Dreams ain't usually this clear [Open]

[dirtyredneck]

Who: Daryl Dixon and you
What: Scavenging and Hunting and Generally getting a feel for the group
Where: Camp 1: Melai Temple
When: second day of camp onward
Warnings/Notes: third prompt has a mildly graphic description of Daryl eating a dead animal with the express purpose of grossing someone out.


1. Arrival
Daryl wasn't sure if he should believe what he was seeing, what he'd been told during the dream, when he first woke up. What he did know was that he was someplace very different than the Hilltop and something was telling him to go a certain way.

That way led to an old, majestic building that seemed long since emptied despite being in excellent condition. Not wholly unfamiliar to him outside of it looking like it had fallen out of a movie set for some epic fantasy. Inside he found something a little more familiar: a mismatched group of survivors who didn't look at all like they belonged together and most who didn't know what the shit they were doing.

He stood at the entrance to the main hall the majority were gathered in and just stared at them for a while, eyes narrowed and clearly judging them in some manner. He, himself, looked much the titular redneck if anyone was familiar with that term: dirty, hair just a bit too greasy, dressed in clothes that probably hadn't been changed in days and covered as much with motor oil as they were the dregs of whatever swamp or forest he'd been stomping through, leather vest probably the cleanest thing about him and that wasn't saying much. On his shoulder was a crossbow of the sort found in modern-day America (or maybe way advanced, or way behind the times depending on era a body was from). It looked like it had seen more than it's share of action, but it was well-maintained despite this.

2. Scavenging the Temple
It didn't take long to figure out that most of the group didn't know shit about surviving off the land or in a world gone to so much shit that everything was abandoned and anything worth finding was probably going to be hidden. Daryl set out within a half hour of arrival at the temple and started going through every room and everything he could find in those rooms.

Clothing was pretty much shit, but cloth was cloth and could be used to make bandages or bindings for other items. Could have strips of it woven together for makeshift bags, too. Which, considering the lack of backpacks available to the group at large, was probably the better use. He grabbed a few armfuls and set it off to the side in one of the former bedrooms. Joining it a little later came what pots, pans, utensils, and especially: knives, he could find that were worth anything. There was little else to the place worth taking.

Once he had a stash, he sat down on the floor and started tearing the cloth apart to make those loosely woven bags, head lifting when someone wandered by.

A growled "This is my room, my stuff. Touch it and lose yer fingers." when someone got a little bold and attempted to come inside and look at what he'd gathered.

3. Dressing down the kill
Unfortunately for Daryl, the sorts of pots and junk he'd found in the temple weren't the sort that were good for carrying water. And if the group was gonna be walking around sometime soon, which had definitely been implied by the voices, it was going to need a way to carry water. Which meant finding something to turn into a decent canteen or killing something to get some hide. Wouldn't last long without being properly tanned, but it would be something.

It took about an hour to find tracks of a small deer and another two to follow them to where it was grazing. The actual kill had been easy. Field dressing it to carry back went far better than he was used to what with the lack of dead wandering about and attracted to the blood. Still had to worry about natural predators, but so far those seemed to act like ones he was used to and unless they were starving, stayed away from the innards he left on the ground until he'd hauled the deer onto his shoulders and started back to the temple.

Once he was there, he dropped the corpse on the ground next to the fire and began skinning it. There was still a lot of blood in the beast, but hell, it was fresh meat and soon-to-be fresh leather for the cleaning. Not to mention all the small uses they could put the bones to.

When he noticed someone staring, he lifted his head, then dug his fingers into the chest cavity and pulled out some of the bits that were stuck to the ribcage. Meeting and holding their eyes, he put the raw meat into his mouth and started chewing. If someone was gonna watch, he might as well make it a show.

4. Not a people person
Several days in, and Daryl still hadn't properly introduced himself to the group at large. He spent his time alternating between hunting, smoking his kills so they had some meat preserved for the coming trip, making what storage he could out of the cloth scraps, and basket weaving. Fucking basket weaving. He hated doing it, they didn't come out pretty or water tight, but damn if the reed fibers didn't make for better general carry storage than the cloth did. At least in small amounts. Like belt pouch sized. He couldn't get larger ones to hold together that well. Hadn't ever practiced the art much before and after, well, they could scavenge most of their bags and packs from the dead without much issue.

Daryl made a fairly concentrated effort to appear aloof and disenchanted with everyone in the hopes they'd leave him alone while he kept busy. But if anyone cared to pay even a little attention, they'd notice he kept himself close enough to keep track of the comings and goings. And at night, or in the early mornings, he could be found sitting in the temple entrance, bow across his knee, guarding the make-shift camp.

5. Wildcard
[[Daryl is gonna pretend not to care about anyone but he'll generally step up to help out if someone's having trouble with something and will stop to listen if someone wants to talk. So if you want something a little different than above, just tag and we can figure it out!]]

[[Will match tagging style]]

Comments

4.

[awfulcer]

"Here I go once again, with a suitcase in my hand, and I'm running away down River Road..."

[Like Daryl, Dixon's been lingering around the corners of the group. Part of that is that he's just straight-up not particularly liked, and there's only so much awkwardly sitting with people who wished you'd leave that one can take before getting the message. Part of it's that he's been in withdrawal from alcohol and cigarettes and hasn't felt like he had anything to say to the group besides a stream of obscenities; even now, having figured out how to deal with the alcohol side of things, the nicotine withdrawal has him too edgy, bitchy and anxious to want to be around others.

Embarrassed of his nerve-wracked state and feeling like hell warmed up, especially in the temple, he's lurked around the forest, coming in to sleep at night and grab food he barely contributes to but otherwise keeping to himself, singing to himself and twitching his fingers as if it could really take his mind off of how much he wants to use one of his last three cigarettes. His general uselessness and his heightened nerves have paid off in one small way; as incompetent as he is at hunting or gathering, he makes a natural suit for taking watch.]

"Chasing my dreams down River Road..."

[He completes his 'patrol' of walking around the front of the temple, which would probably be more effective if he was actually paying attention to his surroundings, and catches the sight of Daryl weaving something. He puts his hands on his belt and squints up at the guy. Scruffy and dirty, but so are all of them by this point. Dixon's just glad the burns on his face are just scarring now, because after the last few days sleeping in the dirt and catching rats he's pretty sure they'd have been infected as hell otherwise.

He recalls Daryl must have introduced himself to the group at large, but Dixon hasn't been truly looped into anything, nor has he really been in the mindset to catch up on what he missed. Either way, the guy hasn't exactly become best friends with anyone else yet.]

Hey. Hey, you! Are you part of this group or what? I know you're fucking eyeballing us.

[dirtyredneck]

[Daryl lifted his head just enough to look over at the man calling out to him while his hair fell in a greasy curtain to obscure his face. He'd seen the man walking around like he was patrolling for a while now. Good move on his part if that's what he was doing. But the man also didn't look like he had much sense in him, neither. Though assessment could entirely be based on how every move he made screamed 'cop'. It was in the line of his back, the set of his shoulders, and the pompous way he moved. Like he was used to throwing his weight around.

All but confirmed in the way he demanded to know about Daryl.

After a long, long, long moment of staring, Daryl snorted and let his attention fall back to his work.]

I'm here, ain't I?

[awfulcer]

Sure, and skulking around staring at people like some kind of animal. Keeping tabs on all us.

[It's a very natural mindset for Dixon to fall into, us versus them. In the absence of any more monsters but also without any real friends in the group he's starting to set up partitions in his head, as if casting someone else as the outsider would draw him closer to the group at large. It's a bizarre sort of loneliness that demands social ties but sabotages them at the same time.

He walks up to Daryl, hands slipping into his jean pockets, with the kind of swagger a school bully has before they demand the dessert in your Lunchables.]

What you got there?

[dirtyredneck]

None'a yer business.

[Daryl replied with a lazy casualness and next to no outward reaction to the man's posturing. Depending on how hard the asshole poked at him - figuratively or otherwise - Daryl felt he could probably take him. Get a few good punches in. Maybe the knife if he had to.]

Ain't like I'm doin' nothin' no one else ain't. Everyone's keepin' tabs on everyone else. Even you.

[awfulcer]

If you're part of the group it's everyone's business, ain't it?

[He takes a seat about a yard from Daryl, legs sprawled lazily, like he has no intention of going anywhere.]

I'm not the one looking suspicious about it and coming in late. I been here since we started this whole thing.

[It's an arbitrary distinction to draw, and Dixon knows it. But he's on edge, looking to pick a fight, sniffing around for any excuse to set off a grenade and get some aggression out. Usually it's a habit he keeps to bars but, much to his chagrin, those seem a bit scarce out here. Daryl's a grown man, not a teenager or a chick, so Dixon's slotted him in as an acceptable potential outlet.]

3.

[greyerrant]

[ A figure clad in what looks like basically a grey toga watches him from the edge of temple, having smelled the blood and appeared much like the silent wolf he is often compared to. He watches Daryl begin eating the raw bits, and nods, crossing his arms. He'd do much the same, honestly. Though Loken hasn't quite realized he no longer has the genetic implants to actually process raw meat in quite the same way or quantity as he used to. Regardless, he seems unmoved, sizing Daryl and his kill up. He'll let the other man break the silence, or not, feeling contented with it. ]

[dirtyredneck]

[Daryl paused just a moment in his eating, one finger still in his mouth as his eyes narrowed at the man watching him. Guy wasn't reacting to the way he was eating, so it wasn't just about staring at him or thinking him a freak of some sort the way he was used to new people doing. It actually looked like he might be sizing him up some.

Huh.

Daryl blinked and lowered his eyes to his kill as he finished his quick taste of what was probably what was left of the lungs when he'd ripped them out for the field dressing. He smacked his lips and licked his fingers in long pulls to clean them off before drying them on the thigh of his pants with a quick motion. Then he sniffed and dragged his arm under his nose to help clear it.

His eyes found the other man's and he lifted his chin in invitation to come over and sit rather than staying a stranger. If he weren't put off by the breaking down of the meat, he might be decent enough company.]

[greyerrant]

[ The large man sits down, a smile ghosting across his face, and simply contents himself by sitting across from Darryl. Once he is properly situated, he offers a name. ]

Loken.

[dirtyredneck]

[Daryl's eyes fell back to his work as the man sat down, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying a great deal of attention to him. Just that his focus was more on his self-appointed job than his new companion.]

Daryl. When'd you show up?

[greyerrant]

Without a chronometer I am uncertain, but I think a day or two. Things are... hard to clearly time here.

[ He looks a bit discomrted by the admission. ]

You?

4.

[mothermouse]

[ She's been very careful and very unsure of the others and had been watching them, staying out of the way as much as possible as she learned all she could about them just by observing. Frankly she should be and was still, a little fearful of the quiet human hunter. However, a few things stuck out that she could not ignore. First and easily the most important fact was that the man very startlingly reminded her of her eldest son with his snarling manner. The second was just how much he was actually doing for all he snapped and snarled at anyone that came near. And really she was tiring of having nothing to do herself.

So she went to him one day, as he was weaving. This she could help him with, even with her size. If he let her...]

U-um... excuse me.

Re: 4.

[dirtyredneck]

[Daryl pauses, eyes darting up to look at- well... nothing. There was no one there. He blinked, looked to the left, to the right, then turned and tried to see if someone was behind him. And got a fat lot of nothing.

He blinked again, frowning hard, and let his eyes fall back to his work where he finally spotted the mouse someone had dressed up in red cloak. He'd noticed the tiny thing first day he was there. Figured it must be someone's pet. But now...

Daryl's frown deepened as his brows creased in caution, like he wasn't sure he wasn't going crazy.]

...hello?

[mothermouse]

Hello. Yes, I speak.

[ She settled, pulling her cape closer around herself as she spoke to him. She'd learned quickly the song and dance of 'Mouse is speaking'. ]

I am Mrs. Brisby. I've come to see if....

[ She trailed off a little feeling nervous and rather foolish. ]

I would like to help. I'm so very used to being busy and there is so very little I know I might be able to do here. I have seen how much you have been doing. And your weaving... you've worked so hard on them... but you're not used to it, I do not think... And I could help.

[ She may be babbling, but she could not help it. ]

[dirtyredneck]

You talk.

[Not a question, just a reaffirmation for himself that he wasn't necessarily seeing things or hearing things. There was a legitimate talking mouse standing near his knee, pulling her little cape a little closer around her shoulders, looking nervous as anything and sounding like the stereotypical sweet mother figure outta some fairy tale. Considering they were pretty much in a walking fairy tale what with magic and all apparently going on, that was probably par for the course.

But it still took a moment or two of staring and blinking to process it properly before he shut his mouth and looked down at his hands, then up at her. The grass and reeds he'd picked for this project were about a quarter of her body width. It'd be like him hauling a 2x4 around, just a flexible one. But she'd probably have an easier time getting each layer pushed down closer to each other than he was.

Sniffing a bit and rubbing a hand across his nose, he carefully moved his legs to cross them and settle the beginnings of his current basket attempt in the hollow between. Then he gestured for her to join him.]

If ya could tighten and hold the weavin' after I pull it around, that'd help a lot.

[It tended to loosen up a lot when he was adding the next layer.]

[mothermouse]

[ She waited, watching him shuffle and fidget awkwardly. She relaxed as he made up his mind and smiled. She scrambled over and up onto the bundle, willing and more then ready to work. ]

I can do that, yes. Thank you, I know you aren't happy to have company. I've just been so at ends. It'll help to work.

2

[balladin]

One of the people who didn't know shit about surviving on the land was, in fact, still staring at Daryl and his hoard from the doorway. In the past, Robbie had chosen fast food when it was a choice between buying food and buying gas. His parents raised him as a spoiled suburbanite; whatever his adult life has made him, it hasn't given him survival skills.

So he's curious about what other people thought worth stockpiling. Robbie was pretty pleased with the flesh hook he'd acquired from the kitchen - the History Channel taught him that boiling was about the best way to safely prepare meat at this time. He who has the flesh hook knows when dinner will be.

"Cool your jets. I'm not here to steal your junk, Sanford." Robbie crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame. Daryl looked tough as nails - and acted it - but Robbie wasn't worried about the threat. He held up his broken, bandaged hand. "How do you think I'm going to run away with all that weight in one hand? I was looking at what you were doing."

He indicated the weaving quickly. Robbie tended not to leave gaps in his speech, steamrolling along from one topic to the next in mini-monologues. "What are you making?"

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl stilled for a split second, narrowing his eyes at the kid and giving him an assessing stare down before going back to his work. Practically dismissing him as any kind of threat even before he got to the hand problem. Kid looked soft.

He gave a soft snort and shook his head, "Knew someone with one hand who'd kick your ass for even suggesting he couldn't take that without breaking a sweat."

There was a moment where he laid the first section of woven strips down and shuffled over to the side to start the next section where he went completely silent. Then he looked back up, "Makin' a backpack. Or something close to it. Ain't got no proper sewin' kits that I could find, so you break the blankets and shit down into strips, weave 'em together, tie the edges up to make the sides and bottom and you got yerself a bag that'll do for the time being."

He quirked his head up to study the kid again, "And 'fore ya ask: Ya could just toss everything into the middle of a blanket and go, but it ain't exactly secure or easy to carry or easy to get inta without droppin' everythin'."

[balladin]

“Good for him,” Robbie replied, mingling a sarcastic eyeroll with genuine respect. Anyone who could make off with that haul one-handed deserved some props. “He’s adapted. I haven’t.”

Watching the progress, Robbie nodded along at the explanation. He thought he could see how it would work. It was like one of those potholders kids made at summer camp, but he can’t see the way to shape the sides. “It’s an interesting idea… I don’t know about ripping up good blankets because everybody's not as warmly dressed as me.”

His hoodie put him in the upper echelon as far as that was concerned. Robbie was worried about the kids in t-shirts. “But bags are almost as useful. Maybe if we just rip up the scratchy ones… okay, I’m sold. Teach me how to do it? I’ll help you with this one – which is 100% yours, bro – and then I wander off in search of itchy blankets proclaiming the good news of the Manbag Messiah. Deal?”

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl gave him a long look. Somewhere between 'what the fuck was that supposed to mean' and 'leave me the hell alone kid' before huffing and shaking his head with a shrug, "Whatever."

He did however jerk his head toward the pile, "Grab a blanket and cut it longways inta three inch strips."

[balladin]

"Aye, aye, captain." That exasperated glare was a very familiar look, and Robbie was glad to have it back in his life, albeit on a new face. He grinned contentedly at his new grumpy not-friend and went over to the pile of acquisitions, crouching down to paw at the various clothes mixed in. He was going to find a way to campaign for some of the blankets to be used as such by the group, but it was probably a good idea to ease the concept along.

Picking the material that felt worst against his skin happened to coincide with it being the thickest, strongest material in the heap. After pulling it free, Robbie helped himself to a knife as well and began alternating cutting and tearing the length of the blanket into strips. He could've used his pocket knife, but this one looked sharper. He thought it might be the kind of knife you could put an edge back on, if it got dull. "How do you know how to do this, anyway? No offense, but you don't look like the arts and crafts type."

2

[astrarche]

[The threat affronts Sariatu. She narrows her eyes, much more like Dixon's said something rude than something threatening.]

I'd like to see you try.

[She sounds like a lady at a dinner party that she didn't particularly want to go to, instead of the monkey with a sword she is, pushing her way into his room anyway to look around, as she'd been looking around the other rooms.]

I need a sheath for this.

[The naked, cursed blade shimmers even in the shadows, like the very reality of this temple doesn't like touching it.]

Re: 2

[dirtyredneck]

[Talking monkey. Right. Because that made sense. He snorted at her retort and made sure to watch her as she moved around the room. When she pulled out the sword he frowned and sat up. Stared for a second. Then spread his hands.]

Ain't got no sheath.

[He had blankets and a few pots and pans and forks and stuff. Nothing that would work to protect it and hold it and make it easy to pull out when needed the way a sheath could.]

Where'd ya find it?

[astrarche]

I didn't find it.

[His stuff that he's so defensive of is easy to overlook. Sariatu glosses over the pile of clothing and cookware and continues searching the room itself, just in case he somehow missed a whole sheath and harness while claiming the place.]

Whatever brought us here gave it to me so I can 'save the Green' or whatever it actually wants.

[She's not 100% on believing without question a voice that gave her a quest and kept her from death. Time will tell.]

What did it give you?

[dirtyredneck]

[Daryl's still watching her, but as long as she doesn't try to dig through his pile of crap, he's not making any attempt stop her from doing a short tour of the small space.]

To 'save the Green'? Nothin'.

[The voice had said he was 'strong enough' already, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. It gave him the wrist cuff to hold back the virus. But nothing else. And he wasn't about to bring up the virus if he didn't have to.]

Just dumped me here with what I had on me and expects me ta help.

[astrarche]

[Her scoff is loud. The Green's idea of supplication is laughable.]

Not giving a person a chance to say no is one way to ask for help. It's not a way that makes me happy to help.