Archer Avery, Chief of Police (comethearchers) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-05-17 21:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [05] may, archer avery, brannon o'brien, npc: the mayor, npc: thomas lansing |
here's something that wasn't quite on the agenda
Who: Archer, O’Brien, the mayor, and Thomas Lansing
Where: mayor’s office (former governor’s chambers)
What: an unprecedented summons leaves the two cops with unexpected news… and responsibility
When: Sunday evening
Normal was a fucked up concept when you’ve got zombies on your hands but there was typically a rhythm to Archer Avery’s life these days. If he wasn’t doing something for his job -- either something that still fell into the purview of a cop’s responsibility or something that came as a direct order from his chief -- then he was likely doing something useful for the Capitol shelter. Sitting idle wasn’t in Archer’s repertoire. Not really. Because he knew that he couldn’t be the workaholic robot he’d been in the NYPD, sometimes he’d hang out with Bran, spend time with some of the others. But Archer was truly at his best when he was of use: be it interrogating, guarding, and patrolling… or trying his hand at making canned food palatable, going out to scrounge, keeping shit clean.
He could bring down zombies and he could square off with raiders and he could even face an eternity of ramen and beans, all of which without much of a change in the stony facade he often displayed to the world. But the commander was just a little out of his depth when it came to an impromptu off-hours order over to the mayor’s office. That fucked with the rhythm, for one thing. For another? Archer knew fuck-all how to deal with brass; that had been his problem in the NYPD. Respect: he did that. He respected fellow officers and his superiors. Kissing ass? Like sitting idle, that wasn’t in his repertoire, either. He hoped that wasn’t on the agenda tonight, doubted it was, but he couldn’t exactly guess what the agenda was.
A meeting like this wasn’t normal and it threw him just a little off balance, but Archer was damned if he’d let it show. When the message had come to him, he’d had enough time for a clean shave with one of his straight razors and was able to pull out a clean pair of uniform pants, shirt, and tie. The shirt was clean, but the sleeve had ripped at some point and he hadn’t gotten around to fixing it... so in the end he grit his teeth and neatly rolled the sleeves to his Class A uniform shirt, knotted the tie, and made sure he was as squared away as he could be before slinging on his belt and his holster and heading out. It'd have to do.
Now, uniform cap in hand, he walked with Brannon O’Brien to the mayor’s office. He and O’Brien had been partners and best friends since back in New York, back when they were detectives. Back before they had quite as much baggage. The stoic Archer tended not to talk about any of that shit, seeing as they had significantly bigger problems these days. But everyone had fucking baggage and it was pointless to pretend otherwise. Thinking about that humanized folks. The mayor, the chief: they were people who’d had their problems before the zombies added to ‘em. Archer made sure to remember that, instead of thinking of them as faceless politicians or brass that were poised to smack him down just for being good at his job, for wanting to work hard even in these fucked up circumstances.
He rolled first one shoulder, then the other, an attempt to ease the tension he was carrying there and a habit he’d developed after he’d healed from being shot. “The fuck’s this about, y’think?” he quietly asked O’Brien beside him as they walked. Bran would know what he meant. And maybe it would forestall any remarks about his uniform. Hope springs eternal.