logsville | it's just another day

Entry tags:

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

jabbers if you want a starter!]

Threaded | Flat

[it's not all that hard to get guns from work when he's like, the direct kind of person they're marketed towards! archer gets an employee discount, but he still steals a couple of the boxes of bullets. just to feel alive, you know?

one day when rapunzel comes home, he's sitting at the kitchen table and pulling a hunting rifle apart to clean and inspect the quality of the make, frowning at some part of the firing mechanism. archer looks up when he hears company and makes a face that's... somewhere between irritation at being interrupted and some barely restrained happiness at seeing her back home safe. things have been a little weird since she was kidnapped and operated on without her consent, to put it lightly.]

Hey. [he says carefully, tilting his head towards a small handgun by the rifle pieces.] You wanna learn how to shoot people?

[Louis was determined to notice as little as possible about this city. Sure, he saw people. People that shouldn't be there. His best friends, his long dead parents, even his asshole teachers that had left him and said friends to die. Trying to drive them nuts was apparently the price to pay for not living in his different kind of hell that was home and, right or wrong, Louis was kinda okay paying that. It just took all his years of practicing focusing just on himself to almost deal with it.

So he doesn't even have to stumble or think when there's a gun pulled on him. He refuses to acknowledge his own life, never mind someone else's. His hands go straight up in the air.]

I have never seen anything once. In my entire life.

[ —no? just like that? falco, a boy of twelve (technically thirteen now in santa rosita, but it wasn’t like that’d carry back over to home if time worked that way) stares blankly at the metaphorical window shut right on his face. he looks to the left, the right, counts on his nose to find any hint of lunch and all he’s getting is the pungent smell of an open bottle of alcohol.

he’s not going to argue with the man immediately, but he does, after a moment longer of quiet staring (that kids usually do when they’re just about to plead with their eyes), sit himself down with his back against the service counter. he can wait until lunch is over. he has all day to wait. ]

[Archer's food cart already had Okuyasu's attention. That wasn't a grocery run. That was a "pick whatever food you see" contest, and Archer was failing it. The home cook in Okuyasu winced at the display.

The crime is not ignored. He walks down the isle, purposefully to cross paths with the older man, and makes a face.]

You reek.

Hello, Archer.

[Erwin is not the least bit surprised that Archer knows how to handle a gun. The guns here are far more advanced than the ones Erwin knows, much like everything else, but it's a technological advance that he doesn't have much interest in. He'd rather get up close and personal when he's dealing with a problem, and prefers blades to bullets.]

[Which is why he's here.]

When you're done with lunch [he eyes the open bottle with a sense of resignation rather than judgment], I could use some assistance.

[days have been blurring together for a while now; archer's either crawling around the town trying to "gather" "intel" like a rat, passed out fully clothed in the empty tub at home or zoned out half-drunk staring at the ceiling for three days straight and mentally stuck in antarctica before he remembers he's a tangible presence and gets up to stagger to work to half-ass it and get paid a ludicrous amount of money. thanks, 1960s values!

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.]

That's a strange thing to eat, then.

[Cassandra was no stranger to Honeybees. At this point, she had been in the store several times, at least once to scout out the location in case it was of a potential threat. But.... no. It's just another store, full of more than she could ever find at a town market. That made it interesting. Dangerous, too.

But the knives were good. Speaking of. She's got one right now!]

Planning on making it easier to swallow?

[She's joking. Mostly. Please don't try to swallow a gun, Archer.]

Threaded | Flat

@ragunzel

a skipping record

a!!

b

a!

@miss pamela poovey

a