a mess with sweat, dirt, and blood. Raylan wouldn't be surprised if a homicide of his parents were later reported.
"You know how I hate to miss a show but if you think we're doing anything other than you putting that knife down, you're sadly mistaken," he replied cooly.