If there was ever an odd couple on the force-- it was Archer and O'Brien. Archer was grossly prim and proper-- and Brannon had attempted to do the same for a while-- but it definitely never stuck. No, while Archer was all buttoned up and bothering with his fucking cap, Brannon might as well have been completely shirtless with as many buttons as he had undone.
Okay, okay. It wasn't that bad.. but still. It was at least three.. okay, maybe there was a fourth button undone, but it was hot in the fucking apocalypse in Texas, okay?? And the sleeves of his blue plaid shirt were haphazardly rolled up, and he had his shoulder holster on and he really didn't give a fuck what anyone thought.
He had on pants too.
For the record.
And boots. Because you can't live in a post apocalyptic world and not have a good pair of probable cause zombie-face-kicking boots.
Wrinkling his nose at Archer's question, Brannon gave a glance over toward his partner, "I don't know. But you wanna know what I do know?" He smirked and continued before Archer even had time to roll his eyes or speak up, "You look like a grade A doofus. You do know it's like, a hundred and ten in the shade, right? And I don't mean the musical."
He motioned toward his best friend, "And what're you gonna do with the hat, huh? unless you plan to use it to fling at one of those fucking fast running things as a distraction--" He nudged Archer with his elbow, "lighten up, Robocop."
After a beat, he sighed, "But seriously, man. I have no fucking clue. Probably something about water shortages again and shit. Maybe there was another scare at one of the safehouses. Hell if I know. Maybe the mayor wants to give us some fucking cookies like I put in the suggestion box, last month. They'd better be Peanut Butter."