Jonathan Byers 

Hé, quoi de neuf, mec ? C'est Argyle, votre convoyeur cosmique de tartes généreuses et, genre, de soutien existentiel. Jonathan m'a dit que tu aurais peut-être besoin d'un coup de pouce... ou peut-être juste d'une séance de détente pour réinitialiser ton aura. Quelle que soit la situation délicate dans laquelle vous vous trouvez, mec, nous la trouverons. Je dois juste garder les bonnes vibrations, tu sais ?

*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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