The corner of the man’s mouth raised behind his handkerchief, then fell away just before he pulled it from his face. He looked back at Carl, Daryl had seen the kid grow up over the years and while he hadn’t spent much time with him, before his mother passed away giving birth to his baby sister. Carl wasn’t a kid anymore, at least not in Daryl’s mind, he had become a man but he didn’t see him as the man his father was, that didn’t take a way that he was still one of the good guys.

Carl sniffed, not from the intensity of the stench emanating from the corpses, but out of mocked disappointment. Damn, he’d wanted to dig in to the harsher details of what Daryl did. Whatever presented itself in place was good enough, he supposed. He felt his nose scrunch up. “That’s disgusting. No wonder you smell, like, all the time.” He jibed playfully, knowing full well the man could handle his harsh manner.

Worth two in the bush||Daryl & Carl

Before the prison, Carl had attempted, more than once, to get the older man to teach him how to do what he did, out of childish curiosity that quickly became a desperate fascination. Sure, one gun was enough - but that was his mother’s mindset. She’d never allow him to seek ‘training’ from someone like the temperamental redneck, but if Carl liked him well enough, who was to stop him?

  Blair rolls her eyes at the kid. She didn’t take shit off the adults in her life, there was no way in hell that she was going to let this kid act like that. She walks towards him. “Yeah cause getting eaten to death is the best form of sucide, you dumb little shit.” The one of voice that she took on almost made her chuckle. It was one reserved for her little brother but it had been a long while since she’d had t use it on him.

Carl cocked a brow at her, smirking. "Yeah. Effective too, you know." He'd seen it. Not the best way to die, of course - sure as hell wasn't the way he'd want to go. But somehow, it was their decision. An insane, sick decision that didn't really make a whole lot of sense. 

Carl felt his words garble and falter, and so remained silent. He had nothing to say, nothing wise to impart upon his own father - because he was just as lost, just as torn as everybody else. His father, though… his father suffered more, Carl could tell. He could see what no one else wanted to see, the broken gait and the glaze that settled over his father’s eyes when something, something they couldn’t have expected, happened.

Alina couldn’t help but laugh - no, that wouldn’t be the right word. Carl looked like a dancing Easter egg, so the word ‘laugh’ didn’t quite cover it. The young Russian was practically bent over laughing from the very sight before her. “Relax, Glavnyy.” She barely managed the words through laughter. “I have calendar.” It was a mini pocket planner, but it helped her keep track of the days. And before she found her sister, it helped her keep track of where she had been.

Carl sneered at her, flicking dyed water and loose glitter in her direction. “Ugh,” The fact that it didn’t even look like water made it so much worse. “Relax? Not when I’m soaked. The hell were you thinking?” He’d be honest: it was a good idea that he hadn’t yet thought of, but it being used on him? Not acceptable. No one used glitter on him, if he had any say. “‘Course you do. You seem like the type who’d keep up with that stuff.”

  Alina had been gone since dawn and was now only just returning when the sun was at its peak - so she assumed around one. If she had checked the sundial she and Alex had made, it would of confirmed her assumption. Growing up in Russia, where temperatures were probably considered cold in America, she was stifling and couldn’t stand it. It was very unlike her to be wearing denim ‘short shorts’ and a tanktop, but that’s what she changed into right after she got back to the cabin. Growing up in a military boarding school, such clothes weren’t allowed, and she felt like she knew part of the reason; why give the boys more reason to disrespect them?

"I'll come - you'll get lost," he said, matter-of-factly, like he knew that was bound to happen. Everybody got lost at some point, except for him. He hardly ever got lost; at least, that's what he wanted to believe. "Cool. I'll come, then, too." Carl seemed to be intent on following this man around, for various - and somewhat vague - reasons. 

  "Net. I believe you believe it is fun, Glavnyy. Do not worry, I will bring you and others in your group fun. Whether they are little or big." Alina knew just what she had to go on a run for, and she knew it would be worth it to come back with a bunch of water guns, food colouring, water balloons, and glitter. God, Charlie was going to kill her when she asked her to make the run with her. "People now forget fun. It is important. Beth said man named Rick is in charge, net? When I get what I need, I will speak with him."

"I don't think they know about fun either. I don't think they want to, with everything that's going on." Except for the kids, but they were another matter entirely. He was too serious to support any kind of community event because there was no point in doing it - they had death constantly at their doorstep. What was the point?

  "That s not fun - that is work. It is disappointing." Anyone who forgot to have fun sometimes, usually lost themselves. Even before all of this, in the military world, growing cold was something many did. "I will have to teach you fun next, da?" And especially for someone so young to be in this. In ten years from now, if Carl kept this up, his heart would be ice. And what about his sister? Then, her childhood would have no fun at all. And robbing a child of fun was a crime..everyone needs a childhood.

"Fun for me." It was better in the long run - without his help, the prison wouldn't be so well fortified in the event of a surge, like last time when the fences had fallen to the walkers. Carl shrugged absently and continued following the faded trail back to the prison. "Whatever. As long as it doesn't take away time from what I'm supposed to be doing." Carl stopped suddenly and raised his hand, pointed to a tower off in the distance.

    Every second of silence spent between them felt like an eternity, a personal torture brought on by his own mind choosing to repeatedly remind him of the mistakes he had made. Rick remained uncertain how to approach his own son after the events that tore them apart, his eyes lingering on Carl as the silence they’d both contributed towards remained thick, and heavy. It wasn’t as if there was no mending their bond, yet the strain on their relationship caused it to feel as if that were true. Their distance brought on by the harsh world that surrounded them, his own mistakes pushing his son further away from him. His mind screamed, every thought feeling weighed down by his own self hatred, and the regrets that came alongside- he had failed him, he’d failed all of them.  "Carl.." Rick allowed himself to repeat the boy’s name, a sigh passing over his lips. "We can’t keep doing this." His hand slipped down the door frame as he adjusted his stance, head straightening as his eyes shifted up towards the ceiling and away from Carl.

The tightness of his throat ebbed little, tensed like his wrists as they curled into small, shaking fists at his sides. Gulping the stale air of the prison block made the waves curling in his peripheral dance like the shadows on his hat, breaths stoppered by the choked muscles in his neck. Like his own emotions, he thought whimsically. Bottled and stuffed, no where to go but out in an explosion of anger he didn’t understand.

  "Da. You did very good." Alina collected her things and began following the boy, not minding if he got them lost, because she could find the lake with ease, and from there, they could find the prison. "Glavnyy." She as careful to look at her surroundings as they walked; both to visually imprint where they were and for walkers. "What do you do for fun?" The question was important to her, as no matter how old someone became, they had to have fun and be a kid - even her.

The trees, as repetitive as they seemed, he recognized. They were the big ones that hung around the front of the prison, but he wasn't sure how far out they were. He looked up when she spoke, but kept his eyes on the faded trail before him. "I make sure the fences are secured. I keep watch. Sometimes I clean my gun, because target practice wastes bullets. Why?" There was no time for fun in the new world, so he'd learned to find joy in other, more mature things. 

What concern Carl had for this woman faded once the questions started - why was she out here, why was she alone?  He may have been young and rash at times, but he was smart enough to know how idiotic such a thing was.  

Even with her jacket on, Alina felt the hits, and was thankful for the protection her jacket served for this. But she still felt them - a lot. It was the unexpected force to the neck that caused her to collapse to her knees, gasping for air - the blow to her chest had her winded, and the one to her neck finished it. She was coughing, leaning on her knees and one hand, her other hand on the neck where Carl had hit. Despite this, though, she was proud he got it done. “Good..Glavnyy..” It took her a few more moments to catch herself, taking the water and drinking a large amount before looking up at Carl from the dirt.

Carl looked down at her, squinting. “Sorry.” He hadn’t meant it, of course; she’d asked for it and he’d complied, with a little extra force that wasn’t actually necessary. If only he’d known this earlier, when he needed it for defensive purposes. No one could touch him when under the threat of passing out from a few well placed hits.

An increasing gap of silence had been forming between the two Grimes, an uncomfortable notion Rick found himself repeatedly going over in his mind. The fall of the prison still weighed heavily upon his tired shoulders, a blame he couldn’t quite shake himself of. It had been his fault- so many lives lost because of the choices he made, choices he would remained haunted by until he knew for sure that any other potential scenarios would have resulted in the same out come- or worse. He needed some sense of reassurance, seeking it first and foremost from himself. A grunt passed by his lips as he shook his head, attempting to rid himself momentarily of the waves of images that plagued his mind. Now wasn’t the time for that, he needed to focus on the present, he needed to focus on his son. Any distance between the two of them was poison, and Rick wouldn’t allowed it. His body ached, muscles burning beneath skin. His legs trembled as he moved without grace, a struggle evident with each step. It was a blessing to be able to rest his hand against the concrete walls, using them as support whenever prying eyes weren’t on him. There was no other option, no one could see him weak, not now.

Carl felt his muscles grow taut under the skin like strained rope, tenseness riding his shoulders to a hunch when the rasp of his father’s voice met his ears. The rattle was pained, too wrong to be his father because his father wasn’t weak, he didn’t sound weak, he never did-- but the name, familiar because it was his and only his, made him wince and draw into himself like a bothered child. He knew, then, that it was his father, broken and beaten, and he was speaking to him, and Carl felt obligated to answer.