The downside to having been born and raised in a small town was the way one another communicated – Starting a conversation with a stranger didn’t seem out of the ordinary, considering everyone know one another in some capacity, some manner. You were usually met with a neighbor, a friend, a coworker – Someone who knew far too much about you, but would never admit to it, only gossip at the next book club meeting. It was easy to tell who wasn’t from Olympus by the way they reacted to it, whether it be confusion or a forced attempt at being casual with a stranger. He squints as the man speaks – He’s someone Andy has never seen before, but there’s something about the way he carries himself that feels familiar and foreign all at once, like he’s meeting someone he saw in a dream.
Taking another drag of his cigarette, he arches a brow at the other man. Guilty as charged. That one’s mine. A siren goes off within him, all of the warning bells ringing to tell him Danger, Andy Thane! Run in the opposite direction! He doesn’t let this feeling show through his face, his body language. This man is a stranger, and from what he can tell from the small amount of information he has now – He’s sure to be an enemy, as well. “Yours, huh?” Andy replies easily, feigning some sort of shocked disbelief, sizing the other man up as if the fact that the people the van were his guys wasn’t believable. A pause follows for a moment, another deep inhale following before Andy drops the cigarette butt on the ground. In one swift movement, he steps on it with the heel of his boot, smoke pushing past his lip, stepping closer to the man in question. Andy has a couple inches on him, enough to warrant looking down as he speaks. Now that they’re closer, there’s something truly familiar about this man, something he still can’t place – Maybe they’d gone to school together, he had once lived in Olympus. It’s like he’s looking at picture in a frame on a mantel, looking at the image of someone from years ago. He can’t place it, but it’s a feeling that finds him too easily, unnerving him slightly. A presence that reminds him of a ghost he didn’t know haunted him.
“Mind tellin’ me what your boys are doin’ hangin’ by place, by my clubhouse?” he begins, nodding over to the van in question with his head. He’s not close enough to enter the other man’s personal space, but enough to make his seriousness evident. His hands push into his pockets, tone calm and level despite the narrowed look he’s giving the other man. His tone, the body language – It conveys nothing short of someone ready to pounce on prey if needs be, something of a warning coming from the way he holds himself. “S’a real invasion of privacy, if ya ask me.” He continues, remaining calm, as if he’s making a small talk with a stranger while threatening them with a knife. “We don’t take too kindly to strangers snooping around here.”
Jefferson was careful to keep his body language as non-threatening as possible, not wanting to make an outright enemy of someone that would be a good asset to have. And he supposed there was something to be said for family in the mix. Though Jefferson’s definitions of family currently mostly functioned on that of blood, perhaps he’d end up making an exception for those that would have been his brothers in another life. But that was far off in the future, if it were present at all— and Jefferson already knew he’d never want to share something like the title of family with an imbecile like Anthony Thane. As Anthony asked for confirmation when it came to the identity of his car, Jefferson gave a simple and casual nod, putting his hands into his pockets.
As Andy stepped towards him, Jefferson suppressed an internal sigh. Intimidation tactics were ones he was far too used to, but he’d be a shit ATF agent if he actually gave into them. He simply stood where he was, continuing on with his relaxed expression. Jefferson didn’t feel the need to rise to the challenge, rather confident in himself and his abilities to not need to rely on something as silly as puffy out his chest and peacocking around. These motorcycle gang members were really all the same, weren’t they? “Snooping?” he asked with an easy chuckle, again not rising to the animosity in Andy’s voice. He’s cool, collected— apparently not much like his biological father when it comes to anger if the stories from his mother are meant to be believed. When Jefferson’s anger does come, it’s ice cold. Chilling in a way that makes the object of it fear him more than they would a buffoon yelling and storming about. But that anger is stowed away at the moment. “A man’s got to live, hasn’t he?” he tried for a foolish little joke, jerking his head in the direction of the grocery store. “Groceries, and all that.”
But there’s something else Jefferson knows about Andy. He hasn’t even been a year out of jail, and any man in their right mind would do well to be wary about a federal agent capable of making arrests. But Jefferson won’t press on the fear just yet. Instead he goes for the angle he started on with Anthony, the one the warring gangs have made all too easy to extort. Their violent rivalry. “We were looking for information on the Hatfields to your McCoys. I think you call them the Trojans? As far as I’m concerned— they’ve been the real trouble as of late. Shooting into an otherwise peaceful crowd? Not exactly something to ignore, is it?”
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