a rolling thunder, pouring rain

Anthony Thane was a lot of things but at least he usually knew how to keep his cool in public for the most part. Today, however was different. There was only so much he could take. He made his way to a Heinkien delivery truck and began to ask the guy for some beer. After his unsuccessful attempt, he raised his fist to the other man and knocked him to the floor before taking a case and spitting on the worker. 

“It ain’t what it looks like,” He finally spat out. “The beer was fuckin’ attacking me. I think t’s got a problem with me cause it ain’t my favorite.”

Jefferson had seen the entirety of the altercation, watched Anthony walk up to the man and his beer truck, and then punch him in the face and proceed to steal a case of beer. “The beer was attacking you,” he repeated— not as a question, but to process the amount of sheer stupidity that those words contained. “Unfortunately, that’s not gonna cut it.” Anthony had proved to be, somehow, too stupid to manipulate how quickly he wanted to. But blackmail was always a nice backup to get what Jefferson wanted.

“Hands against the car,” he said, as he procured a set of handcuffs, nodding towards the nearest car. “We can either do this peacefully without the cuffs, or everyone in town is gonna see Anthony Thane getting dragged into custody.”

The smirk that tugs up on on his features and the years that have aged him only make her drunken nickname for him seem that much more true. He does look like Cronus and it’s enough to make Rowan slightly uncomfortable, if only for the fact that it really does feel like her father in law is haunting her. “Could be worse Could be calling you Cronus the Second — at least I let you know you’re not the ugly one,” she shrugs with a tight grin. Her face turns to one of confusion, her own brows raising with curiosity. “You know my husband?” She asks, head tilting. Andy knows a lot of people so it’s not exactly a surprise, but it’s the way that he says it and the amusement on his face that makes Rowan ask. “Yeah, well. He married Rowan but Patsy likes to show up six drinks in.”   

“Yes, it’s awfully big of you to be so considerate in naming me. I mean— maybe it’d be more considerate to call me my actual name but...wouldn’t that just be boring?” he teased. “If you even...remember my real name,” he accused in the next breath, a smug little smirk already on his lips. She’d been awfully drunk that night all those years ago. But as he thought of that time, something else clicked in his mind. “Does this mean...the Reina you were looking for that night was Reina Thane?” What a small world, indeed. “I met him briefly at the grocery store. He seemed to think he might be able to smite me where I stood with sheer willpower alone,” Jefferson tried to joke about her husband. “Lucky for us.”

Seeing Reina in the store had made Jefferson feel something like twenty years younger for a moment, and it was always refreshing when he didn’t have to pretend like he was a good and positive force around someone. Most people here were people he had to keep his front with. But Reina...well she’d learned long ago what an ass he was. He hadn’t purposefully found her here, but he had gone to a bar he’d heard she tended to show up at every now and then. So imagine his luck when none other than Reina Thane waltzed through the door.

She must have spotted him, for soon enough she’d found the stool beside him, and he was already turning him towards her with his trademark smirk on his lips. “I hear there’s congratulations in order,” he began, letting her wonder what he might be speaking of before going on to clarify. “Let me buy you your first drink, at least. To help you celebrate.” He hadn’t chosen this place to meet her ‘by chance’ for no reason. After all...they’d met in bar all those years ago. “That is..if you’re sure you’re 21,” he teased, calling back to the questioning he’d done of her back then.

Patsy. The name makes her stiffen and she looks up from Scout, tilting her head slightly as she tries to place the man in front of her. Thinking back to anything she does in her Patsy days is a feat, though, seeing as she’s usually black out when she chooses to rear her ugly head, but after a few minutes a hazy memory from over a decade ago begins to make form — a man sitting at the bar, buying her a drink while she babbles on about how he looks so familiar, and then she drags him out on some bullshit mission to hide from Reina and Rhea for a few hours. “Not-Ugly-Cronus, long time no see.” She doesn’t remember his real name, though she’s sure that he probably told her at least a dozen times that night, and her cheeks flush with slight embarrassment. “Should probably get on a real name basis, though. Sober me usually goes by Rowan.” 

He could see her taking a minute to put the pieces together, to recall just exactly how this seeming stranger would know her name. It seemed like they clicked though when she called him Not-Ugly-Cronus, and his smirk widened. If only she knew how close to the truth she really was. “You always know just how to flatter me with that name,” he joked. “Maybe now that I’m here, I’ll get to have a look at a picture of Ugly-Cronus or something. Just to make sure you’re telling the truth.” As if he’d never seen a picture of his father before. But his joy only grew larger as she revealed the truth. “Andy’s wife?” he asks with a brow raised, thoroughly amused by this turn of events. “I thought Andy married a Rowan, not a Patsy,” he couldn’t help but joke, apparently ignoring her reveal of being named Rowan otherwise.

“I know who the fuck he was,” Although it was probably a good reminder for him. He didn’t really know names without context. “Does your family have some ties to him or somethin’?” He didn’t realize how stupid of a question that was until after he said it. “Cut the bullshit. No one comes to Olympus voluntarily. Why are you actually here?” Anthony agreed with his statement, knowing that was actually very true. “Tell me ‘bout it. I dunno why those motherfuckers are still allowed ‘round here.”

“Right...” was all Jefferson said to that. He was patience incarnate when he was trying to work his way into something, or into someone’s trust. Honey caught more flies than vinegar, after all. “No, not really. They just admire great leaders,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve heard you’re a pretty great leader yourself, though.” A lie, but Jefferson carried it off flawlessly. Hopefully Anthony’s ego would give Jefferson the in he needed. “I’m with the ATF, but I’m not here to be an enemy. Like I said, I’m rather certain the Trojans are the only ones that need containing at this point. So maybe we can make it so they’re not allowed around here.”

Two “brothers” down, and one to go. Thus far, Andy was coming in first for most decent, though Jefferson hadn’t been thrilled with their meeting. Still, it was hard not to top Anthony’s meeting. After all, the man had been relieving himself on a fire hydrant. But Jefferson still had hopes for the last one, Jeremiah. He hadn’t been to jail, which he hoped meant he was smarter than Andy, and Jefferson was fairly certain it would be impossible to be worse than Anthony.

Dearly hoping that this man had something more to offer him in terms of gaining the control or leg up he wanted in the Primoridials. It wasn’t even as if Jefferson wasn’t offering anything in return. He’d make sure the ATF would lay off their back as much as possible, or at least help them out of tight spaces. Of course he couldn’t lead with that. He didn’t know if he’d be ratted out or not. So both sides were lacking trust, which was a difficult place to be. But perhaps trust could start with the middle brother or...second youngest if one was including Jefferson. He’d posted up at a bar that he’d heard Jeremiah frequented, and hadn’t wasted the time to saunter over to the other man and slide a drink his way. “I’m Jefferson,” was the first thing he offered with an outstretched hand. “Before you ask— yes, I’m ATF, but please don’t panic like your brothers did,” he added on with a little chuckle. “I think Andy was convinced her could mentally smite me where I stood. I’m not here to be an enemy, though.”

He’s infuriating, to say the least, and it makes sense because that’s exactly how she remembers him to be. The digs thrown each other’s way, the back and forth between them — it’s nothing new. Once upon a time Reina may have found it charming, exciting even because for the first time she’d thought that she might actually have found someone who could keep up with her. Now, it’s just irritating. Jefferson’s snarky comments do nothing but leave her seething at him, and it’s not just like old times at all, except for the way her blood is pumping harshly through her veins. He should not still have this effect on her, she’s not a stupid teenager with delusions of grandeur anymore, and the fact that he does anyway is maddening.

She shouldn’t be surprised when he decides to follow her, the stubborn ass in him would never allow him to do otherwise but Reina goes rigid when she hears his voice behind her anyway. Her brows knit in confusion when he mentions her husband, but she genuinely does not want any explanation for that comment, preferring to be kept in the dark when it comes to Anthony’s stupidity. Reina plans on just ignoring him until he goes away, but one more jab has her turning on him abruptly. “What do you want from me, Jefferson?” Eyes narrowed, she crosses her arms in front of her, a clear sign that she’s very much over this little game of his. “Honestly, there has to be a reason you’re incessantly following me around the fucking grocery store so please, I’m all ears.”

He can see the blood boiling under Reina’s skin, and he’s waiting for the exact moment to drop all his idiotic ribbing and such to avoid Reina actually wanting to murder him. For a moment, in the beginning— Jefferson had considered re-introducing himself to her as the perfectly charismatic and likable man he pretended to be around most others, but he was fairly certain the woman would have never believed it. Besides...a part of him selfishly wanted to see how much Reina had changed, and the best way to gauge that was by being the person she’d known before. Or at least...being something close to it. 

And then they reach it. He recognizes the tone in her voice from years past, and the stubborn set of her jaw. He’s found the breaking point and he knows well enough to stop his jabs for the moment being. “Nothing,” he says with half a smirk, though he doesn’t expect her to believe that. Still...it wasn’t insulting her. “I just wanted to see how my old friend was doing. Whether you had a nice white picket fence and all that. Just wanted to see how far you’d come. You did well getting yourself looked after. I’m not surprised, though. I told you that you didn’t need my help.” The words aren’t exactly sincere, but they’re not as much as a lie as they could have been, and he wonders if she’ll be surprised by that. However, his motives for saying them were still ulterior. “I should get back, though. Gotta ice my foot and all,” he finishes with an accusatory and raised brow.

“Shit,” Rowan curses under her breath as Scout somehow manages to slip his collar, darting off down the street. Somewhere in the back of her mind she can hear her mother in law’s voice scolding her about her language in front of the baby, who is currently watching with wide eyes from the stroller as Scout books it about twenty feet away from them, stopping only when he finds something — or someone, rather– who catches his attention. Her own pace picks up, much to Benny’s delight and she quickly manages to catch up to the dog. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, slipping Scout’s collar back on and tightening it. “He’s friendly, I promise – just not used to  havin’ to take things so slow.” He wants to run, that much is evident. 

Jefferson hasn’t yet met Andy’s wife, though he’s heard and read her name enough to know it by now. Rowan. He’d heard she was a blonde, and a doctor to boot. But then again perhaps wife wasn’t the correct term. After all, he’d heard they’d been divorced despite living together currently. Jefferson would have tried to set up a less jarring introduction, but it seemed that fate had different plans as the German Shepherd ran up to him. He gave the dog a little pat before looking up to see a surprisingly familiar face, the beginnings of a smirk slinking over his lips as he remembered his encounter with the previously black out drunk woman. “Patsy? Is that you? I was beginning to think we’d never be reunited.” Would she even remember him? 

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.”