Slingin' from the hip, never the heart. | Open Post

[tinstar]

Raylan's job took him everywhere, from Harlan to Los Angeles to Paris. The Marshals service was demanding but Raylan leaned into the work, traveling as needed to get to get his man.

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[conning]

The first time he'd been outside of New York State in over three years, and he and Peter had ended up in Kentucky. Granted, it was Lexington, which landed it in the "It could be worse, I guess" category of travel destinations, but that wasn't the point.

The first time in over three years, and he was in Kentucky, and he wasn't even sure why. It was a case, Peter said. That was basically what Neal knew about the situation. Something something Detroit mob, something something seized art, something something Manhattan white collar unit case.

He minced through the Lexington courthouse in Peter's wake, feeling wildly overdressed and, for once, not in a good way. There was standing out, and then there was sticking out, and he was doing the latter. Peter at least had the benefit of the FBI uniform, that was to say, a middling-quality suit that had been worn several years past the expiration date of the style. Neal hadn't bothered to tailor his clothes to the region, which left him with little choice but to lean into it. Smile at the women who walked by. Hold the doors open with little half-bows, wear his hat at just a bit more jaunty of an angle.

When they stepped off the elevator and Neal realized they were heading for the US Marshals' offices, he almost stopped dead. He caught up with Peter just in time to walk inside, whispering in the man's ear, "Really? We're helping the Marshals Service?"

[tinstar]

The FBI uniform stuck out just as much as Neal's hat, people openly staring at the fedora more than the suit with it, by and large - they were used to the latter coming through now and then but Jazz hadn't exactly found a fond home in the middle of Lexington, the tryhard city in Kentucky. Being the capital had that effect if you understood anything about the unfortunate land and people around it.

The office was pretty transparent in all the glass that it had and the back most conference room had the most bodies in it, but it was Tim, sitting at his desk, who stood up and stepped around to greet them. The elevator dinged behind the closing glass doors and they were promptly pushed back open by one tall, too lean man in a hat.

"Heya, how can I help you," Tim started, glancing at Raylan who was glancing at the obvious strangers to town from under his own hat as he slipped past them with a polite 'Scuse me' as he went past them and into the bustling conference room that introduced the hatted cowboy with a 'Raylan, good-' by a stout older man, obviously the Chief. Tim smiled faintly, lifting his eyebrows with a little tilt of his head to draw the two men back to his question after the noise is muted by the closing glass door.