Justified/Deadwood Crossover-You're Not In Kentucky Anymore Raylan
Rated: Fiction K-July 21, 2013-I own nothing
Raylan woke up early and hung-over as he does almost every morning, and today like most days his stomach was growling for his favorite breakfast, Apple Pie and Ice Cream. Raylan reached down for his crumpled jeans, slid them up, and then reached over and found his boots. His head still spinning, he thought that maybe it was time to hit the laundry mat, his jeans felt dirty and heavy, but that could wait, right now all he had on his mind was breakfast. Teetering around his shabby hotel room, still half asleep, he found his shirt, pulled on his boots and reached around for his car keys. "Man this place needs cleaning, I'll call housekeeping in a bit," he said while putting on his hat. "Maybe I left the keys in the car" he mumbled as he went outside. Squinting from the sun, he fumbled in his coat for his sunglasses but had no luck finding them. His head pounding, he looked around for his shiny black Lincoln, but could only see horses through the clouds of dust.
"Morning Sheriff, cook is fixing up some ham and grits if you'd like," EB said cheerfully and while still confused, Raylan looked EB's outfit up and down and then said back "Good Morning, but thanks anyway, I'm really just wantin' some Apple Pie and Ice Cream" and walked down the street toward what he thought was the nearest 7-Eleven. EB stood there scratching his head and wondered what the hell the Sheriff meant by Ice Cream? Convenience store Apple Pie and Ice Cream isn't all that good Raylan thought to himself, but in my condition, I can't be walking all the way to Aunt Mags place, I gotta get to work. Wandering through the town of Deadwood, Raylan felt like he was dreaming, the air smelled like bacon being fried up with some eggs and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air beside the stench of what seemed to be horse manure.
"What's going on, where am I?" he says to the next person he sees, a still drunk from the night before women dressed like Calamity Jane in the old movie he watched the night before. "You're in Deadwood, you cocksucker, now move over before I puke up my whiskey soaked biscuits on your boots."
Boots, hat, gun, I feel like myself he thought, but this isn't Kentucky, where is the
7-Eleven? Thinking it may clear his head Raylan continued down the street and stumbled toward the aroma of strong coffee creeping out of what looked like an old saloon. "Come on in," said a barely dressed women, Jules will cook you up some eggs and meat. "I just want some Apple Pie and Ice Cream," said Raylan. "Ice cream, you must be from Canada," said the whore as she grabbed his arm and led him into the Gem Saloon, "but along with your eggs and meat, Jules will open up some canned peaches for you if you'd like and I'll make certain she knows not to use the cinnamon this time".
A few minutes went by and when Raylan looked down at his table, what he saw was a steaming tin mug of black coffee, fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, honey and a bottle of bourbon whiskey next to the dish full of canned peaches. Still confused, Raylan thought to himself "I guess my hangover is worse than I thought, I seem to be myself, but still can't find my car and well, I guess I can get used to the breakfast bourbon pored over the peaches instead of my favorite Apple Pie and Ice Cream, it is a little chilly here."
With a full belly, he got up from the rickety chair, walked out of the Gem Saloon back into the bright sun and once outside, he felt something under his boots. He bent down and picked up a set of keys, found his shiny black Lincoln and got in. "I gotta give up the whiskey," he said to himself as he drove off with a pounding head and the site of the 7-Eleven in his rear view mirror.