There are a thousand options that spring into his head at the question (Lincoln, New York, Liberty, Tallapoosa, St. Louis, New Orleans, Jackson, I don't have one, Mobile, Las Cruces, and half a dozen others that flit across his brain) but he narrows it down within a heartbeat.
He needs something that can account for that soft velvet drawl that he can't hide from his voice, no matter how much red desert dust he's inhaled into those lungs, and he wants to keep it something he knows well enough to describe. It was the last place that truly felt like home, (besides Lincoln, but it hurts to think about the Tunstall bunk house and dinners 'round the table with the boys so he can't use that) so he glances over at the man and responds.
"New Orleans, sir. Well, just outside the city proper, t'be honest, but that's where we went to pick up the post."
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He needs something that can account for that soft velvet drawl that he can't hide from his voice, no matter how much red desert dust he's inhaled into those lungs, and he wants to keep it something he knows well enough to describe. It was the last place that truly felt like home, (besides Lincoln, but it hurts to think about the Tunstall bunk house and dinners 'round the table with the boys so he can't use that) so he glances over at the man and responds.
"New Orleans, sir. Well, just outside the city proper, t'be honest, but that's where we went to pick up the post."