Daryl Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dirtyredneck) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wilderlogs2018-04-03 08:53 pm
dirtyredneck) wrote in wilderlogs2018-04-03 08:53 pm
Entry tags:
Dreams ain't usually this clear [Open]
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]]
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]]
4.
[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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
Like I had a choice. Figure it's the same for everyone else. You didn't ask ta come here, did ya?
no subject
Point is, you better share whatever it is you got there. Just so we got a clear roster of what everyone's got. It wouldn't be right for someone to be sneaking things away.
no subject
How 'bout you go wallow in some mud and leave well enough alone?
[Just cause he was planning on sharing didn't mean he liked be ordered to by some jackass that was playing at being in charge.]
no subject
He knows what it means, but he wants Daryl to confirm it, to give him just an instant to decide how pissed off he should be about someone talking trash to the brotherhood that, well, fired him.]
no subject
Think you know. 'Less yer a whole lot dumber than ya look.
no subject
Jason is not chill, Jason has never been chill, and as such he throws the first punch, a heavy and unrestrained swing at Daryl's face.]
no subject
If it didn't... he'd improvise. Break an arm maybe, or knife him in the shoulder, something satisfying.
He needed an asshole to punch his feelings out on anyway.]
no subject
Good, this is exactly the kind of thing he came looking for. He's not even that opposed to having the hell beat out of him in return, so long as there is some release for all the pissed-off, pent-up rage he has in him. He could probably beat on and get beat for a few months and not get it all out.
While he's down, he sprawls a hand out and grabs a rock as this meet-cute goes downhill real fast.]
no subject
no subject
This would be the part where most people would say uncle, but Jason's been having a hell of a month and somehow, that has ripped away all the sense that pain can actually be avoided. So instead he thrashes his body to the side and ignores the popping sound in his shoulder.]
no subject
He waited a moment to give the other man the space to roll over or stand up or whatever he needed to do as he dealt with the near useless arm. Then he sucked his cheeks in, built up a good well of spit, and hocked a lougie at Jason's feet. Whether or not hit his shoes didn't much matter.]
Fuck off asshole. Done with you.
no subject
If Jason's good at one thing - and it very well may only be one thing - it's taking a beating.]
You fuck off. [He spits right back. He doesn't have a good comeback. He wouldn't even if his ears weren't ringing and his arm weren't throbbing.
He doesn't want to cede the ground, but Daryl's already set up here with his stupid basket weaving, and by now Jason's gotten some degree of what he wanted. Anything past this would no longer have the illusion of an even match. So he straightens up as if the arm doesn't hurt at all and walks away as if Daryl's not even worth his time anymore. As if this were nothing.
He'll keep his composure just long enough to get out of sight.]
no subject
Back to basket weaving.]