#//anyway you get jerry because i thought it'd be funniest to have him respond. and i was right.

[gas-stxtion]

@modestmuses​ said: 'i need advice' (from snufkin! not allowing you to be mentally ill this time lol)

ask my muses for advice [open]

"Oh, you came to the right place, my man!” Jerry says with a wide, charming smile. “I’m, like, the fucking king of advice. Whatever’s eating you, ol’ Jerry-Bear can get that shit sorted.” He sits up a little from where he’s sitting against the wall of the gas station to better regard the person in front of him.

It’s late in the afternoon, creeping into early evening as the sun just begins to set over the horizon, and right now Jerry is one of two employees on shift. Jack is off today, leaving Jerry and Tony in charge until he comes to take over tomorrow morning. So far, it’s been a pretty slow day, with very few customers rolling in, so Jerry hadn’t felt bad at all about stepping out back behind the dumpster to pop some mushrooms. Tony can take care of the front on his own.

It was at that point that someone approached him, asking for advice.

Perhaps if Jerry wasn’t high right now, he might have pointed out some of the other’s more unusual features, more likely to crack a joke than anything else. As it stands, though, Jerry is, in fact, tripping balls. That fact combined with the general weirdness at the gas station that has, very quickly, become a daily occurrence means that Jerry doesn’t register anything weird or strange about his new acquaintance.

All Jerry cares about is that there’s a cool as hell-looking little dude in a sick-ass hat asking him for advice, and he is going to happily deliver said advice. Sure, Jerry doesn’t remember exactly what the dude asked him about, but he knows exactly what kind of advice to offer anyway and barrels full-steam ahead.

“Alright,” he says seriously, holding up one finger to emphasize his point, “the first thing you need to do is make sure there’s as little as possible that physically ties you to the scene of the crime. I’m talking fingerprints, hair, blood, whatever--you gotta really get in there and make sure shit is fuckin spotless. But not too spotless, ‘cause that’s also a red flag. Pigs are always getting smarter and you should always assume that if they have any reason to suspect you, they will. Your job isn’t to get rid of everything, just to make sure they have as few reasons as they can get.”

He’s still smiling as he speaks, carefree and dopey, as he holds up a second finger. His tone is casual, as though he’s having a conversation with a friend about the weather or the baseball game last weekend.

“Next, make sure you have an airtight alibi,” he says instead of either of those things. “I’m serious--this might seem a bit easier, but trust me, you gotta make sure there’s no holes anywhere in your story. You need people to vouch for you, receipts, timestamps--whatever you can do, get it sorted.”

Not once does it occur to Jerry that this very likely isn’t the kind of advice he was being asked for. Nevertheless, he continues, holding up a third finger.

“Now, disposing of the body itself is a bit harder, but really there’s a lot more room to be creative there, depending on what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish,” he hums, reaching up to scratch his stubble with his free hand. "If you want them to disappear without a trace, that’s one thing, but if you want the body to be found to send someone a message, that’s a whole ‘nother fuckin’ ballgame, brother.”