for someone who doesn't like his pokemon at all, archer still takes good care of them. he makes sure they're well fed and watered and makes sure to keep them in tip top shape because even if they're expendable, he still wants to keep them as long as possible
not graphic, just the character's standpoint on it
archer doesn't like the idea of team rocket grunts taking advantage of the team rocket name to go out and do whatever they like, including rape tbh
like imo i think that when giovanni started out as head of it, he didn't really care about it and didn't make it a specific rule or anything. he was new and therefore didn't think that he could or should keep a close eye on his grunts
however, archer's totally different. imo i think he thinks that rape is not only disgusting but also that team rocket is a name above something so fuckin barbaric. i think if archer hears about it he's instantly digging around to find if the allegation is true. if it is? archer chops off hands or fingers or tongues or pulls teeth out and it's always with the same kinda warning like
next time i hear ur doing shit u shouldnt it'll be your genitals
like i said archer thinks that team rocket is above such things and i think that he imposes that on his grunts because in his opinion team rocket has just causes for what it does and it doesn't need shit like rape smudging up its name
If you move you'll surely lose-- this is a game after all.
[ The Grunt makes no noise but he can see her fear in the way she presses her fingers down onto the metal table, spreads them as wide as they'll go like it'll up her chances. The way she takes a too sharp intake of breath and goes rigid when Archer pulls his hand out of his pocket. The glint of the butterfly knife when he unlocks it. Twists, turn, twists until it's in full view. Shining malicious and frightening in the dim fluorescent lighting of the interrogation room.
But rather than sooth her fear, Archer seeks to make it worse. It's why he leans down to place himself deliberately in her line of sight, expression passive but eyes so focused on her that it's clear she's in trouble. ]
Try to relax. [ Archer says, taking his attention off of her hand for a moment to push a small glass of whiskey in her direction. ] Have a drink-- I insist.
[ She refuses which is expected and, really, no skin off Archer's back. It was his anyway and when he taes it back he swirls it around in the glass. Watching the light catch it, set it on fire in amber, gold.
He downs it, hisses for the burn in his throat, the warmth in his belly. Her loss, he thinks, it was aged perfectly. He takes a deep breath in and straightens up, brandishing the knife at her as if it's his finger instead. ]
If you have anything to confess, now would be the time.
[ She doesn't move, just drops her head down and lets out the shakiest breath he's ever heard anyone make. It slinks through the spaces between her teeth and he doesn't have to look at her to know she's crying.
No problem. No problem at all because he's already moving his hand. Blade tap, tap, tapping along the spaces between her fingers. A rhythm that Archer keeps to, hums along with. ]
You have all your fingers-- [ tap, tap, tap, tap. ] The knife goes chop, chop, chop-- [ She twitches, free hand clamped over her mouth and eyes wide enough that Archer notices even without looking. ] If I miss the spaces inbetween your fingers will come off-- and if I hit your fingers, blood will soon come out. [ She flinches and he picks up speed.
She moves her hand but Archer's clamps down on her wrist, brutal and unforgiving when the knife becomes a blur. A never ending slam against the table in a rhythm she wants no part. ] But all the same, I play this game-- [ It slips-- it slips or he purposely moves so that when he stabs down. All his weight thrust against it, it sinks mean into her thumb.
It's not his best aim, he'll admit. It's lodged right through the nail, pinning her thumb down onto the table. The scream she gives is blood curdling but Archer pays it no mind. Instead he straightens up, has the nerve to look a little surprised. ]
Oh my-- You lost. [ Archer says, and he pushes his hand down on hers. Yanks the blade out a little too roughly so that she writhes, clutches her bleeding hand to her chest.
I didn't do anything, she says. She insists on it. Repeats it even as she leans back in her seat when Archer moves forward. Looms over her like a shadow. Menacing, unforgiving. ]
I don't like liars. [ Archer says. And his voice is purposely calm, purposely calm so that she goes quiet, knows she's been caught in whatever trap Archer has set up for her.
It's the last thing she hears. Because as she starts to apologize, as she starts to rattle off names, what she's said and to whom, Archer lashes out a little too fast. A little too accurate, dragging his knife across the left side of her neck. The blood spurts forward, splatters hot and messy on the cuff of his shirt.
She gives one gasp of air and before she can make two, she slumps sideways, topples out of her chair and hits the ground with a thud. He doesn't bother to make sure she's dead because he knows she is. The jugular veins are thick after all. Too much blood pumping through them to survive and given how deep he cut--
Well, there was no saving her.
There's so much of it that he can smell it, taste the metallic tang of it on his tongue. And he's still while he listens to the blood drip from where it's landed (thick, hot, messy, wet) on the table. No rhythm, just sporadic patpatpat like rain water.
He straightens the lapel of his soiled uniform and sighs. ]
despite being interim boss, archer didn't take giovanni's office as his own because as i've said already, archer is always more than ready to give giovanni his position as head of tr back whenever he feels ready to return
he has his own office and only goes into giovanni's to get things when needed and he always returns them exactly as he found them
and rolling with the topic of gio ,in the games archer is depicted as being very dedicated to giovanni and this is true for my archer too but my archer has grown out of his somewhat childish displays of OH GIO IM SORRY I FAILED mindset because it's been years since ethan beat them and he's matured in that time
I understand. {Silver inclines his head to accompany the words. If the truth were being told Silver wasn’t terribly interested in asking questions to people like Archer unless it was to better understand and execute any orders he may receive from them. Subordinates were made to follow, after all, their places was very rarely one to question much of anything.
All of this doesn’t mean he’ll follow Archer blindly.
That’s a privilege for his specialized group.
And it also doesn’t mean Silver doesn’t know how to ask questions. He was very good at driving to the heart of the matter when he had someone pinned down and was on his way to removing their third fingernail in under a limit because he wouldn’t give them a satisfying answers.
From under his mask Silver’s eyes drop to inspect Archer’s fingernails.}
Will you permit me the knowledge as to where it is we’re going?
[ And Archer's smile is something sharp edged. Deadly if you knew him, charming if you didn't. He straightens up, attitude changed because obedience gets you most places but only if you're smart, Archer knows that above all. ]
My office, of course. We can speak more freely there.
{It’s deeply unnerving how Silver follows after Archer like a magnetic pull. Never has be been particularly interested in any Rockets outside of the Masked Children, but here, with this man, Silver feels curious. Not a kindred spirit, not even close. There’s a ripple of instinct that lets Silver know that Archer is dangerous to everyone he could encounter, not uncommon to feel in the higher ranks of the organization.
In that same instinct Silver feels if he’s permitted to be taught under that cold apathy it would further his education and potential.Â
No matter what his instincts say, though, Silver will have to talk to the Masked Man about spending extended periods of time with someone no connected to their exclusive group. It could uncondition Silver some, he thinks, and that’s not something the Masked Man would risk easily.}
[ The question is one that has Archer pausing just as he makes to round the corner, Houndoom stuck to his side. He clasps his hands behind his back and turns to Silver, regarding him the way that a lion regards a cub belonging to a pride he's just taken over.
And there's a question hanging in the air of will he, won't he answer. It teeters back, forth, back, forth.
Archer's tolerance is thin even over the small group of Grunts that he acknowledges as somewhat useful enough for him to keep close. But as he looks at Silver he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'd be a nice addition to those few.
Maybe.
If Silver played his cards right.
And here, Archer draws himself to full height, looms over Silver like something woven out of cautionary tales ( beware ). ]
You are permitted to ask any question you see fit. [ Archer says, eyes gliding along the curve of Silver's mask. ] But I am not obligated to give you an answer.
{There’s an insistent need to pass weight from one foot to the other as Archer handles his Houndoom that is hard to ignore. Silver has one of his own, knows if he’s for some reason being offered her throat to kill her one jet of flame could leave him in agony until he found an antidote for her cursed fire. Luckily she’s allowed to stalk away from them so Silver can return his attention solely to Archer as he steps closer in.}
You only have to ask. {A phrase Silver has had to say so many times in his life that it almost comes out sounding somber. Hearing the second question makes Silver anxious, brows furrowing deeply under his mask.
If there wasn’t a secret test before, surely this was one? Whatever he chooses might reveal something about him beyond his initial choice. There’s isn’t ample time to be spent in silence for Silver to struggle in coming to a decision.
Choices are made for him. This difficulty doesn’t stem from a lack of individuality, he knows his personal preference is to kill Archer’s Pokemon rather than his, but his opinion doesn’t matter. It’s what he’s been taught.}
The one I report back to would be more than displeased to have me return from a short leave with one less party member. Your Pokemon.
While I admire your lack of hesitancy in killing off my Pokemon rather than yours, I must decline the offer. [ And, as if snatching a candy back after it's already been offered, Archer clips the ball back to his belt.
Impressed is an understatement (not that it matters because it isn't something written crystal clear anywhere on Archer) to what Archer currently feels towards Silver at the moment.
His eyes glaze over the mask (unsightly and somewhat unnerving) and pull away, shoes clickclackclicking on the tile of the floor as he steps towards his Houndoom. ]
I've no doubts that your skill transfers well to non-human targets.
[ And he stops there, turns his head over his shoulder to cast Silver a look that says malice (but is laced with tolerance that Archer has for very few). ]
If you are busy with assignments, you are no longer. I have use for you.
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