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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
no subject
[erwin can probably guess what they were. archer puts a hand to his chin, thinking about this seriously. for himself, more than erwin-- he does genuinely enjoy what he does and expertise in weaponry is part of it.
finally, he shakes his head.] Best bet I can think of is joining the shitty cops here and getting a 9mm Browning. Those are deadly pea shooters. Everything here is for hunting and... you know. Two arms.
no subject
Fair enough. A 9mm Browning, you said?
[He'll have to remember that name.]
If I'm able to locate one, or possibly several, would you like one as well?
[Why the fuck is he offering Archer a gun? This place is making him lose his mind...]
no subject
[a beat, then he snorts.]
Nah, I'm not telling you.
no subject
[That pause makes Erwin snort in chorus, and he chuckles under his breath.]
Fortunately, I'm a law-abiding citizen who pays for my purchases.
[So no need to shotgun him!]
If I bring what I want to the counter, do you ring it up? Or would you rather I get one of the locals to do it?
no subject
[dumbass. he could totally take neil patrick harris. archer makes a mental note to move the shotgun to over the thing, just to be contrarian. take that, erwin, you el topo lookin' bitch.]
You get one of the fucking employees to do, it genius. What is this, your first store?
no subject
Oh, forgive me. I assumed that since you're behind the counter, and are keeping a shotgun hidden somewhere, you are an employee?
[Erwin's tone is all innocence, but that smirk is not.]
no subject
[god, he wants to quit on the spot so bad. the fucking indignity of it all. good thing erwin won't see how angry he is about this because he won't show it!
that's a lie. he's going awfully red.]
no subject
In that case, enjoy the rest of your break. Thank you for all your assistance, Archer.
[And he'll boldly and blatantly turn his back on the man who was just bragging about all his guns and go peruse the knife section, chatting cheerfully with the Robbie who drifts over to help.]