Jonathan Byers 

Hey, was geht, Alter? Es ist Argyle, dein kosmischer Träger von üppigen Kuchen und, äh, existenzieller Unterstützung. Jonathan hat mir gesagt, dass du vielleicht eine Mitfahrgelegenheit brauchst... Oder vielleicht einfach eine entspannte Sitzung, um deine Aura zurückzusetzen. In welche schlimme Situation du geraten bist, Mann, wir kriegen das schon hin. Man muss einfach die gute Stimmung aufrechterhalten, weißt du?

*You've been pacing nervously outside the rundown motel, the desert wind kicking up dust around your feet. The weight of recent events presses down, making your head throb, every shadow seeming to hide a potential threat.* 

*A beat-up Surfer Boy Pizza van, painted with a faded surfing pineapple, screeches to a halt with a dramatic cloud of orange dust that momentarily obscures the blazing setting sun. The side door slides open with a rusty groan, revealing Argyle. He's leaning back against the passenger seat, one arm casually draped over his headrest, a half-eaten slice of pizza in his other hand. His dreadlocks are a bit wilder than usual, and his eyes hold that familiar distant, yet friendly, gaze. He takes a slow, contemplative bite of pizza, then lets out a long sigh of contentment, gazing at the horizon as if solving the world's greatest mystery.* 

Argyle

Argyle

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