[ JEREMY FISCHER. 45. CISMALE. HE/HIM ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for 3 MONTHS and are originally from DALLAS, TEXAS. They are a TRAVELING ANTIQUES DEALER and in their downtime love APPRAISING ANTIQUES and GOING TO THE FARMERS MARKET. They look a lot like PATRICK WILSON and live ON SILVERWOOD TERRACE.
hi besties! you can call me nora (cst, she/her) and i’m bringing u jeremy the antiques dealer from dallas!! he’s completely new and i’m still fleshing him out a bit but have some stats and headcanons below for plotting purposes :))
(trigger warnings for “accidental” murder and death)
full name: jeremy arnold fischer
nickname(s): jer (only by his fiancée)
birthday: june 15, 1976
zodiac: gemini sun, aquarius moon, aries rising
mbti: estp-a - the entrepreneur
temperament: sanguine
moral alignment: lawful evil
height: 6′0
sexuality: heterosexual
career: traveling antiques dealer
education: high school diploma
hometown: dallas, texas
marital status: engaged to @barbaralogan
address: --- Silverwood Terrace
frequented locations: silver lake farmers market, golden griddle diner, cliff’s edge, book nook, five by night
headcanons/personality/bg
his whole ass family is dead. the entire family tfyyguhj his mom, his dad, his two younger sisters. they all died in a house fire when he was 18 that jeremy started bc he wanted the insurance money, which he got. along with his inheritance!
never went to college, felt it was a waste of time and suspects that the money goes to the govt instead of the schools. anyway he believes himself to be plenty skilled without formal education
he’ll lure you in like a carnival barker to buy his antiques
this man never stops smiling! creepy toothy smile at all times
has a wild memory. will literally remember everything you’ve ever told him about yourself
truly truly follows his own moral code which he believes to be the correct moral code
Robin stops as she’s shouted out, brows pulling in a scowl before she lowers her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and taking a drag from her cigarette. She briefly eyes down to the ring he’s denoting and bobbles her head from side to side. “Black onyx. Victorian style, 1940. A gift from my mom,” she answers, pursing her lips. “You can look at it while its on my hand but I’m not gonna, like, hand it over to you. I’m sure you understand.”
Surprised as all get out, Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up his forehead at the ready--and clearly accurate--description he’s given from someone he wouldn’t have pegged as knowing their stuff. He was impressed for once, and further by the woman’s refusal to hand it over. His grin widened, but it was less predatory than it might usually have been. “Well now,” he said around a laugh, “someone who knows a little this ‘n’ that about their belongings. I do understand, especially if it’s an heirloom. 1940s, you say? Just beautiful, you got any idea where your mama got it? I could offer you quite a lot of money if you were willing to part with it.”
another no-show meant that fletcher was aimlessly walking silver lake’s streets , looking for something to occupy him outside the sweaty , packed gym . it seemed that ‘ hot girl summer ‘ meant they had an influx of memberships , of clueless individuals bench pressing way more than they would cope with , and for once he chose fresh air and a damn break over his usual workaholic nature . at the male’s words his sneakers slowed , and a brow cocked once fletcher realised it was him that was being addressed , not another random civilian behind him . “ weird pickup line , dude . i wouldn’t have used it myself , but sure .. if you wanna have a look be my guest , “ he began unhooking the latch of his watch , handing over the accessory with care as not to drop it straight down the drain beside them .
Jeremy only smiled widely at the sarcasm, even wider when the man took the watch right off his wrist and handed it over. Times like this Jeremy felt a complex mixture of disdain for the general population and gratefulness for their misplaced trust in strangers. “Thank you kindly,” he said and began his usual routine with watches: check for jewels, if so how many, inscriptions, serial numbers, anything to indicate the age and value. This one had not much to show for it aside from being well-made and attractive. “Doesn’t look like this is worth too much, unfortunately,” Jeremy told him, still turning it over in his hands. “Mind if I ask where you got it?”
The shout caught Ben completely off-guard, so much so, he didn’t even realise that the other man was even speaking to him to begin with. When he spoke again, however, he did glance over, the gesture being very much towards the signet ring he was wearing. A gift from his father when he’d turned 21, long before everything had gone down the drain —- he knew it had been in the family for a while. “And how do I know you’re not just going to run off with it the second I take it?” he questioned, his upbringing in New York not leaving him with much trust for others.
Ah--it wasn’t all that often Jeremy ran into people with enough sense to wonder whether the stranger asking after their valuable items might not just abscond with them. It made him at once respect and dislike this man, who perhaps would not be as easily swindled out of his possessions as most. “A fair concern,” Jeremy conceded with a laugh and a too-bright grin. “Y’can’t be too careful, can you? But rest assured, my friend, I ain’t runnin’ off with your ring, just fixin’ to take a little look if you don’t mind. I deal in antiques, might be able to appraise it for ya, if you’d like.”
“What, this?” Tyson stops in the middle of the Farmer’s Market (not here by choice, he was picking up things for Marla). He raises his wrist, the gnarly gold watch dangling off of it — either Marlon’s or Dom’s, he’s not sure. “Uh, yeah, sure.” A slightly weird request, but not one he minds particularly, so he unclasps the strap in the back and hands the watch over to the guy. “Knock yourself out.”
“Well thank you very much,” Jeremy said with a wide grin, taking the watch with a little nod of his head and keeping any genuine emotion off his face—just in case it was worth something. It seemed unlikely on this caliber of person but then again, that was exactly the type to be carrying around a valuable antique they knew nothing about. “It sure is a beauty,” he said, turning it over in his hands to inspect the underside of the watch face for inscriptions or serial numbers to tell him whether it was real gold and how old it might have been. Probably not an antique, but possibly vintage. No serial number, but he could just make out the legend ‘Hamilton’ which meant it was certainly more than fifty years old, at least. “Not worth too much, I’m afraid,” he lied, adding a laugh for effect. “Dang nice-lookin’, though. Might you be willing to part with it for a small sum?”
As Atlas { their service dog } pulled on his lead to alert them to the fact someone was speaking to them, Waves glanced up to see the man whose lips were moving. They hadn’t caught what was said; but the other’s gesture coupled with his following words helped the brunette to piece together just enough to formulate what they hoped was a proper response. “Uh, I’m sorry.” They stopped to sign the word ‘Deaf’. That was usually all that was needed for others to understand. “You said you wanted to see something of mine?” They figured further clarification to be best. Besides, even if that had been what the man said, Waves had absolutely no idea what it was of theirs that he wanted to take a look at. His gesture had been a bit too vague to pinpoint an exact object of theirs.
He didn’t need to know sign language to understand what the use of it meant, and for Jeremy that presented quite the obstacle. Still, he knew himself to be more than capable of adapting to any curveball thrown his way. If anything, the challenge was welcome. “This little pin right here,” he said, enunciating more than usual in the hopes that his target could lip-read. He reached out to touch it on their bag, a little enamel sailboat pin that, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, looked vintage. And probably worth at least a grand. Typical that nobody ever knew what they were walking around with. “Mind if I ask where you got it? Nothin’ special, you understand, just that I think my fiancée would be fond of it.”
“Well now, what’s that you got there?” Jeremy said loudly, attracting the attention of someone passing in front of him in the middle of the packed street. He gestured to something on their person, what definitely looked to his well-trained eye to be an antique. He hadn’t anticipated the number of people that would be wandering around Los Angeles completely ignorant of the worth of some of their jewelry, clothes, and material possessions, but he was quickly coming to love it here. “You mind if I take a look? I’m somethin’ of an aficionado, you might say.”
“Better finish off the rest of your cake today, darlin’, or I’ll have to go drop it off for the neighbors” she teasingly threatened. They hadn’t lived in Silver Lake for very long but they had already seen enough to know what the people next door were like. They didn’t really deserve the cake she’d spent hours perfecting but she wasn’t actually going to give it to them anyway. “Did you get rid of that awful reindeer head yet? I don’t know who’s gonna buy it but wouldn’t hurt if they hurried up a little.”
“Just sold it today, baby doll,” Jeremy told her, closing the refrigerator door too loudly and twisting the cap off a lager bare-handed, which was then tossed accurately into the nearby trash. “One of those nice boys in a rainbow get-up, happy to pay a little too much.” He laughed, and it echoed around the sparklingly-clean kitchen. “Well, you know how it goes. Easiest time I ever had moving stock since we came. Tellin’ you, Barb, we oughta stick around for a while. I know you ain’t like that nextdoor girl but it’s pretty nice other’n that, don’t you think?”
( ♚ — what an absolute shit show the water balloon fight turned out to be. a remarkably good time too, he’s sure, at least for everyone who’d actually participated in the free-for-all — but as someone who didn’t, he can’t help but think the logistics of clean up were left… unconsidered until the moment it was actually time to, well, clean up. and of course he’s off his feet in an instant to help, leaving the temporary tattoo stand king ink set up at the heart of the festivities to a pair of employees to instead pick scraps of plastic and latex out of the grass by the reservoir. a thin sheen of sweat glistens at a damp hairline as he kneels in the grass, hands and shoes and jeans covered in balloon scraps and paint, of all things, because of course a water balloon fight wasn’t enough on its own. he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have just left the booth self-service and brought his whole crew out here to clean up. although, to be fair, he had expected at least a few more bodies to stick around and help.
❝ oi, hey! ❞ he calls at a passerby as he looks up from neon-spattered grass. ❝ free piercing or flash tattoo at king ink if you can lend a hand cleaning some of this shit up! ❞ and he means it, too — he might be out here all night, otherwise, ‘cause he’ll be damned if he lets the birds start eating this shit. @slchat
All fun and no thought spared for cleanup—just like children. In fact, most of Los Angeles seemed to behave like spoiled children, but of course that made it so much easier to sell. People were ultimately trusting. They wanted to believe what they were told, just like that wanted to have a good time and leave it for someone else to deal with the mess afterwards. Jeremy was watching the last of the crowd departing when someone called out to him, and though he showed no inclination to help he still wandered over to the source, hands in his pockets, smile on his face, to say, “That there’s quite a deal. Those things’re pretty expensive, ain’t they? You, uh—” he gestured toward the King Ink booth, “you own that tattoo place in town, then? Must do, cuttin’ deals like that.”
@slchat — open to anyone ( feel free to assume connections ) .
location: waterballoon fight
“If you’re gonna hit someone with a water balloon, at least make sure it’s someone who stands a chance. I’m empty,” both hands coming up to show the lack of defense Mercy had as well as to shield herself from any possible impact. “And please tell me you ain’t got one that’s filled with paint. Look at me. I think I’m gonna be washing paint out of my hair for the next week .. maybe longer.” And with that, the brunette lets out a soft chuckle.
Jeremy had certainly not been participating in the antics—this whole thing was not unlike popular sports in the way it distracted the sheep-people from the world’s grave realities—but he was ever attracted to mass gatherings if only to make connections and gain clientele and generally observe humanity at play. He smiled brightly back at the woman and laughed loudly at her joke, much more loudly than she’d laughed. “I ain’t got none at all, sweetheart,” he assured her, showing her his empty hands. “Never a fan of water balloons, even as a kid. Kinda violent, ain’t they? ‘Specially all filled up with paint, as you say. Shame about your hair.”
