we're hollow like the bottles that we drink

[schnapp]

Who| beth greene and you.
What| the arena's done and she's back from a traumatizing canon update. drinking? drinking.
Where| the tribute center bar.
When| post-arena
Warnings/Notes| mentions of alcohol, natch. more to be added.



All things considered, she's surprised that the Capitol kept her new scars. It didn't seem like they would have, since she can see the billboards spanning the city that promote perfection in every physical aspect - all possible by plastic surgery, they boast. These scars weren't there the last time she was in the city, but they are now. The healed-up versions of them, remnants of Dawn's temper - being pistol-whipped across the face isn't something that just goes away.

Beth doesn't care. She doesn't know what it says about her, if it supposedly tells the world that she's weak and not worth saving like the ones hidden by her sleeves. It doesn't matter, because she's in the Capitol now, and not Grady Memorial. And it's honestly hard to tell which she'd prefer more at this point.

She'd had her first drink only a few weeks ago. Her dad used to be an alcoholic, and she'd never wanted to disappoint him. But he isn't here, and -- well. She has the blood of three men on her hands now, even though she doesn't want to admit it. Beth makes her way down to the bar with the unease of someone who is not used to being there. Chin tipped up, ready to challenge anyone who tells her that she's too young to be here.

They ask her what she wants and she replies with the first thing that pops into her head - the only other alcoholic drink she really knows, other than moonshine.

Peach schnapps.

Doesn't matter that you're not supposed to drink peach schnapps by itself. That's what she does anyway.

Comments

[weaintashes]

"Yeah, I was doin' you a favour," Daryl says mildly, feeling a little gratified at being told he's right. Even if it's over something as trivial as schnapps, he'll take it. "Ain't meant to drink it on its own. If you want fruity, girly shit, there's better things to try anyhow."

Shaking his head with a vaguely amused look, he steps around Beth and leans against the bar as he orders a suitably frou frou drink for her that also happens to actually taste good — and orders the same for himself, just to prove he can be a good sport about these things. After the cocktails have been mixed, he turns back to Beth, offering her one with raised eyebrows and an encouraging nod. And privately hoping that wherever Hershel is right now, he's not watching Daryl broadening his youngest daughter's alcoholic horizons. Beth's more than earned this momentary reprieve from all the bullshit she's been dealing with.

"Try it."

The girly drink obviously won't be getting either of them drunk, but this isn't really the time or place for that anyway.

[schnapp]

She's not sure if getting drunk was the point of all this. Sure, maybe it would be nice to forget about it all for a little bit, but being in a place like this alone wouldn't have done anything to help her with that. At least she's a fairly good sport even while she's drunk and doesn't have the tendency to turn into a mopey asshole ( unlike some people who won't be mentioned ). Still, she doesn't want to think about what her dad would say. Like everything else, that thought is shoved aside as one of the myriad of things she has to do to survive these days.

"How do you know about 'girly shit'?" not that she really thinks that he's the type of guy to really care about his reputation in this regard. But it looks sort of like a fancy drink, and he seems sort of like the beer and whiskey type.

Then again, maybe she should have learned her lesson about making assumptions.

"Don't worry. I think you're still manly, Daryl," she teases, clinking her glass against his before she takes a deep drink. It feels nice to poke at him a little bit.

[weaintashes]

Daryl's all too aware of how alcohol can bring out his assholeishness something fierce, and he has no plans to unleash that on Beth here — he has a good understanding of his limits, even with his present diminished tolerance. But if Beth does choose to completely numb herself with some liquid fortification, that's her business and he won't be stopping her. Might help her back to her room and sit with her, even.

"I know things," he says airily, and it's as much of an explanation as she'll be getting right now. This is a brief detour in their conversation, not a route he plans to stay on. The manly comment earns her an exasperated look, one softened by the faint smile that still hasn't quite left the corners of his mouth, or his eyes. Her teasing is comforting in a way that can't be quantified, like returning to somewhere that feels like home.

It shouldn't be as surprising as it is; it's people, not places, that have always been home to Daryl.

The so-called girly drink isn't so bad, just sweeter than he'd like. It's clear his thoughts are elsewhere as he leans his back against the bar and drains his glass, eyes cast downward, and pauses when he's about halfway through it. Still not quite looking at Beth, he absently chews on his thumbnail and asks around it, "What else happened to you there?"

Call it intuition. He knows there's something more to the story, something that Beth may not be inclined to volunteer on her own. If she doesn't want to talk about it that's fine, but he'd like to at least provide her the opportunity to, in case she does.

[schnapp]

The smile fades before she can help it, before she can catch her bright cheerfulness slipping away. Since the last time she saw him, she's seen a hell of a lot. She's held a girl down while her arm was cut off. She's crawled through a tunnel filled with human corpses. Been tricked into killing a man for no reason other than to further someone else's political games.

And that's leaving out the worst of it. This is a lot, she knows. And part of her thinks she ought to say nothing, like it's too much to put on Daryl's heavy shoulders. But she also thinks that it might make her a hypocrite, after all of her talk about leaning on other people and all the times she tried to coax him into it.

When you care about people, getting hurt is part of the package. Beth knows this. But still, it's...

It's too heavy to carry on her own. She exhales, downing the rest of her fruity drink for courage even though it's likely not going to do anything of the sort. The sweetness of it is calming, at least.

Her voice drops to a low whisper, faltering almost as soon as she's begun.

"There was this man, one of the cops at the hospital. He caught me stealin' the keys out of Dawn's office. Said he wouldn't tell if I made a deal with him," she shuddered, remembering the feeling of his hands on her hips, his breath on her skin. "There was this other girl, Joan. He got to her, before they took me. She killed herself in that office. So when he tried to --" Beth twists her hands, heart thudding in sudden anxiety. "I smashed a jar on his head. I let her take him when she came back as a walker."

She's been wondering how her family might react. Afraid that there might be judgement because of what she's done. But this is Daryl, and she trusts him innately.

[weaintashes]

As Beth further recounts events, Daryl keeps his eyes downcast, thinking — hoping — it might help make it easier to find the words without having someone watching her. But it's obvious she has his undivided attention, with the way his jaw is clenched along with his hand holding the glass, the other hand already curled into a fist at his side.

The abhorrent incident is along the lines of what he'd been afraid of, and the story brings with it a queasiness he fights to keep from showing in his face. And a renewed, overwhelming sense of guilt — that he'd failed Beth, telling her to go on ahead at the funeral home, dividing them, leaving her to be an easy target for the sick fucks of Grady to abduct. It's hard not to feel somehow responsible. But he's careful to keep it to himself, knowing Beth would set aside her own trauma just to comfort him, because that's the kind of person she is. And this isn't about him.

It's so bitterly unfair she's been made to suffer what she has, from her mother's death, the loss of her home, her father's murder, and everything since. He'd take these horrors on himself, bear the burden on his shoulders for her in a heartbeat if it were possible. And yet when he finally does look at her again, none of these conflicted emotions are visible in his face, only a look of stubborn, fierce pride.

"Better death than he deserved. Wish I could'a been there to see the look on that asshole's face." Needless to say, he's proud of what Beth's done. With the world trying to grind her into nothing, she'd basically given it a big old 'fuck you' by taking out her tormentor. She'd done what she had to. She'd done good.

Setting aside his glass, he reaches for her arms, an invitation to lean into him if she wants to, and there's concern in his expression and soft tone as he says, "You don't always gotta be alright. Feelin' whatever you're feelin', it ain't wrong." Because she's always saying that, they don't get to be upset. Except it just doesn't work that way sometimes — and she'd shown him that. She's damn well allowed to be upset.