[once he's gotten past the whole... fake wife fake life thing, not over it, for reasons that don't go baring into - though let it be said it's best for everyone involved there's no images of archer's mother or any children in the house, real or fake, as that can of hornets is best left unkicked - archer busies himself.
when he's not drinking (rare) or seeing how far he can push passive aggression with the neighbours (rarer), he's tailing anyone who seems suspicious or whom he suspects might have something to do with what's going on, seeing as this kind of unwilling assimilation isn't actually something he's dealt with before. he'll have to get creative with the skills he usually falls back on.
given the town is made up of robbies, suspicious turns out to be just about everyone he sees. that's annoying. archer decides to cut out the middle man, circumvent all the effort and just break into the houses that look like someone important lives in them. even with the nerve damage and needing a cane, he's an excellent spy, after all.
...mostly.
maybe it's late, maybe it's early, either way archer is wine drunk and currently attempting to or climbing in through your back window.]
b. rein-oh-dear
--Again? Are you goddamn kidding me?! [hey. guess who's just gone through the wrong door and ended up in the stupid christmas village again? god, he's tired, and the elves nearby seem to jitter around in place for a moment, only stopping when archer shakes his head and refocuses himself into the moment.
he knows exactly what he has to do.
not much later, he's holding a huge thermos flask and seems significantly happier as he flops down onto a bench near the frozen pond.] Peppermint frickin' Patty! Wooo!
c. ho ho no
[despite it not really being his preferred style, archer found himself a pretty low-key burgundy waistcoat to wear with his white dress shirt and black slacks. seemed he had a matching jacket at one point, but if the mud on his elbows is any indication, it's... somewhere outside.
he's standing in a place where he has a good view of the mayor, flask in one hand and cane in the other, leaning on it as he watches the speech with narrowed eyes. after taking a swig from the flask, he mutters to himself;] God, I can't wait to literally murder that asshole.
[he takes another long drink from the flask (probably in unison with harding) and pockets it, spending the next half hour half-heartedly chatting up some of the women present and being disturbed by their lack of willingness to cheat on their husbands in a broom closet. archer had intended to try and work some stuff out here, but he just ends up flicking pickles off the pickle tree and into passing people's drinks, smirking a little when it splashes onto them until he's eventually looking at what little information the townhall offers about the locale.]
There's got to be a bar or a club or something around here, I mean-- ugh. Eat a dick, California.
no subject
[once he's gotten past the whole... fake wife fake life thing, not over it, for reasons that don't go baring into - though let it be said it's best for everyone involved there's no images of archer's mother or any children in the house, real or fake, as that can of hornets is best left unkicked - archer busies himself.
when he's not drinking (rare) or seeing how far he can push passive aggression with the neighbours (rarer), he's tailing anyone who seems suspicious or whom he suspects might have something to do with what's going on, seeing as this kind of unwilling assimilation isn't actually something he's dealt with before. he'll have to get creative with the skills he usually falls back on.
given the town is made up of robbies, suspicious turns out to be just about everyone he sees. that's annoying. archer decides to cut out the middle man, circumvent all the effort and just break into the houses that look like someone important lives in them. even with the nerve damage and needing a cane, he's an excellent spy, after all.
...mostly.
maybe it's late, maybe it's early, either way archer is wine drunk and currently attempting to or climbing in through your back window.]
b. rein-oh-dear
--Again? Are you goddamn kidding me?! [hey. guess who's just gone through the wrong door and ended up in the stupid christmas village again? god, he's tired, and the elves nearby seem to jitter around in place for a moment, only stopping when archer shakes his head and refocuses himself into the moment.
he knows exactly what he has to do.
not much later, he's holding a huge thermos flask and seems significantly happier as he flops down onto a bench near the frozen pond.] Peppermint frickin' Patty! Wooo!
c. ho ho no
[despite it not really being his preferred style, archer found himself a pretty low-key burgundy waistcoat to wear with his white dress shirt and black slacks. seemed he had a matching jacket at one point, but if the mud on his elbows is any indication, it's... somewhere outside.
he's standing in a place where he has a good view of the mayor, flask in one hand and cane in the other, leaning on it as he watches the speech with narrowed eyes. after taking a swig from the flask, he mutters to himself;] God, I can't wait to literally murder that asshole.
[he takes another long drink from the flask (probably in unison with harding) and pockets it, spending the next half hour half-heartedly chatting up some of the women present and being disturbed by their lack of willingness to cheat on their husbands in a broom closet. archer had intended to try and work some stuff out here, but he just ends up flicking pickles off the pickle tree and into passing people's drinks, smirking a little when it splashes onto them until he's eventually looking at what little information the townhall offers about the locale.]
There's got to be a bar or a club or something around here, I mean-- ugh. Eat a dick, California.
wildcard
[ya'll know what to do.]