The joke at least gets another huff of an amused breath from the Marshal and a wry little passing curl of his lips. Alright fine, it was funny, but he refused to acknowledge that out loud. Too much weird in the way.

California, great. At least those observational skills hadn't suffered being here. God what he'd do for a beach and some flipflops. For all the cowboy that Raylan carried, he was exactly one pair of flipflops away from being a beach bum. Which was why he enjoyed his Miami assignment so much.

"It's the hat isn't it. I get that a lot. I'm further south - Kentucky. Harlan, specifically, not that I expect you to know where that is. Google hasn't even found it yet."

Raylan saw the stuff and tuck of shit behind Jeff's smile - too strange a sight to see on his own face. He couldn't argue that that was his face, at least - the way his face had been before Mathis added the scars on the left hand side. He tried to judge how old his body double here was, but much like everyone else, it was a hard guess. Good news, he supposed.

His eyes narrowed at the question, chin lifting a little bit in a friendly suspicion. "Second time today I've heard that. Bard. Gift. Somehow I don't think you're talkin' about bein' in a talent show. Let's go alternate dimension - you play the piano too?" One finger came out to lazily gesture at him with the question. "My only Gift is shootin' and my job."

Well, and drinking and being generally a fucking mess under an uncrackable veneer, but you were what life demanded, sometimes.