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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[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.