One is a ‘suit’, that only he can call a suit. It’s his sweatpants, his jeans, his pajamas that he’s been wearing since that morning even though Jack has been begging him to change into normal clothes. It’s the comforting one, the cozy one, the freeing one. This suit is the one of smiles, the one with paintball splatters and ink stains, the one of staying up until four in the morning just because they can. This suit is one of trust. This is the suit of Geoff Ramsey.
The other is the proper business suit. This is a freshly cleaned jacket, suit, and tie, all matching perfectly. This is an uncomfortable suit, but not for him. He is perfectly at ease with his outfit, making it work for him. The people who are on the receiving end of this are the ones who are uncomfortable, because they know-you either agree with whatever Ramsey wants or you die trying. This is the suit of fake smiles, deception, and questions that demand answers. This is the suit of the Kingpin.
One is the genuine laugh, when Gavin trips, when Michael goes insane because he’s losing Mario Party. It’s them instigating fights between people with a simple “What happened, Ryan?”. This laugh is sunshine, intense pillow fights, and laughing about something at three AM that wouldn’t be funny any other time. It’s hugs when you’re too happy to contain it, it’s smiling and laughing until your sides hurt. This is the laugh of Jack Pattillo.
The other is the fake laugh, when someone in interrogation thinks they have the upper hand. It’s instigating a monologue with a simple “Could you explain to this idiot what’s going to happen, Vagabond?” This laugh is terror, knife fights, and bruises that hurt for weeks. It’s grappling someone in order to get them into handcuffs, it’s screaming until your throat goes numb. This is the laugh of the Second in Command, Beardo.
One is the face you get to see. It’s him walking around with the rest of the crew, giving Gavin a piggyback ride. It’s genuine, and really only truly seen at the penthouse with the other guys. Even when he’s scaring the others, he always has a smile on his face-especially when someone says they’re scared of him now. “Really? Now? Now that you’ve seen me throw a knife you’re finally scared of me?” It’s the face of sincerity and truth, love and trust, smiles and laughter. This is the face of Ryan Haywood.
The other is face you have to see. It is a face you avoid at all costs because chances are, if you see that face and have done something wrong, you are dead. No two ways about it. This is the mask he wears, instilling fear into all who see it. It’s the face of not caring if blood gets on him, of staring at people pleading for their pathetic lives, of listening but not really listening. It’s the face of hatred and spite, of revenge and insults, of dishonesty and malice. This is the face of the Vagabond.
One is the voice when he is heisting with them, when you run into him (somehow) on the street, and he sings out a “Sorry, love!” This is the voice that flubs words and confuses himself mid-explanation. This voice is laughter, hugs after being separated for far too long, and joke-telling at four in the morning. This is explaining to someone just how much you love them, it’s making fun on the little things. This is the voice of Gavin Free
The other is the voice where you just agree with whatever he says if you know what’s good for you. This is the voice that can convince fifty guns trained on him to “Put them down so we can talk, okay loves?” This is a voice of threats carried through, speaking clearly and succinctly, and silver-tongued shrewdness. This voice is manipulation, a stab in the back, a lie told at breakfast. This is listing off the ways one can be tortured, it’s destroying the mind. This is the voice of the Golden Boy.
One you’ll only hear if you’re a bystander. It’s the happiest yell you will ever hear in your life. Even when he’s screaming at Gavin for bringing along a golden deck of cards on a fucking heist, “Honestly, how much of an idiot are you!?”, he’s still smiling and anyone who can hear knows he’s probably going to be annoying the other right back within the next 30 seconds. This yell is sunshine, bonfires with friends, and nerf gun wars. It’s smiling through the pain when your friend punches you, it’s trying to get their attention from across the room. This is the yell of Michael Jones.
The other yell is the one you don’t want to hear. It comes out when someone has fucked with the wrong people. “Where’s Jack, fucker?!” Sometimes this yell isn’t even a yell-it’s a complete monotone voice while someone is getting tortured, asking questions that demand answers. This yell is sunburns, burning buildings with screaming people inside, and an outnumbered gunfight. This is utter pain from being beat up, screaming because someone is on the verge of passing out from pain. This is the yell of Mogar.
One you’ll see when he’s out on the street, just messing around. It’s worn when he’s lounging around the penthouse, going out to bars, or performing petty crimes with the lads. This is the hat he is most comfortable in, where he blends in with the crowd. This hat is sweatpants, jeans, and smiles. It’s comfort, being wrapped up in a blanket in front of a fire the first day it snows, it’s smiling because you’re wearing your favorite shirt. This is the hat of Jeremy Dooley.
The other hat is the hat of negotiations and terror. It’s the hat that demands to stand out from the crowd, so that you notice it, and him. It draws your eye, so you see him wherever he is. It is sharp suits, shiny jewelry, and sharp, deadly glares. It is nails sharp enough to cut a bitch, it’s a smile with a hint of malice behind it-enough to unnerve you but not enough for you to correctly estimate how dangerous he is. This is the hat of Rimmy Tim.
Some say there are two Fake AH Crews. This is false. There is one Fake AH Crew.
The other is just a family.