Traversing old haunts wasn't something he made a habit of, not when he could help it. But a friend had clued him into who would be performing tonight, the glint in their eyes telling Ethan that they knew exactly what it would mean to him. He'd scoffed at the thought of her showing her face after all this time, but the promise of it had pulled him into the club all the same. Call it self-inflicted sabotage to the feelings he'd tried so hard to erase, he didn't give a damn, because try as he might he'd never managed to mend the ache she'd left behind. Foolish, perhaps, especially given that they'd both known from the start it was never meant to be.

Watching her perform from a darkened corner of the room, the beer in his hand had grown stale, eyes transfixed as he let the music take him on it's own journey. The riffs of her guitar building and swelling, capturing the whole room in it's spell and evoking memories Ethan had done his best to erase. For all he knew he was crossing a line, his presence in the room unwelcome when it hadn't been her who'd invited him. Her silence a sign all on it's own. But he'd stayed anyways, even as the last of the rowdy fans had called it a night and her bandmates had payed their farewells. Slipping backstage was easy, tracing footsteps he'd once been oh so familiar with, although Ethan found that he wasn't prepared for the sight of her so close - no crowd of people obscuring him now.

He didn't miss the haze of smoke clinging to the room, the way it resurfaced old memories through scent alone. "I suppose it'd be hard to pretend it was. Word travels fast around here." Dark eyes fixed on her, wanting to pin her gaze on his just so he could see what was lurking behind them. But with her avoiding his gaze, he took the chance to truly take her in. Under the stage lights she'd looked just as she always had performing - larger than life and entirely in her element. Here, while still as radiant, were the slivers of loneliness on her features that had called to his own heart the night they'd first met. "Is that right?"

It was not love at first sight -- because that tender language of pure feelings was unknown. External attractiveness hid the magnetism of the soul. The deep songs of the spirit were not sought, interest remained stuck in a hand-forged cage where it starved, thirsted and was sentenced to death. Fear, mistrust and damaged self-worth prevailed in her mind and heart like a wild wolf, bloodthirsty devouring her thoughts about change, about extinguishing the fire of inner agony, banishing loneliness where she settled down and made a gray home. Being at the bottom of despair has become comfortable, practical - familiar. Everything precisely and well hidden behind a hardened exterior, where self-confidence and directness prevailed.

The memory of the first accidental meeting was stored in a special drawer of memory, the one that did not open again - but shook, wanted to tear off the padlocks and spill its colors inside that colorless abyss that falsely promised safety. Forgetting the two black jewels of his eyes that penetrated deeper than the surface was not achieved. As he watched her, listened, gave answers with ease that didn't seem like they wanted to fake amazement so that the body would get an answer to basic lust, but fed on some other part, something bigger than weak flesh, something that leaves traces.

The erotic dance that was trained, that every intimate touch meant nothing more than superficial pleasure - collapsed into an emotional tango where the skin felt the vibrations of the man's personality, the sound of a kindred lonely heart, a longing that, like frozen hands, sought to find a fire of another's soul to warm themselves on it. She also remembered the first time she broke under his spell, when the dawn did not drive her out of his bed, how her fingertips carefully and sensitively followed the lines of his face, chin, lips that she longed to kiss. How she succumbed to that desire just one night later in a shady corner of the club, how she fed on every stolen kiss where her heart pounded in a skeleton cage, how his warmth was like a blanket in the middle of a storm that protected her from the sting of loneliness and sadness.

Fingers gripped the inside pocket of the leather jacket where the cell phone that hid the ' evidence ' was—the only photo she had, a spontaneous shot of him smiling at the bar, unaware that the lens was turned on him. So many days and nights were spent trying to hit the delete button - but the enchanted heart created a barrier, refusing to destroy the only source of comfort as the eyes absorbed the details of his person. Now, when the ears were seduced by his voice, the heart was beating like a war drum, and the lungs rejected the air, it was clear that the weeks spent in separation and silence had not filled the grave of the past with indifference, that the feelings were awake. The tongue refused to give a brash, cold answer, something that had never been difficult before with others. " I guess so . . . " the hesitation to call him out held her tongue for a moment. " . . . but that means you came here consciously, knowing who to expect. " again the question ' why ' got stuck in the throat like a stone as the man fired his last question like a shotgun. Cherry color lip was bitten by the pearly whites, torso stiffened and emerald orbs finally caught his eye. The ' was there something else ' part of the question radiated with so many different meanings that panic almost suffocated the crimson haired woman. A lot of effort was put into the apparent calm state, but she knew that Ethan had the ability to see deeper than her fake ' always composed ' exterior.

daryl had brought his weapons with him , mostly out of habit --- but they lay too far away , with his bag - further proving the point she'd made . the archer questions for a moment how she'd gotten within his vicinity without his noticing , though perhaps the blood covering skin and cloth had masked things ---- and with the wolf lost in thought , he supposes it makes more sense . he has always known since meeting her , that the redhead was incredibly smart and observant ---- that if anyone were to notice things and put things together , it'd be clare . immediately , he can tell by her words alone that she knows there's something he's been HIDING ---- that he's not a normal human . it makes the wolf tense for a moment when she kneels down ---- though there's no reason for the wariness and he internally kicks himself for such , he knows how much clare has been a staunch ally and supporter of him in general .

a soft exhale escapes the archer , bright blues closing as he lets the redhead clean the blood from his skin - fingers curling a little over the dead bark of the stump he's seated on . there's a deep-seated , lifelong fear that's nestled in his veins at the idea of telling her what he is ---- not out of fear of her , but letting anyone in is scary enough on a normal basis , let alone with something as MONUMENTAL as this . but daryl also recognizes that he cannot continue hiding it from her - not when there's no rabbit or squirrel to explain the blood he's covered in , not when said blood is that darkened , almost black-green blood from walkers . ❝ don't sound so sure 'bout that when y'ain't know things . ❞

Years have shaped tolerance and indifference to violence like the rough hands of an artist working with clay. The dropper of prosperity gave its nectar to his tongue, which had no place for the bitterness of remorse. Axel wanted to cut out the remaining parts of pity and morality like children cut collage paper, clumsily and in divided pieces, but the edges of those subconscious spirits could not be exorcised by force of will.

Seeing the weary, trembling hands of a woman who had been beneath the foot of those at the top of the food chain, but had not ceased to pick up old bones, doing humiliating work through hot and cold days to feed two hungry mouths, drove respect for women into his heart like a nail. Especially towards those who, in the teeth of fate, answered with their own growls, fought like a fanatical soldier to the last iota of strength, until the muscles fail, the lungs reject oxygen and the blood pump ceases to fulfill its rhythmical purpose.

The dust stuck to the inside of the mouth, the lack of saliva only made the baritone hoarse and rough. " Well, for starters, I would greatly appreciate if you would move away from that door. " In the vortex of violence and survival, they forgot about the original threat that brought them all to this ungodly situation. The shaking of the steel entrance to the already largely devastated shop, mixed with gurgling and growling, sent an unmistakable warning that leaving was not the happiest solution. " Look, darlin' . . . I don't want to belittle your ferocity, but I think it's best for both of us to stick to some facts. For one, if I wanted to do something to you, I wouldn't wait for you to rearm, you'd be the next target after the bastard who held you. "

@crimsontrxcks ➵ ⤹ sc ⤸

daryl has always been beyond careful when it came to hiding his secret , though what had once been out of conditioned shame turned into necessity for survival . his gruff , lone wolf type demeanor helped make it easier to keep people from looking too closely at him . and he's been LUCKY in that the times he's gotten wounded in some way , the weapons had traces of silver - enough to keep him healing at a rate that wouldn't raise any alarms . the world being the way it is made it much easier to handle the cycles of the moon , it was easy enough to slip away and rip apart some walkers ---- no one would question him being filthy with his habit of being lax toward showers .

still , sometimes he finds those he's closer to giving him a lingering look now and again -- especially from rick , or carol , or even clare on occasion - that makes him worry maybe he's relaxed too much in not being as careful . the archer knows that people would have panicked in the old world , and he's fairly certain that even now with the dead walking ---- that a werewolf would be a little too out of the realm of things that make sense , and he knows he'd either have people trying to KILL him - or study him , use him as an advantage , a weapon .

fingers pick at the blood drying on his fingers from a recent hunt for some deer or rabbit to bring back to the group - and daryl finds himself lost in thought , the wolf distracted enough that he doesn't notice anyone's approach - smoke curling into the air from the cigarette hanging between eternally-chapped lips .

In her subconscious, she was already preparing for the next step of evolution, a new copy of the mutation that would appear as an unwelcome threat. But the innate curiosity and admiration for the foreign, unusual and misunderstood carried a dose of anticipation. . . which paid off.

Clues and indicators were hidden from prying eyes, skillfully buried under a falsely rough surface. However, when the focus was predominantly on the source of these changes, the imprints of the consequences were easily noticed. There was no vocal questioning, no holding a curious look at the man for too long, but the process of changes was unmissable for eyes the color of the clear ocean.

i just wanna write all that good shit of hands tracing over another's body, viewing each mark and kissing it again & again, their lips lingering with a soft intakes of air. so jagged and so heavy and so full of emotion when they see their scars... each breath, each look, each touch is so wrought with love & obsession. and they exude a desperate hope that maybe, one day, a thousand kisses will finally add up to weigh more than the pain? they hope one day that the hold of those marks, that pain, the sadness which haunts their other half will be conquered and banished... all they want is for happiness to be their person's and only theirs because nobody could deserve it more than their beloved.

it's the flex of another's fingetips as it etches across the tapestry of their skin, they lean forward to call each mark "a battlescar,". those marks that the person they love defines as flaws, but for them it's always only a sign of strength, of a time where they wished so dearly that they could've known and helped the one they love. that mark, the tremble of the bones– those things never equate to weakness. they're a reaction, a sign that they should do more and that you're still you. i kinda love the idea of what one finds ugly & broken about themselves being this something that only inspires a rapt, neverending devotion in another...

for as taciturn as daryl could be , and as much as he often tends to keep to himself because it's what he's used to , clare has always been an exception since he met the redhead . the archer can practically hear the triumph in her body language , and he lets out a soft huff ---- a mild sound of amusement that he'll later deny giving if she tried to point it out to him . he can sense her need for the SOLACE of the trees , the way the new natural world is a home - much as it is for daryl . the clean , painted homes of alexandria were a source of stability - but daryl often found himself feeling like they were playing house , like children used to .