abrightboy | The Lengths That I Would Go To

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The Lengths That I Would Go To

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

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Raylan shrugged. "I can spare one night for New York before I go back. Might be the only time I get to see the inside of one of these parties and we're not collectively due to leave til tomorrow. It's go with you or stay here and drink all of your scotch and that would be terribly rude of me."

That wasn't the only reason, but it was the easiest to admit, even to himself.

"And I hate pointless small talk."

"I know; that's one of the things I like about you."

It just kind of burbled out. Was that okay to say?

He gestured to the TV. "Anyway, Ainsley's report is done if you want to watch anything. Adolpho is picking us up at seven."

Raylan couldn't help the stupid, adolescent grin that brought before he glanced at the TV and shrugged with a bobble of his head as he took up the remote and his glass to amble over towards the couch.

"Sure, why not. It'll only take me 30 minutes to get ready, which gives us what, an hour maybe?"

They'd make it. And it was definitely okay to say.

Edited 2020-04-16 01:40 (UTC)

"Yeah, about that. Do you want anything to eat? I've got..." He paused, considered that. "Licorice. And leftover soup. ...And possibly one or two meal replacement shakes, but that's a bit heavy before a gala dinner."

"No, I'm fine, but thank you. I got lunch while I was out too. Figured it wouldn't do either of us good if I came back hungry and irritated." Raylan shifted on the couch to look over at Malcolm. "Is TV what you do in your spare time or do you just watch your sister report on the going on's of the world?"

"I don't watch much TV. It actually retracts into the ceiling," he said, gesturing up. "But I try to catch Ainsley's reports when I'm home."

He took a licorice from the jar on the counter and absently took a bite.

"Sometimes I watch documentaries."

"That's nice of ya. Supportive," he said, scrolling through the channels and clicking onto a few before scrolling again.

"I don't watch any TV. No drive or incline to." Why was he sitting on Malcolm's couch anyway, testing it out? Science. He sighed and clicked the TV off, pushing back up into his feet. "Never anything on.." He gestured towards Sunshine. "Since that's the case, wanna tell me about your bird?"

They passed the time amazingly well, and Raylan couldn't quite recall which one of them noted the time, sending them both into a stepping pace. Raylan had to shower but got dressed in the bathroom and stepped out dressed but untied, hair slicked back as he went to hunt for socks.

Edited 2020-04-16 02:25 (UTC)

Malcolm was ready by the time Raylan emerged, just straightening his bowtie in the mirror by the door. He turned, paused, then, looking for a reason to have done that, gestured towards the marshal's tie. "Do you need help with that?"

He nodded. "Only experience I have with ties is regular ones. So yes." It wasn't a hard admission- he needed the help. Once he slid the shoes on and tied them, he stood up, chin lifting a little as Malcolm stepped close to attend his tie.

Raylan felt.. fidgety. "This the kind of party that has 3 forks? I don't know the layout," he admitted, glancing at the ceiling before glancing down at Malcolm's strikingly close face. All the urges that he'd suppressed since that first night he'd had to straddle Malcolm to prevent him from tumbling down the stairs was raised to the surface, leaving Raylan to swallow tightly and find another place for his eyes to be.

Malcolm was so focused on carefully tying the tie, he didn't notice Raylan looking at him, but when he finished, he looked up and found Raylan's face right there as well. He stepped back and cleared his throat, not realizing his gaze lingered on the marshal's lips for just a second.

"Um, don't worry about the forks. You just start at the outside and work your way in. I'd say just watch which fork I use, but I skip a lot of the courses. The level of insecurity my mother is feeling in the group will determine how much of a hard time she gives me about it," he rambled before clasping his hands in front of himself.

"I'll try to be extra secure, in that case." Fiddling with the horseshoe ring on his right hand, Raylan fished his gun and badge from his jean's belt, tucking the gun and it's holster into the back of his pants (trousers?) and storing the badge in his inside jacket pocket before walking over to the door side mirror to look himself over.

"Think I'll pass?" Despite him feeling like his redneck was crawling out from under his collar, even he had to admit he looked half decent. If he could keep his hands out of his hair that was.

"You look great," Malcolm assured him. "Nobody will know you're secretly dangerous," he teased.

A car horn sounded. Malcolm gestured to the door.

"That's Adolpho. Are you ready?"

He scoffed a half laugh of a sound and adjusted his jacket again before the honking came. "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose." Though his hat got a long look before Raylan stepped through the door so that Malcolm could lock up behind them.

He had a feeling this was gonna be a long dinner.

The gala was at an enormous banquet hall at the Plaza Hotel. Malcolm gave their names at the door and they were told which table their seats were at.

As they made their way through the maze of tables, Malcolm looked at Raylan. "Doing okay so far?"

It was only a slightly overwhelming hall with all it's glamour and silk-wrapped bodies and the only thing Raylan really worried about was someone pointing him out as a fraud that shouldn't be there. But Malcolm's question made him smile, albeit crookedly as he took his seat.

"I feel like rooms this large is why everyone's in such good shape. Lotta walking." Once he was seated, he glanced around. "I can see why people drink at these things."

"They're also rich as hell," Malcolm pointed out. "Personal chefs and personal trainers do a lot for a fitness level."

Malcolm had neither, but he knew this world.

Malcolm sat down on Raylan's right, leaving the centre seat facing the MC for his mother, who hadn't arrived yet. Then Raylan would be a nice-sized buffer between her and Malcolm's... well, depending on her mood, she would consider them either his 'dietary requirements' or his 'picky eating'.

"Other than it being free?" he joked at Raylan's quip. He flagged down a waiter and ordered a scotch for himself, then looked to Raylan for his order.

Malcolm didn't need one of each either. "That's true, I have not seen a lot of fat rich people."

The Marshal glanced at the empty chairs as he got comfortable, scoffing a grin. "Ain't that the best kind? Scotch for me as well please," he said, directing the last politely at the waiter.

"I can't tell if we're early or everyone else is late. What is this thing for again? A.. fundraiser? I suppose I should just wait for the show to start instead of asking but.." The words were already out there now.

"I believe this benefit is to raise money to fight human trafficking. My mother's been working with this human rights lawyer for a couple of months now for the cause."

He glanced around.

"And she would never show up on time for something."

He lifted his eyebrows with an approving bob of his head as he took to people watching those that had already gathered. He couldn't help it, really. The Marshal in him was already running down the list of White collar crimes that some of those collected had already done and it wasn't small. As much as he tried to see the best of people, the statistics alone were in his favor.

"Always fashionably late?" Raylan smirked. "Your family likes to be showstopper, don't they?" If Malcolm was included in that, it was purely a compliment.

"That's her day job, huh? Charities?" He couldn't imagine how that worked but he was sure that it had, flawlessly by any outsiders estimation.

"Charity work is her passion. She sat on a couple of the major charities' boards when I was a kid. She donates anonymously now, though. Most charities won't take her money if her name is attached."

He glanced at Raylan.

"Too scandalous for their stomachs."

He shook his head slightly. "It's not like she was part of it.." Dark eyes returned to Malcolm with an unspoken question. Was she?

"Nice that she's still doing good works despite of it." And he did really mean it - he might not have money or know rich people, outside of Malcolm, it went against the idea that was largely presented to the world and that he could appreciate.

"Does she drag you to these kind of things often?"

"She wasn't. She had suspicions about my father, but she thought he was having an affair. It turned out to be much worse than that."

He glanced around. "Now and then. Sometimes she drags my sister. Sometimes both of us."

The waiter brought their drinks and a moment later Jessica Whitly swept up to the table with Ainsley right behind her.

"Darling! You made it," she exclaimed, giving Malcolm a broad grin. She offered her hand to Raylan. "Nice to see you again," she told him. "Ainsley," she said, beckoning her daughter over. "This is Malcolm's guest, Raylan."

Malcolm took closed his eyes to take a deep breath and release a long suffering sigh.

"Ainsley Whitly," she told Raylan, smirking at Malcolm while offering her hand.

Something in Raylan's face settled at the reassurance. He liked Jessica from what he'd seen of her and she was clearly smart as a whip; he didn't like having those doubts around those kind of people.

"Clearly tonight it's both of you," he sounded softly in warning with a facial bob of thanks towards the waiter as he took his drink, stealing a sip before abandoning it to stand and shake Jessica's and Ainsley's hands with a polite bob of his head. There was another impulse to help them into their chairs but that one got wrestled into the back and gagged.

"Ma'am." There was almost a tip of a hat, but no hat to be found and miraculously, Raylan kept his hand where it should be for each shake. Ainsley got a "Nice to meet you," before he sat back down. "The suit fits perfectly by the way," he started towards Jessica, glass finding his hand again. "You'll have to send me the bill so that I've got at least one thing in my closet that isn't cotton or denim."

Oh, he saw the smirks and the looks, but what they meant was a little beyond his understanding just yet but they meant something, he knew that much.

"The bill," Jessica exclaimed with a dismissive wave. "Please. Consider it a gift for agreeing to come," she told him, already flagging down a waiter to order a glass of wine.

"I understand you're a United States Marshall," Ainsley, seated on the opposite side of Jessica from Raylan, said. "What jurisdiction were you in before you came here?"

Raylan couldn't do anything other than take that with an accepting lift of his eyebrows. "Well in that case, thank you. Much appreciated." He wouldn't be here without it, that was for sure. His attention turned to Ainsley at her question and he glanced down with his soft chuckle.

"I am not 'here' in such a sense. As a Marshal, we've kinda got jurisdiction anywhere, within reason." His head tilted a little, chin lifting slightly. "Malcolm watches your reports on TV. You sound like a solid journalist."

He knew that Ainsley would likely search his name the first chance she got, but this wasn't the kinda place where one admitted that there were be a bloody file to be found on him.

"So it won't take you long to find out that I'm currently assigned to Lexington, Kentucky. We're due to be leaving tomorrow, which is the other reason that I can afford to be here without a work conflict."

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