Confessions of a One-Track Mind

"Mind telling me about that fella in your bathtub?" Raylan says, quickly closing the door behind him.

Dittany Crowe beams at him. "That's just Albert. Don't worry, Marshal, he's harmless."

"Really? He didn't look too happy to see me."

"Well sure, on account of, that there is his bathroom and he isn't used to strangers just barging in on him."

"Give him my apologies. Tell him I was looking for your cousin, Cletus," Raylan pushes his hat back and gazes at the door. "Have you two been together long?"

"About a year. Last time I was down in Florida visiting my folks, I went out for a walk, and I saw Albert and it was love at first sight."

Raylan nods. The more he sees of the Crowe family, the more inclined he is to believe most anything. It seems like not so long ago that he had Dewey Crowe pegged as the nuttiest pile of squirrel poop he'd ever seen, but Dittany just might take the prize.

"I couldn't help myself," she's saying. "He was just so little and awkward and cute, flopping back and forth. So I brought him home and gave him a good dinner and we've been together ever since."

"Does your landlord know about him?"

Luray waves her hand airily. "Landlord wouldn't care. Albert's a gentleman," she says. "You act like he's gonna poop on the carpet or tear up the vertical blinds. He's perfectly happy just the way he is."

"If you say so. If Cletus drops by, ask him to give me a call. He's not in trouble, I just I need to ask him about his old cellmate, Danny Rugg."

"I'll do that."

"Take care, Dittany," he says as he heads out the door--because a gal keeping a two-foot long alligator in her bathtub needs to be very, very careful indeed.

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Justified, Raylan/Rachel, he kinda likes being put in his place
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/501873.html?thread=73899633#t73899633


Justified -- Suppertime Blues

Raylan hates the hospital. He's been stuck here for 24 hours, being observed for a possible concussion and having his fractured leg set, but he's getting antsy. So far, Art's been in to give him Hell for screwing up in pursuit of the suspect. Boyd has visited and written rude things on his cast while he was doped up. Loretta has called looking for a ride to some concert or other.

Of course, that's in between having his temperature and blood pressure taken every time he gets comfortable and being fed questionable-looking things that don't taste like anything in particular. Supper is brown and green. Theoretically, the brown part is some kind of meat with gravy, but he honestly has no idea what kind of vegetable the other stuff is supposed to be. Hell, maybe it's soylent green.

There's also a little side dish of apple sauce. It does taste vaguely like apples, but awfully puny ones. Just thinking about what it ought to taste like puts him in mind of his Aunt Helen's apple crisp, tart and spiced with cinnamon, the apples cooked until they're soft, and how the crunchy topping was sweet and buttery. He regards the ersatz goo on his tray with disfavor.

There's no knock on his door, just a blur of pin-striped charcoal and Rachel enters carrying a plain brown shopping bag.

"You know I caught your suspect, right?" is her greeting.

"Art said. "

"Honestly, Raylan, what were you thinking, charging after her down those icy steps?"

"That she was wanted on fifteen counts of cashing Social Security checks that weren't hers," he says, sniffing. "Rachel, what's in that bag?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in." She looks at the tray in front of him. "Seeing as you already have a perfectly good dinner...."

"I wouldn't feed this slop to pigs," he grumbles, "and if I did, I'd probably get in trouble with the Humane Society."

There's a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You know, Raylan, there are starving orphans--"

"Technically, I *am* an orphan, and if I don't get some real food soon, I *will* be starving."

Rachel laughs and opens the bag. "You'd better eat it all," she says, mock-threatening.

The aroma makes his stomach growl audibly. He nods, licks his lips.

"We have fried chicken." Two golden-tan drumsticks emerge from a packet of foil. He sinks his teeth into the first one as a plastic container joins the feast. Rachel cracks the lid One whiff and he knows it's collards with bacon. "And I hope you like greens. If you're good and finish it all, there's dessert."

"You're an angel," he says fervently, grabbing the hospital's plastic fork and digging into the tender greens. They're moist and delicately salted from the bacon in them.

"Biscuit," she offers, unwrapping one from a napkin, and he uses it to soak up the juice from the collards.

"Pot-licker", they'd called it at home. His mama and Aunt Helen had both made it the same way, not surprising--thery'd both learned how from Granny--but Winona had never been much of a cook. Her biscuits came out of a can, and she didn't even like collards--said they smelled like burning rubber cooking.

Raylan doesn't have to be urged to eat. He applies himself to Rachel's gift and lets her scold him about his reckless ways, and it could be his mother or Aunt Helen chiding him for tearing his Sunday shirt or giving him what-for for any of his many boyish misdeeds. He chews and nods, and when the aide comes in to take his dinner tray, he just holds on to the foil and tupperware and makes sure that's all she takes.

There's nothing left when he's done. The drumsticks are gnawed down to the nub, the collards are gone, the container wiped clean with the biscuit, every crumb of which he's devoured.

Rachel looks at the scant remains and smiles. As she reaches into the bag, Raylan says, "If that's apple crisp, I'll marry you."

"Lucky me," she says. "It's chocolate cake. Coca-cola cake, to be exact."

"That's good too," Raylan says with alacrity. Aunt Helen made that every year for his birthday, and he flashes on her big pottery mixing bowl and being allowed to lick the spoon.

This has a layer of fudgey frosting atop dark, rich cake and the first divine chocolate mouthful makes him moan with contentment.

"Marry you?" Rachel chuckles, stashing the foil-wrapped bones and the empty tupperware into the bag. "Why in the world would I want to do that? I get enough of you at work. "

"You could stay home and cook."

"Not me. You'd be back in here with food poisoning on a regular basis."

"Introduce me to the cook," he suggests, words slurred by a forkful of chocolate.

"It would serve you right if I did," Rachel says, and starts talking about her aunt, and how jealous her uncle is, and Raylan just smiles and eats his cake.


These version is somewhat longer than the one posted due to their comment size limit. See http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/503879.html?thread=74030151#t74030151
Follow-up of sorts to http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/486469.html?thread=72788293#t72788293

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My yard is mowed! Also got a branch that's been blocking my driveway whacked back. That'll make getting in and out easier.

Finally made a WalMart run and got light bulbs---for some reason, they all seen to go at once---and a few other bits and bobs I've been running out of. Like duct tape, which I was using as bandage adhesive. I had plain white---now I have leopard print. Heh heh. I *did* yield to temptation at one of the DVD bins and snagged "Death Race" for $5.

I'm midway through reading "Raylan", which is...odd. It feels like Leonard put season two and season three in a blender and hit "puree". Or whoever was writing for the show picked a plot here and a character there...bite my tongue, it feels kinda like fan fiction.

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Title: Fiddle
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Spoilers for season 3
Rating/Work-safeness: PG for canon violence
Approximate word count: 450
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost
Summary: Boyd's thoughts after the events of "Slaughterhouse". He's not dumb, you know he's going to figure out what's really going on....

( If Arlo didn't spill the beans...that just leaves one other person who was here that night.  )
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I have two kinds of antibiotics and some very welcome hydrocodone. They did a culture for MRSA and I get to go back for a follow-up on Friday, ka-ching.

The doc shook his head, said it was "Pretty bad", but that I'd done the right thing by not disturbing the site. He cleaned it lightly with hydrogen peroxide and dressed it again---his version did not involve duct tape.

(ETA, the iPhone came in very handy. Because the whatever it was was in a very inconvenient place to inspect---my days of being THAT double-jointed are over---I got in the habit of taking arms-length pix with the iPhone, and thus was able to show Dr. K. a time-lapse chronicle of it from Thursday til the present.)

He's concerned about a few things, like my blood pressure, which was a staggering 150/100---on the other hand, I've been in constant pain for most of the last week, so that may be circumstantial.

Right now, I'm just going to take my meds and spend the next few days taking an Egyptian vacation,, cruising down de Nile. And then we'll see....

The very nice news, though, is that since my last visit there in June of 2009, I'm down 40 pounds!!! I was expecting to hear maybe 20-25, but 40?! GO, ME!!!

Mb and I popped into Publix so I could get my meds. Getting out of Mb's car, I had a slipper malfunction. These are ratty old plush mules---leopard print---and they were litterally the only footwear I could get my bandaged foot into. Well, the sole separated from the upper and the foam sandwiched in the middle came out. I grumbled, pulled the duct tape out of my bag, and made a crude repair---but I'm going to need some new slippers. *le sigh*

I got a few foodstuffs, hoping that my appetite will come back---seriously, I think I've had maybe four meals in the last five days, and small ones at that---and some real gauze for dressings. I also found a 25' extension cord to replace the purloined one. Oh joy, maybe now I can do some frackin laundry! Which would be a Good Thing, otherwise I'm gonna have to go commando to Friday's appointment.

Season finale of Justified tonight...I'm half looking forward to it, because there are so many wheels-within-wheels spinning---on the other hand, no more til NEXT SPRING, wah!

Okay, I'm gonna go prop my foot up, wait for the pills to kick in and watch today's Adam-12. Which reminds me, thanks, karaokegal, for the pimpage.

And thanks, dine---I found your CD and the dragon card in my mailbox today, which is the first time I've checked it since last Thursday. I'll give it a listen soon and let you know what I think. It certainly sounds intriguing.

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I nodded off for a late afternoon nap, and just woke from an odd little dream.

Background---this morning, I was joking with BigRed that I have descended to the point where I can only tell what day of the week it is by what's on TV. As in, last might was Alcatraz (Monday), so today must be Tuesday (Justified).

Which perhaps accounts for the dream wherein Timothy Olyphant was painting my garage. (Oh, it gets better.) I'd just taken a nap---why I was napping in my garage, IDK, but I was slightly surprised to see Tim there...since Walton Goggins had been there when I dozed off. Tim and his assistant were painting the interior of my garage.

Said garage didn't have nearly the amount of crap in it as my real garage. The color was RED. Really most sincerely red. The cabinets had been stained dark brown, and I was going for Mediterranean style.

Tim was trying to do some kind of stained-glass technique for a mural on the back of the garage door, using a can of spray paint. He wasn't satisfied with the results and painted over it, remarking that he would just "freehand it in". He asked me to please get him something to lean on, and darn it, I jumped up to oblige and woke myself up.

What the fuck, self? Okay, so the last thing I watched before I fell asleep was some DIY show where they were remodeling a laundry room---mine is at the far end of my garage===and one scene had them painting it---beige!---but how did my sub-conscious morph it into that?! *marvels*

Mind you, I don't know WHO he was. It wasn't Raylan, it wasn't 47, it certainly wasn't Thomas Gabriel or Seth Bullock, and I don't *think* it was his character from Catch and Release. I'm pretty sure Tim himself doesn't randomly commit acts of spray paint in strange women's garages.

So who was my knight with a paintbrush? IDK, but somewhere in my labyrinthine synapses, he's waiting for me to come back with something for him to lean on to steady his hand while he paints. Poor guy's gonna have to keep waiting; I never have mastered the technique of going back to a previous dream.

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Title: Epilogue for the Devil
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Spoilers for "The Devil You Know"
Rating/Work-safeness: PG13 for gore
Approximate word count: 350
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost
Summary: The next couple minutes after the end of episode 3.04, "The Devil You Know".

( Epilogue for the Devil  )
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I am so happy for Margo Martindale I could burst! She did an absolutely amazing job as Mags Bennett last season on Justified. Her character was aptly described as "the love child of Tony Soprano and Paula Deen", and if anybody in the cast was going to get an Emmy, I'm glad it was her.

Tim, Walton, you were robbed, but there WILL be other seasons.

I was also pleased for Melissa McCarthy; I've always liked her. Ditto Maggie Smith.


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OMG, Justifiedseason finale!!! This is going to leave a big old gaping hole in my Wednesday nights, at least until Sons of Anarchy comes back on. (Or was that Tuesdays?) Anyway, it was a great hour of TV, and I don't think it's a spoiler to say Margo Martindale deserves an Emmy. Srsly.

Last night, I watched Death Race, which I ended up liking a lot. (Enough that I started it over at the end to catch the first bit which I'd missed and ended up leaving it on in the background the whole way through. Jason Statham's character was called "Frank" (short for Frankenstein) throughout most of the movie, and it wasn't until the end that I found out his name was Jensen.

Which of course threw me into a "what if" AU where it was Jensen Ackles instead of Jensen Ames and his toughest competition wasn't Machine Gun Joe but Machine Gun Jared. Much as I love Ian McShane (one of the things that lured me in, in fact!), I could see Jim Beaver doing a great job as Coach. Yeah, definite possibilites there...not that I'm likely to write it. Nothing is moving my muse these days.

T has given J Susie's computer(s). I'm going over there tomorrow to do a little pillaging and plundering of the terrabytes of stuff she's got. One of the things we're hoping to excavate eventually is her inventory of ceramics molds. There are FIVE ginormous hard-drives attached to this beast, so a certain amount of spelunking is involved.

And so it goes....
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Title: Five Things That Have Made Art Mullen Old Before His Time
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: None
Rating/Work-safeness: PG, OC death
Approximate word count: 1000
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Elmore Leonard, Graham Yost et al.
Summary A/N: I thought "Blaze of Glory" did a terrific job of showcasing the character of Art Mullen. Loved it! But I've liked Nick Searcy ever since his days on "American Gothic". Wednesday night, I was left scratching my head, going, "I didn't think he was THAT old." Just to be sure, I IMDb'ed him and found out that he's *barely* 52, which isn't exactly ancient. Time for some backstory to explain how Art has gotten a little banged-up along the way.

( Five Things That Have Made Art Mullen Old Before His Time )

Comments are treasured.
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Ahab has the attention span of a fruit fly. He channel surfs incessantly. Click, click, click, pause for ten seconds, click, pause, click, click click...PICK ONE, I want to scream. Stick with something! No, I didn't mean NASCAR.

He also dials the heat up to a sultry 80F, which I find intolerable. I am engaged in passive-aggressive war over the thermostat. Sweaters, man! Try them! Don't just sit around in your light-weight cotton shirt-sleeves and whine that you're cold.

Do I sound heartless? Sorry, but I don't give a fuck. I live in a house with NO heat save for space heaters, I've routinely survived 50-something indoor temps, 80 degrees, FFS? Is ridiculous.

He got it into his head that he wanted shrimp scampi. I went to Publix to get shrimp, only to discover that the sale advertised in flyer he had didn't start til the next day. So I went back the next day---with him, after his 9:30 AM doctor's appointment. Shopping with said fruit fly...not fun.

And may I just say, I don't even *LIKE* shrimp? These, especially, looked like they'd grown up in the recent gulf oil spill. So basically, I was cooking it for him, not us. The recipe was from Rachel Ray (whom I also don't like, perky little foodie wannabe), and the instructions called for heating a pan on high heat until water vaporized, adding oil, then garlic and crushed red pepper 'until fragrant'.

Until the smoke alarm goes off, is more like it. I ended up dumping the pan in the sink and bolting out the back door and yarking up bile on the patio.

When I could breathe again (not exaggerating, that was a truly toxic combo), I went back and started over. Lower heat, slower cooking time, Ahab said it was good, which may have saved his life, by that point, and tried to get me to have some. No fucking way.

Mind you, it hasn't been ALL bad. I've gotten to drive Ahab's car, which is quite nice (2009 Hyundai with all the amenities), and I didn't miss the season two premiere of Justified, which was---*flails*. I now completely understand what that reviewer meant when they described Mags Bennett as the love-child of Tony Soprano and Paula Dean. Wow! (And hopefully next week, we get more Boyd. I heart Boyd.)

Tomorrow I'm home again, thank your Mother/Father God.

I'll be off to bed in a little bit...as soon as I trip the thermostat.
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I finally got to see "True Grit" yesterday and thought it quite excellent. That young lady deserves an Oscar, and Jeff Bridges---well, I've only loved him for about 30 years.

Really good. Exquisite dialog with a precision of language that just blew me away. Kind of reminded me of Boyd Crowder, which is one of the things I love about him.

(Per Amazon, my season one of Justified has shipped---they had it at half-price, $19.99, so I preordered it a while back and am glad I did.)

One reason to carry a large purse---able to fit a bottle of soda, sandwich and a bag of York peppermint patties, thus negating the truly outrageous movie theater prices. $5 for a soda?! I don't freakin' think so!

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My Trauma DVDs arrived today, and I am enjoying it very much lots. While I was checking something on IMDb, I had to laugh---Kevin Rankin, who was the sweet gay paramedic on Trauma was also Boyd Crowder's sidekick Devil in the Justified pilot. It's a small world!

Pimp post is here: http://community.livejournal.com/yuletide/845186.html

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Blergh. I don't usually have nightmares, but this morning I woke from a double-header (after all of two hours sleep) and stayed awake. First one was something about a fight with a serial killer, the second segued out of it---I *thought* I was awake in my bedroom, and I could hear a group of guys in my back yard. I got out of bed and prowled down the hall in the dark, thinking if they attempted to break in that I'd dart back to the office and dial 911.

Woke with my heart hammering, pretty sure I was awake this time, halfway convinced that I'd left my keys in the front door (I hadn't), and since it was a little before 6 AM, and dawn was about to break, I tried to convince myself that it was safe to go back to sleep, but the flight-or-fight response was still strong.

In addition, I am either comming down with a headcold---sinuses are leaking madly---or I managed to give myself a bleach reaction by sitting in the shower scrubbing the walls during last night's cool-down. (Trying to soothe the monster heat-rash or flesh-eating bacteria on my chest.) Mb turned me on to Mr Clean Magic Erasers, which really do work wonders, even more so when assisted by spray-on Clorox cleaner. I've been working on my shower stall, which I'm pleased to say, no longer looks like a crossword grid from all the ickiness. So it could be a headcold, or a meltdown from bleach fumes, or hantaavirus. Managed to dig out some decongestant (need more) and a box of tissues (ditto) and am thinking longingly of bed.

Was supposed to go to a cooking demo at the library yesterday with Mb. She bowed out after a really rough Monday. I went alone and can say she didn't miss much. It was supposed to be summer rolls with rice paper---I expected something like a spring roll, which is crunchy, but they were rubbery and nasty and I was massively underwhelmed.

Picked up a few library books, then headed over the bridge. Got side-tracked from my plans by the sight of a "Clearance!" sign in the window of Fashion Bug. It's been so long since I've had any discretionary cash at all...I found pants in a 30 TALL marked down from $24.99 to $4 (I got two pairs, but there were more on the rack---but how many pairs of navy trousers does one gal need?) Got an orange tank for even less---maked down PLUS an additional 20% off because of a hole from the security tag that won't show under a jacket or shirt---and two tops, one white with an ornamental neckline (I'll get pix) and a pink and dark grey kimono-style top which fits divinely and will go with assorted pieces already in my wardrobe.

Spent upwards of an hour in there trying things on---much more than I actually bought. Tried several skirts, which either made my ass look five miles wide or I couldn't sit down in them. Got home and realized my mid-back hurts...probably from squirming in and out of all those outfits.

It may sound like I'm bellyaching, but I'm not; for the first time in quite a while, I'm not madly stressed about bills/food/gas money, and that's such a relief that I could probably shrug off MDR-TB. I'm such a cheery wench!

Clearly, I am spending too much of my free time thinking about Harlan County...I'm wanking more than writing, though. I have a happy little soap opera going in my head, which is wall-to-wall Boyd and a cast of OCs...I call it the "Pillar of the Community" 'verse. One of the books I snagged from the library was Elmore Leonard's "Tishamingo Blues". I also grabbed "White Trash Cooking". (What?!) Have been checking IMDb compulsively to find out when the DVDs of Justified Season 1 are coming out, but no word yet.

Speaking of OCs, I had a request from someone at ff.net to run my OC Tranh from Finish as a player character in a RPG. I said yes. It's a terrific compliment, and might lure another couple readers to it.

Can't think of anything else off the top of my head. At this rate, I'll sleep all afternoon, which will derail my attempts to get back to something like a normal sleep schedule. (Almost wrote 'sheep' schedule. Uh-HUH.)

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Kripke and company practically beat my love for the show to death this season. I'm on the edge of being over it, although there are bunnies slinking around trying to lure me back in. But unless season 6 rocks my ass off, the end is in sight. I can tell, because when I look at my f'list, I have irritated little spasms of "Enough with all the SPN stories, where the hell is all the Justified fic?!" (I'm jonesing, dispite being on every Justified com I can find. It's averaging less than one fic a day. Not nearly enough!)

Show of hands---has anybody else on my f'list taken a shine to Justified? (And if not, WHY NOT?!)


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I've been over on Amazon.com contemplating Justified. It isn't out on DVD yet, there's no release date specified, but there's a prerelease purchase option for Seaaon One: $34.99 and free shipping. I happen to have a $20 gift credit, which I've been holding onto since Christmas, and I'm debating whether or not to part with $14.99---which would be a great deal, IMO---it's just that at the moment, that's my water bill. Or half a tank of gas. Weighed against my obsessive love for the show (and the fringe benefit of freeing up several hours of DVR space), I'm tempted but trying hard not to succumb.

I swear, I'm about ready to sell a kidney.

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Title: Nineteen Times Five
Authored by: vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Raylan/Boyd or Boyd/Raylan, you be the judge
Rating/Work-safeness: PG for one "damn" and it's just *barely* slash
Approximate word count: 650
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Elmore Leonard and FX Network. I am strictly non-profit. No disrespect meant to any coal miners, either.
Summary: Generated by amelia_17's inadvertant prompt of ambiguously gay duo, although I think it's more ambiguous than gay. I'll let you decide who the narrative voice is for yourself.

( 'We dug coal together when we were nineteen.'... The story of best friends Boyd and Raylan, young and wild, boys becoming men in the unforgiving depths of the mine. Just barely slash. )

Comments are shiny.

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