Staying busy was the name of the game and Raylan's latest attempt at avoiding idle hands was going through the abandon houses with a box, pulling what was wearable off their hangers and out of their drawers. The clothing store didn't restock like the food did, at least for the moment, and it kept him out from under too many eyes that might see how much the faint scars across the left side of his face actually bothered him. But once his box was full, he had to go and empty it, hang up what he'd collected before coming back for more.

But finding a dude screaming at the window wasn't what he expected to be greeted with when he got back. Eyes narrowing in suspicion and concern, Raylan ambled up with his hat, flannel, cowboy boots and all and lifted his chin a little as he spoke up.

"Hey, you-" But the 'you alright' didn't make it out. When Jeff turns around, Raylan shorts out, face pinching in clear uncompromised confusion. "What the hell?"

Yes, that was southern Jeff was hearing too.