it's just another day

[undiagnosed]

Who: sterling archer (or randy randleman, rando calrissiano, Just Rando) and you!
When: throughout feb
Where: greene's, honeybees and a random street
What: Area Man Copes With Situation Poorly
Warnings: alcoholism, TBA



a. sterling archer, world's most dangerous... retail worker

[what was he going to do, join the SRPD and hope for a talent scout to pick him up for the FBI? yeah, no, that's hilarious. archer takes a good few months to actually accept he needs an income and-- even commit to lowering himself to one that isn't espionage. the odd jobs he takes around the place help fund his alcoholism and other frivolous spending but they were impermeant, which was the point. he's not going to be here long enough to need a job, he's going to find a way out or the others at the agency will come and get him, ray and pam. or even just him!

archer considers starting a PI firm - make the archer agency a reality, but then he'd have to go and have that conversation with the others and... ugh, no. too much effort.

he ends up in honeybees, practically walking into the sporting goods store and demanding a job, then being... really surprised when they just let him have it. he doesn't even mention his spy career! oh well. he knows about guns. he knows a lot about a lot of different kinds of weapons, actually, so he spends as much time as possible in the back and not interacting with the creepy santa rositans that mill in and out the store on a daily basis.

he's most likely to be caught upfront, rare as it is, unless you're one of his unfortunate coworkers, taking a colt commander to pieces to clean and reload, placing each part out methodically, and working with a careful hand anyone that doesn't know him well enough might be surprised he's capable of. if anyone approaches him they get a vague glare and:] No. On lunch.

[there's no food, but there's an open bottle of whiskey sitting next to him.]

b. greene with envy

[archer has been standing next to his shopping cart in greene's canned food aisle, staring at an off-brand can of spam-like he can see through the thin metal for a solid five minutes now.

he hates buying his own food. his own clothes. working in a place that isn't a spy agency. he'd been doing more of the former at home after aleistar had forced archer to kill him, but he's not getting any better at it. the cart's full of mostly alcohol and a mish-mash of vegetables and some expensive steak cuts, things that would be hard to make a proper meal out of. there's a large rottweiler with an obnoxious "service dog" vest on it standing at his feet, sniffing the air occasionally.

not that anyone's judging. or cares. sometimes you just gotta throw what you feel like buying into the trolley and then see what you can do with it, you know?

he tosses the can into the cart with a heavy sigh, watching with a dead, stony expression as the metal edge hits the neck of a bottle of scotch and shatters it. the amber liquid pours out all over his haul and drips through the bars and onto the linoleum floor.

no matter who saw this, archer is not shy about turning on his heel and walking away. god, he's so fucking tired. his dog follows after tilting his head, uncomprehending of the pungent smell that just filled the aisle.

not today, satan.]

c. a skipping record

[he sees the doppelgangers again. he keeps seeing them around, ones that look like ray (who archer, despite all his efforts, can't find anymore, and it leaves a terrible pit in his stomach he doesn't really understand), ones that look like lana, ones that look like his mother. archer can't even tell it's actually a double of them or he's just seeing what he wants to. archer's hallucinations haven't really been troubling him, but seeing these things around? they fizz out and get replaced with familiar threats, then fizz again and he's left not knowing what he's even looking at until one of them almost stabs him again.

though... honestly? he doesn't really want to see his mother right now. he wants to see aj but isn't sure what he'd do if he actually did see her here. he wants--

archer doesn't know what he wants. that's... relatively new.

he can be found standing where the doppelganger he almost managed to catch disappeared into nothing, holding his hand out where the static rip had been.

anyone that gets close, he pulls his gun on them immediately, reflexes clearly well-honed despite his alcoholic demeanor.]

Who did you see? [he asks, eyes narrowed.]

wildcard

[you know what to do! please pm this journal or hit me up at jabbers if you want a starter!]

Comments

a is for A BOY

[undiagnosed]

[archer is very good at ignoring people when he wants to-- the fact he has a task at hand only helps that. his expression twists when falco tries to give him the puppy eyes and he goes back to what he was doing for another ten minutes. it doesn't usually take him this long, honestly. archer's just being slow so they pay him for doing nothing.

he pulls the hammer a few times to make sure the spring works, then pockets the gun. that's his now. they don't have proper cctv yet, so they can go fuck themselves.

...right, the kid is still there. he can just about see the top of falco's head through the glass of the counter.]

I'm not giving you a gun, idiot. You're like... five.

a childe

[grice]

[ five...................

at least falco doesn’t have the mouth to talk back with. if it were gabi she’d retort for him: seven years off, idiot. he hardly, if just never, finds himself arguing with adults. to his dismay or not, it’s out of respect. the blond peers up from where he sits but doesn’t comment on his age. he knows he’s young, but, ]

I just wanted to shoot when no one’s around.

[ a surprising move, even for him; he’s a pacifist despite knowing how to use most of them. ]

[undiagnosed]

Seriously? The recoil would break your arms. [suppose he could give this kid a pellet gun, or something. archer sighs at the fact he has to do the job he's being paid for, downs the rest of his whiskey and haphazardly tosses the bottle into the nearby bin as he slides out the seat he's been calcifying in since his shift started.

archer takes a large air rifle off the wall, placing it on the counter.] I guess this is the sort of thing people get their kids...

[he takes something from under the display and shoves it at falco.]

Fifty dollars. Ten per refill. Take it or leave it.

[grice]

[ the rifle is the one thing he’s mostly familiar with and eyes it with insistent care as its lowered down. never mind the recoil, ]

I can take bolt action recoil, sir— [ yeah, the mule kick straight out of an ancient 1900s firearm that’s considered top of the line where he’s from. what gets handed to him instead is . . . is. huh. falco picks up the encased toy with probing eyes. soft. safe. it looks pretty accurate for a pistol if not some fifty years more modern than his eyes are used to.

you know, this is perfect for practice, the way he sees it, especially when he kind of hates the feeling of his finger on the trigger but he’ll hate it even more if he’d give people more work to shoulder alone in a tight monster situation when he could do something about it— and not total a building. is it really that much? fifty? falco sifts through his pocket without argument, and pulls out a cute little wallet that sadly holds: ]

I only have, [ he counts, including the coins, ] five.

[undiagnosed]

Okay, liar.

[no way he could take bolt action. look at him, he's like a bunch of matchsticks glued together. archer couldn't deal with gun recoil at this age, how could this little nerd think he could?

then grice is pulling out his wallet and holds out the money so pathetically archer can't help but think of when his mother abandoned him in the middle of a city on christmas eve! and how absolutely miserable it was when he couldn't even dig out two dollars for a sandwich at the train station. he feels weird inside, and he hates every second of it. empathy is bullshit.

rubbing his temple with a heavy sigh, archer pushes it forward.]

Fine, you can have a first time buyer's discount. You're welcome, you little shit.

[grice]

[ he's not a liar....... :( but falco has no base to argue with the man (neither does he want to over something so bantam). the silence that starts to grow is heavy and unpromising, and the blond eventually lets his head fall and considers turning tail to quietly leave, especially with such a conundrum beginning to storm over his head. until, of course, the mention of a first buyer's discount. archer will unluckily find that the boy's surprise is breaking into a resigned smile that probably looks evil to the likes of those who easily disgust themselves with the prospect of empathy. gross.

the trade is made; falco hands over his five dollars and exchanges his hold on it for the toy. he's preparing his softened and grateful thank yous until, promptly once archer hits the note on shit— a high pitched alarm howls from the child's back, so close to his ears that he winces tightly and tries to cover them. ]

Af—!

[undiagnosed]

[archer reacts on instinct, not immediately clocking that the alarm is coming from falco himself. why would he? people don't make that noise! he jumps over the counter and pushes falco behind himself, assuming that the store's been robbed or something. protect the civilian, eliminate the threat- he has his own handgun out in a second while he surveys the area for whatever's going on, then... realises where the noise is coming from.

he never thought he'd say this, but thank god for his tinnitus. that shit's probably horrific to people who can actually hear properly.]

Jesus Christ. Why? [with another put-upon groan, archer leans over the counter and digs around for a moment before he gets a pair of shitty 50's branded noise-cancelling headphones and snaps them onto falco's head.] Will you shut up, already? What is that, some app on your phone?

[grice]

[ in one swoop, falco is hoisted over the counter and behind archer, thank god he’s actually small enough to make it easy. as suspected, the beeping follows and barely ceases— the headphones, as shitty as they were, were a godsend in the end; understanding the reaction (and thinking, immediately: he’s trained, definitely) he watches archer’s lips move and the hum sound they muffle out through the ringing that cuts off right after he says: ]

—Thank you! [ what is—? app, phone, he didn’t know what that meant but he got the gist of what’s important (though he naturally starts speaking a touch louder). ] It’s— I don’t know, it goes off with cursing.

[undiagnosed]

[his expression cycles through a few different emotional extremes for a split second-- he must've had some of that fucked up surgery like rapunzel had. it makes him feel nauseated with anger, that they'd taken kids and hurt them like this. you can't say sterling archer doesn't have some standards.]

How the hell long does it last?! [archer hops back over the counter for a moment, looking around, then grabs a sleeping bag from one of the camping displays. he's overwhelmed with hatred for retail for a split second before he tosses it over at falco.] Muffle it! God, my hangover!

[grice]

[ muffle! yes! right! “hell” might’ve set it off all over again with a rebellious squeal as soon as it’s said, but falco takes the hint enough, snatches the pillow and drops his back right onto it. if it can’t hear anything, it can’t beep . . .

it does stop, though, and the boy pulls off one of the cushions to his headphones to make sure, and— god this poor man. he’s about to yell with the amount of energy that whole thing created but gently adjusts to keep his headache in mind. colt’s hangovers were similar. ]

It’s off! Just don’t curse, sir! I’ll— get you some water.

[undiagnosed]

[falco is giving archer far more allowance than he should! what a good boy! archer shouldn't really be drunk at work, but he's an alcoholic. that's how he do. he's immediately pulling another bottle out from under the counter - this time gin - to take a drink from as he considers the fact that cursing sets it off.]

Why the f-- [okay. think harder. that's a curse.] --udge, I hate that that makes sense with all the other... crabapples around here.

[wow. not cursing is really hard.]

I don't want water. Take the gun and get out.

[grice]

[ well— alright. obedient as always, falco gives into silence with a nod, brings the toy gun close to him and walks around the display table that had earlier kept them apart. he also doesn’t forget to pick up the pillow and set it against the wall upright. ]

Thank you, Mister [ he squints at his employee tag, ] Archer.

[ and off he goes to not bother the man. later in the afternoon, archer may even magically find a box of aspirin on top of the counter. looks like it’s from a “falco smith”. ]