pure of heart... dumb of ass... bi of sexual... (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
undiagnosed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsville2021-03-11 10:03 pm
undiagnosed) wrote in logsville2021-03-11 10:03 pm
it's just another day
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
jabbers if you want a starter!]
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
@miss pamela poovey
when some shuffling happens - archer barely notices it, through a considerable effort to ignore the creepy bullshit - and multiple townspeople ask about cassandra instead of rapunzel, he considers the merits of being stuck in a shitty wife swap program.
then he thinks about how he'd much rather just be stuck with pam.
then he drops his head onto his kitchen counter so hard he thinks he might've given himself a mild concussion.
a few minutes later after this, not that she'd know, pam gets a text on the brick-like wrist watches:] Are you still with Meatstick von Pecthrust?
[the context makes sense in archer's head. also, he's not jealous. shut up. then un-shut up and answer.]
no subject
Same fam so far. Why? Are you not with blonde wifey?
no subject
No, her lesbian BFF moved in suddenly
At least she doesn't look like she's 12
[there's a pause that could be anything from him dropping the device to falling asleep for a moment. this might be weirdly hard for him to ask.]
You wanna hang out? I don't have any shifts today
I'd call out if I did anyway
Don't feel like working
no subject
[The pause makes Pam half expect the whole conversation to end and she frowns, because she enjoys talking to her friend. Thankfully, he didn't wander off this time.]
Sure! You pick the place. Or we could hang out here while the husband is at work.
I've got the tiki bar set up.
no subject
Maybe you'd have better luck with her anyway
I'll come to yours
I want to see this tiki bar
[and also maybe vandalise some of bruce's suits out of certainly not petty jealousy.]
no subject
Ok. I'll put on some racially appropriative music to set the mood.
[No vandalism! She's finally earning his trust! Besides, you need to come dig her island vibes. She goes to put on an appropriately tropical dress, and an instrumental album with a cover and title that are....honestly...kinda racist. Product of the times?]
no subject
archer doesn't bother to dress up beyond actually showering and cleaning himself up. he shaves and brushes his hair, throws on a bright blue shirt and cream slacks and calls it done. at least he looks (and smells) slightly less like he's just crawled out the dumpster out back of a shitty singles bar. he takes a bottle of tequila he almost finishes on the way over, leaning hard on his cane when he finally thumps the door. whenever pam answers, it seems like he's busy yelling at some of the neighbours;] What? We're going... shit, I don't know. Golfing! Quit judging, you Judge Judases! Ugh. Judy...
no subject
[If the neighbors think that sounds dirty, they're more normal than Pam gives them credit for. Pam backs out of the doorway and waves Archer in. Just getting near him tells her where the rest of that bottle of tequila went.]
C'mon, Jose Cuervo, before the gossip gets any juicier out here.
[Inside is warm, softly filled with tropical orchestral music, and there's a pair of zombies poured in tall, slender glasses on the top of Pam's hand-decorated tiki bar. Pam picks one up and offers it to Archer in trade for the tequila...bottle.]
Havin a rough one, buddy?
no subject
[when is he not?
...when is he?
archer lets her take the bottle from him, carefully picking up one of the zombies and pausing his usual voracious intake of all alcohol around him to actually appreciate the effort she's put into the at-home tiki bar, racist in its stereotyping may it be. he thinks of mitimotu, for a mitimoment.
that's a pun that makes no sense to anyone but him. archer has to enjoy the little things. he has no choice.]
I don't think they give a shit, anyway. They're more drugged up than Cheryl on... name a day. [he takes a sip of the drink, eyebrows raising around the glass.] You look, uh. Good. I guess.
[god help him he doesn't know how to do this.]
no subject
[Pam pushes on one side of the bar front and the panel spins around revealing shelves of liquor on the opposite side. She adds the mostly-empty tequila bottle before turning it around again to hide the booze inside the bar. No alcoholics here, folks. Just upstanding citizens.]
You look good too...for a guy on honeymoon with his husband in South Beach.
Anyway, it must be worse than I thought if you're complimenting me.
[Her poor, broken, bestie can't just open up like a normal person. Pam sighs and sits on the sofa, patting the cushion beside her.]
I miss home too, ya know. ... And I miss Ray being here with us.
Shit, I was really looking forward to him bitching about how tacky all this is!
[She gestures at the hodge podge of random island cultural ephemera she's cobbled together. Polynesian, Tahitian, Maori...it's all in there somewhere, God help her.]
no subject
[is that a real question? he's not sure, but he snorts regardless.]
God, remember the swivelling walls in Cheryl's place? I wish they had that on the other side instead of a bunch of Scooby-Doo skeletons. [no alcoholics indeed, just two very put together people. his expression crimps when she mentions ray, though he's not sure if he's angry about it or not.] I really thought Gillette was better than leaving us behind, but whatever.
[they weren't friends, so he's not hurt by it. archer flops down next to pam and sighs.
he misses aj more than anyone else, but he won't say that. can't, maybe.]
I mean, on the bright side Cyril isn't here. Or Slater. God, if I had to see that rat-faced prick again after all this time I might actually shoot him.
no subject
[Yeah. This is the worst Pam has seen Archer with an actual reason to be depressed. So, she's worried. He's just a hard guy to worry about.]
I've had nightmares about Cheryl's family's house... like... what if I got lost in there?
Oh shit. What if Ray is lost? Or kidnapped? I mean... They say sometimes people just get sent home and that's what happened, but.. do we know for sure? Whatever it is, I don't think he did it on purpose.
[Pam laughs at the image of Cyril trying to wrap his head around this place.]
Yer just gonna shoot Slater, stop pretending you need excuses. ... Cyril would lose his shit if he showed up here. It'd be kinda fun.
no subject
archer's not worried about pam, though, and he's not worried about ray. he's put out about gillette's disappearance but as much as he's a hard person to worry about, archer's hard to dredge up anything else about the people he surrounds himself with. pam, at least, he's willing to be a little more open with. he falls silent for a moment, thinking about how she was his best friend in two out of three of his coma dreams. weird stuff. maybe he should tell her about her roll in them - she'd probably get a kick out of being a rock alien that farts boners.
he won't mention that time in the mall he went home. god knows he doesn't know how real it was himself.]
He'd thrive too much and I'd hate it. Sweater vests are in fashion here! [he says this in the same whiny tone he might complain about being brainwashed in.] Ugh, and that stupid non-swearing he does. ...Did Ray... I don't know, did he change how he does things while I was out?
[he's not worried. he doesn't want to look for him.]
no subject
God, yer right. This place is kind of made for Cyril. He wouldn't een notice the locals are messed up. He'd just have them over for stir-Friday.
During coma o'clock?...Ray wasn't any different, really. No. Lost some weight and bitched about his hand less, but that's about it.
I mean, if it seems like he went home... I hope he did. Maybe he can send someone for us. Maybe he can't, but...at least one of us got out. But...me and you? We leave together.... Or I'll kick yer damn ass.
no subject
not that-- not that he thinks bruce is hot, or anything. it's like looking in a carnival mirror. one of those ones that makes you look all fucked up and hideous. yeah. bruce is hideous.
sterling's just happy he didn't wake up with someone telling him some other kid was his. that wouldn't have ended well for anyone involved.
his expression pinches slightly at the mention of coma o'clock and how much better ray was doing, but he doesn't really say anything. too busy considering the merits of ray getting out and leading the rescue. too distracted by what the countess had said - what are they doing to keep people out?]
I could kick your ass, cane and all, Pamela. [he shoots back, smirking a little. honestly, the idea of leaving her here alone hadn't really crossed his mind. it's selfish, as archer is wont to be, but he doesn't think he could handle losing both lana and pam. the concept of missing ray is enough to make him feel existential enough.] He better. I'm going to fucking kill him if he got himself murdered like a shitty idiot.
no subject
[Pam perks up and brightens. She has some good news! Or...she thinks it's good news, anyway!]
That reminds me! Those shock gloves Krieger made for me showed up here! I've upped my game! So, ya better keep that cane on you if yer gonna try me.
[She smirks back. This may qualify as flirting for them. Drinking and passing idle threats. It's helped a lot with the sadness Pam has been feeling about Ray. She hopes it's mutual. She also really hopes Ray went home.]
no subject
[archer pokes at her with his cane, but he doesn't set off any electricity or sleeping gas. no, he wouldn't do that to pam this easily. that's cyril's honour.]
I-- [he starts, then stops awkwardly.] --got back to New York once, here. When I first got dragged here it was, uh... remember when me and Lana did that double date to follow that Russian guy? The night after that.
[his expression pinches a little.]
Then... all that other shit happened and I got dumped in Honeybee's before I'd even got changed again in the sub on the way back. Crazy, right? It happened.
[...] Seriously, it definitely happened.
no subject
Watch it there, Mr. Peanut.
[She laughs, but when he starts talking about going home, she quiets and listens close. Her eyes narrow, trying to make sense out of it. 'The sub'...It takes a minute, but she pieces things together. It helps that she can't find a weed supplier in this wonderbread town.]
Oh my god... so you went back.. Sooooo it wasn't a cyborg-Archer that I remember! It was you! And how hot was beardy arctic scientist guy?!
cw internal ableism and slight homophobia
Cyborg Archer is a punk bitch. No way he could survive that plunge. [he wonders where archerbot is.] Ugh, you're definitely missing Ray.
[why else would she ask him? he's... straight, obviously. so straight.]
He was okay, I guess. Kinda boring. Didn't let me hold baby Lamont.
no subject
[She frowns and shrugs. Who will appreciate the way these mid-century dresses work with her figure now? Who will cat about which mindless locals are or aren't closeted gays under whatever their programming is?]
That guy was a real penguin hog, though...
You sure you're ok, Archer? Because... I mean, I'm not.
[Pam lets herself look as tired and sad as she feels and slumps back against the couch. If there's anyone she can be honest with, this is it. Even if he laughs at her, at least it's her best friend hearing her out and ribbing her about it.]
I'm bored out of my mind. My husband keeps disappearing and ending up injured or worse and won't invite me on these secret missions... He doesn't even want me to go in the basement to see whatever he's working on. I miss everyone back home. I don't think pot even exists here. I'm scared and I'm tired and I don't know what any of this weird shit means. So...if you're "fine", that's awesome, but...it seems kinda unlikely.
1/2
[most of what pam does could probably be considered raunchy porn to someone, but archer doesn't really want to think too hard about it.
or does he? he's not sure. he shifts a little closer to her on the couch, like if he wasn't so emotionally constipated he might put an arm around her-- he's always dropped his many, many walls around pam more and seems willing to do so now they're in a situation that isn't too different from the rare times he actually stuck around after pam had finished turning his skeleton to dust in bed all those years ago.]
no subject
I'm fine, Pam. [as "fine" as he usually is.] You know me, as long as I got my scotch and gun then I'm fine.
[there's a lot of issues he has, naturally, but instead of talking about any of them they all kind of pile up and then come out as him blurting:] You could move in with me.
no subject
[She will overlook the bleaching comment for now because she is comfortable and doesn't want to kick Archer's ass at the moment. Besides, he's being something like nice and comforting. She lets him lean on her and lays her head on his.
Pam laughs at moving in together...not mocking, though. It's kind of a nice idea.]
Pfft. What would the neighbors say? After all, I'm married to Bruce so far as they care. ... I mean...if I didn't think they'd do asshole thing to ruin it...
no subject
[...]
It's your bargain bin Dick Tracy that did that, not me. I'm beautiful. Narcissus wishes he could have what I do.