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vanillafluffyFrom a prompt: Raylan breaks his leg. Boyd visits him.
They're keeping him in the hospital overnight for observation--over Raylan's strenuous proitests--because in addition to the broken leg, they're worried he may be concussed. He doesn't think so, personally, until he glances toward the door, and there stands Boyd, holding a bouquet of daisies or maybe chrysantemums, and a bright blue gift bag.
"Boyd?" he says in disbelief, "What are you doing here?"
"Why, I'm on an errand of mercy, Raylan. A mission of compassion and succor, such as you once did the courtesy of paying me after you'd shot me." He smile is playful, and Raylan isn't quite sure he's really there, although it certainly sounds like Boyd. "While I am not responsible for your current misfortune, nevertheless, I thought in light of our long-standing acquaintance, it would be the kindly thing to do."
Boyd takes the lid off of the little plastic pitcher full of ice water the hospital has provided, and plops the flowers into it."You didn't bring me flowers at the time, but that can be chalked up to the fact that prision circumscribes one's gift-giving options. I'm sure you would have, had you been able."
"I'm not," Raylan mutters. He must have whacked his head harder than he thought when he'd slipped on those stairs. Bad enough his right leg is encased in plaster from his toes to his pecker, without him scrambling his brains in the process.
"In any event, in order to facilitate your speedy recovery, I have procured a few relevant items, such as--" He reaches into the blue bag, and sets a brown bottle with a yellow label down on the bedside table. "Rosehips, good for mending bones." Another bottle. "Calcium, ditto. And--" A bottle labeled 'Male Potency Formula' joins the others. "Some multi-vitamins. I take that brand myself, I think you'll find them effective. After all, you're too young to be slowing down and letting suspects get away."
"I didn't LET her get away," Raylan argues. "There was ice on the steps."
"Of course," Boyd says, his tone soothing."And your suspect had a head start."
"That's right," Raylan says, closing his eyes,hoping Boyd isn't going to point out that the subject--Elsie Berwind--was 78 years old and pushing a walker.
When he opens his eyes again, a woman in scrubs is shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him who the President is. He answers her, and looks around as she bustles out of the room.
No Boyd, but there are flowers sticking out of his water pitcher, a row of bottles on the night-stand, and Boyd has gotten the last word. Three-inch tall letters march down his cast in bright blue Sharpie reading: BOYD IS INNOCENT. ELSIE GOT AWAY WITH IT. BEST WISHES FOR A SPEEDY RECOVERY.
.
They're keeping him in the hospital overnight for observation--over Raylan's strenuous proitests--because in addition to the broken leg, they're worried he may be concussed. He doesn't think so, personally, until he glances toward the door, and there stands Boyd, holding a bouquet of daisies or maybe chrysantemums, and a bright blue gift bag.
"Boyd?" he says in disbelief, "What are you doing here?"
"Why, I'm on an errand of mercy, Raylan. A mission of compassion and succor, such as you once did the courtesy of paying me after you'd shot me." He smile is playful, and Raylan isn't quite sure he's really there, although it certainly sounds like Boyd. "While I am not responsible for your current misfortune, nevertheless, I thought in light of our long-standing acquaintance, it would be the kindly thing to do."
Boyd takes the lid off of the little plastic pitcher full of ice water the hospital has provided, and plops the flowers into it."You didn't bring me flowers at the time, but that can be chalked up to the fact that prision circumscribes one's gift-giving options. I'm sure you would have, had you been able."
"I'm not," Raylan mutters. He must have whacked his head harder than he thought when he'd slipped on those stairs. Bad enough his right leg is encased in plaster from his toes to his pecker, without him scrambling his brains in the process.
"In any event, in order to facilitate your speedy recovery, I have procured a few relevant items, such as--" He reaches into the blue bag, and sets a brown bottle with a yellow label down on the bedside table. "Rosehips, good for mending bones." Another bottle. "Calcium, ditto. And--" A bottle labeled 'Male Potency Formula' joins the others. "Some multi-vitamins. I take that brand myself, I think you'll find them effective. After all, you're too young to be slowing down and letting suspects get away."
"I didn't LET her get away," Raylan argues. "There was ice on the steps."
"Of course," Boyd says, his tone soothing."And your suspect had a head start."
"That's right," Raylan says, closing his eyes,hoping Boyd isn't going to point out that the subject--Elsie Berwind--was 78 years old and pushing a walker.
When he opens his eyes again, a woman in scrubs is shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him who the President is. He answers her, and looks around as she bustles out of the room.
No Boyd, but there are flowers sticking out of his water pitcher, a row of bottles on the night-stand, and Boyd has gotten the last word. Three-inch tall letters march down his cast in bright blue Sharpie reading: BOYD IS INNOCENT. ELSIE GOT AWAY WITH IT. BEST WISHES FOR A SPEEDY RECOVERY.
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(no subject)
Date: 2013-12-19 01:05 am (UTC)We are practically hopping on one leg at my house waiting for Justified to return next month.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-12-19 03:58 am (UTC)I have a couple different Boyds in my head: I've got one soap opera wherein he really did become a preacher, and there's a lot of drama with his ex-girlfriend, the son he didn't know they had, and her in-laws.... Another flips the show and has Boyd as the US Marshal and Raylan as the good old boy outlaw.
So yeah, I'm looking forward to January, too--!
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