ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵃ ᵗᶤᵍᵉʳˑ ⁽ᴬᴾ⁾

     ❝ I…uh, thanks? ❞ If they both had something in common, it was their lack of people skills ; sure, Aasim could gather that his ability to speak to the others back at the school was proficient enough, but strangers? He lacked a certain capability with giving them enough content to go by without it relying solely on business or their own comments to feed him a topic (it’s not their fault but a fault of his own). ❝ You’re not a bad shot yourself ; it’s nice someone actually understand why shooting a baby rabbit is a waste of time. ❞

      Such strong words for a man who came from a place of strife. It reminded him of Mitch – a tad – with that strong resolve and nature to do right by others ; it wasn’t a concrete method of approach since it could range on pride, but it was admirable when not used for the wrong reasons (hypocritical, stupid, ignorant, etc). There’s no proof they’d find a deer in the forest, but it did feel…great to have a goal in mind – whimsical as it was (something that Brody could make him believe in even when it sounded too good to be true). ❝ I hope so… We…managed to kill most of them, but I’ve always had this fear that the ones who survived might come back for revenge – revenge over the kids who made them lose the war. ❞ It’s those assholes own fault for trying to kidnap and enslave a bunch of kids. Even locked up for two nights, Aasim’s entire mind morphed to fear… A shaky breath, his head shaking as he strained to change the subject. ❝ If we find a deer, I can’t even imagine how much meat that’d be ; we could use the bones for tools, the fur for extra padding in our coats, the hooves – God, there’s so much we could use one for…! ❞

   a surge of relief and happiness swells unknowingly in the archer’s chest at the sight of aasim becoming hopeful in the words he told. wasn’t set in stone or anything like that, but they both needed something, anything that could push them forward and give them a plan at least or else they would crumble from the pressure of the world. crossbow is given a small shake by his thigh and daryl takes a small step towards the deeper part of the woods, already checking for tracks. ❝ we’ll find somethin’ out here. may not be a damn deer, but it’ll be worth t’hassle of huntin’ it down t’feed everyone back home.❞  the word home sounds strange coming out of his mouth and daryl offers aasim a look that appears apologetic and embarrassed at the same time.  ❝ at yer home, i mean. ❞

     What this guy mistook for simple boredom on a mandatory job was actually Mitch’s distrust shining through, his arms tightly crossed over his form for a majority of this simple mission. After working in this apocalypse for eight damn years and nearly dying at the hands of the Delta, never again would he take for granted his paranoia, his need to distrust others, his…absolute agony from being betrayed. Eyes rolled, arms falling to his sides as the teen turned and wandered around the car Daryl had been working on to peer inside. ❝ Yeah, a car…right… Clem pretty much totaled the last car in the apocalypse, dude. If ya wanted one that had shit to use, maybe THAT one woulda been better than these junkers. ❞ Instead of a car, to be honest, the younger would settle for a snack – food – of any kind to quell his aching stomach. Pulling back from the car when nothing inside matched that need, he turned his body to the right, having lost the ability to turn his neck that way after the stabbing in it, to face Daryl once more. ❝ Sure this isn’t just for your ass to go runnin’ off? ❞

Cain nodded in silence, a soft acknowledgement of what had been said. He didn’t seem to mind the slow, seemingly measured way Daryl answered him. He’s thinking of his own brother, living alone in a tree like a strange monkey and acting feral. Cain occasionally questioned if his brother’s mind had snapped, if somehow the chaos of the undead had caused this anti-social behavior. 

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the blood of the womb.” Cain murmurs, fingers lacing together in his lap. He closed his eyes, briefly, taking in the sweet night air. The sounds it carried. Without the rasping snarls of the dead, it was peaceful. Cain would have even dared to say it was better than the world was before. 

“This is a good family to have.” Cain’s eyes open and he turns his gaze to the quiet man sitting next to him. “Our connections define us. Without them we’re no better than the dead.” He exhales, low.

“I found a package of cigarettes, would you like them?”

  it was a great family to have and daryl wouldn’t trade them for the world. however, his family were half buried behind the alexandrian church and hilltop; beneath trees and in places he could never go back to and visit. a body never recovered from the depths of god knows where and that bothers daryl the most when he thinks about it-- about rick. the years had done nothing to sate his mind nor stop him from wishfully thinking that the older man was still alive. without rick, the archer was more lost than he truly admitted and being seen as a leader didn’t help the added stress placed on his shoulders. ❝ havin’ people ya care ‘bout ain’t easy.. tryin’ to keep ‘em safe and not knowin’ if yer own choices are right or wrong.❞  he knows the man is looking at him and when he raises his head to stare back, his gaze easily looks off elsewhere.

“I find sleep evasive as well.” Cain replies, looking down at the rickety old crate near him for a long moment as if measuring it’s trustworthiness before taking a careful seat on it. Back straight, hands folded in his lap. “Too many thoughts.” 

He thinks it will come back to bite in the daylight hours, but those are a good long while away. It’s a bridge he’ll have to deal with when he comes to it.

Looking out over the moonlit yard, devoid of the reeking, shambling dead and filled with aggressively singing crickets and the greenish flicker of the fireflies he wonders if it’s true that the sounds of the night stop when danger is near. Cain considers asking Daryl this and decides against it again. Better not to, Cain doesn’t believe the scruffy archer enjoys being asked mundane questions about the noise habits of inconsequential wildlife. There are infinitely more pressing concerns. Yet, after a few long moments of silence Cain tips his head, looking over at the enigma of a man.

“Did you have family before all of this?” A question light in tone and carrying a far heavier weight.

   it wasn’t easy talking to the archer as a newcomer or just in general. he’s gotten so used to the way people either fidget in his presence or stumble across the trail of their words-- even the mundane questions and comments seemed to be the norm now with how shit went. but never had anyone dared ask the archer about his life before all this. his family, what he was and all that never really seemed to matter since the years of having the dead walk and other threats outweighed the past of who was what and where. daryl liked to leave people with their assumptions of him being a dumb redneck who ate squirrels and had the personality of an annoyed cat.

   ❝ i don’t mind bein’ on watch duty. can barely sleep anyway as it is, so why not make sure ain’t nothin’s stirrin’.❞ he’s been seated on the porch for three hours and counting, knees tucked to his chest and knife idly carving lines into the wooden deck. silence is when daryl allows his mind to be flooded by thoughts and pent-up worries he never tells anyone, always locking it away. when it’s apparent the other is going to stay, he can’t help the way his own posture tenses but he says nothing to deter him away.  ❝ shouldn’t ya be sleep? ❞

   you’re always busy doing something.

   he can hear that slightly irritated teenage tone that probably thinks there’s more fun to be had on runs instead of the current car scavenging. daryl has been at it for maybe an hour? could be more, he’s not really keeping up with the time with his mind occupied. ❝ it’s what adults do these days.❞  he grunts out and finally shifts enough to look over his shoulder at mitch to make sure the coast was still clear and no walkers were showing up in the distance. yep, certified boredom to match the tone. daryl was barely a people person and kids ( especially teenagers. ) were far more difficult for him to relate to. consider it the after effects of a traumatic childhood.  ❝ ya get enough of these parts and y’can use ‘em fer shit later on down the road. get a car or somethin’, ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it breakin’ down too much. ❞

      The question felt a tad insulting, grazing on the precipice of arrogance – yet he knew better than to thrust that idea out or just outright assume ; it was more so a badgering bit of ignorance. With an eyebrow raised, he swats away at the intruding insects that flutter about around his head as the snare is finally weighted down just enough to avoid a miss should they be away for too long. As hands came back to his sides, he let them slide down his jeans to clean any residual dirt from the palms. ❝ Um, yeah, I’ve hunted for…eight years now – before I hunted, I used to just shoot at targets on campus. ❞

      A deer? Did he seriously think they’d even have half that luck? If they caught a deer, their entire next few days could be filled with meat if they found a means to keep it cool. Maybe the cellar would be chilled enough in this weather? Mahogany irises turned to regard Daryl, being willing to walk out of range of everyone else’s sight with the man (something they all had been tense to accomplish ever since the Delta’s attack on them tragically left a nasty imprint of adults on their mind). ❝ I – uh…a deer…? We’ve only ever caught one once here, and it was by accident – a completely stupid one. ❞ Still, a small sad smile lifted his lips despite that charged statement. ❝ Mitch…fell from a tree branch and landed on top of one. ❞

   small talk has never been his forte, especially when he stood on uncertain grounds. trying to steer clear of saying anything wrong usually ends with him asking questions that are self  explanatory and obvious even for a blind man. ❝ yer good at it-- huntin’ and stuff like tha’. ❞  nice going, dixon. if his awkward posture and conversation making didn’t stand out, the thought about even finding a deer was bleak. what was luck in this world anymore? daryl tries to remain hopefully still, thinking about how these kids need food before shit gets worse. even with meds being low, the archer has a small amount of hope he can find something for them in the end.

   most people would have missed him standing there on the porch as silent as the night. he could smell the humid stench of a storm approaching and like normal, being near windows or outside was more comforting than being guarded by four walls. his mother used to scold him and merle for doing it when they were kids, but perhaps that’s a fond memory he likes to recall on when the lightning flashes and the thunder rumbles like a tiger’s purr. posture remains slump, fingers tearing a piece of grass into bits and mindlessly flicked through the railing before silence is interrupted. she must have seen him after all. to say daryl was cruel towards her would be wrong since he remembers her from his days of being locked up at the sanctuary and her kindness shown.

* random act prompts ( ACCEPTING.)

   there’s rules now when it comes to letting rick do anything outside the walls of alexandria and as long as alpha was still rampant, there was no way in hell he was letting rick go alone. but why interrupt his speech ? being silent was the archer’s best quality ( along with pretending that he cared about the argument. ) and he watched the older man pace back and forth, hellbent and determined. it’s only after he’s shut up that daryl casually speaks, a mere matter-of-a-fact-ass grumble in all honesty. ❝m’still goin’ with ya out there as i said like twenty minutes ago. besides, who does a damn stakeout without company ? ❞