While Andrew Jackson was not expecting a fight, he was certainly ready for one in spite of not knowing his full capabilities quite yet.

"Two of them slanty-eye types and one of them not so slanty-eye types. The not-slant-eye must be same as me. One of them 'servants', probably of the 'Rider' persuasion. Yes..." the Archer remarked, mumbling in a barely audible tone to himself with an accent which made him near impossible to understand. This was all among the rest of the commotion, seeing the three collecting their bearings, Jackson impatiently tapping the side of his rifle with his right index finger.

"Yes. I believe a good ol' ceasefire would do just fine. It'll give the little girly here some time to change. While I was up in limbo or whatever, last time Uncle Sam gave somebody a break, the damn fools attacked anyways. It was on their holiday too. For now though, I'm gonna trust all y'all." the President replied, looking out to the adults, then turning his attention down to his Master.

"You hear that?" he asked, stroking the girl's cheek where he hit her. With a light pat, he sent her off. "Get changed. Don't give me any of that 'Archer' shit either. It's Andrew Jackson. You can call me Jackson."