Daryl Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
weaintashes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-19 07:22 am
weaintashes) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-19 07:22 am
Entry tags:
A reunion and a new friend.
Who| Beth, Daryl, Rick.
What| Reunion with Rick. Puppy delivery for Beth.
Where| Daryl's District 9 suite. Beth's District 7 suite.
When| Immediately post-arena 12 for the reunion. A few days after this for the puppy.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of arena-typical violence, gore, death, etc. Mentions of child abuse and self harm may come up.
Rick:
Daryl had been deeply asleep only moments before, but something had woken him.
When he opened his eyes, the surroundings which greeted him were unfamiliar, and were made even more disorienting by the fact he couldn't recall how he'd gotten there, his memories of the previous day sluggish in coming back to him. He was sprawled face down on a too-soft, ridiculously plush, pristine bed, the topmost pillow still slightly damp from where he'd apparently fallen asleep with wet hair. Clean hair, judging by the smell, and not only his hair — there was a startling absence of the usual reek of sweat and filth and walker guts, he noted, and brought an arm up near his nose, disbelieving. Some kind of flowery soap scent was clinging to his skin but there was nothing else.
He didn't stink.
It was surreal.
In the same moment it struck him that he also wasn't dead, despite having extremely vivid memories of dying in the arena explosion alongside Rick. In fact his only injuries were what he'd already had upon arrival in Panem; the black eye, a few angry bruises, mostly courtesy of those claimer pricks. And if he was alive, that meant there was a good chance Rick and Beth—
There was an insistent pounding on his suite door, something that he realised had been going on for a while, intermittently. It was probably what had woken him.
Bolting from the bed, heedless of the fact he was only wearing a pair ofsquirrel-themed pajama pants — his usual self consciousness was lagging slightly behind the shock of still being alive — he cleared the distance to the front door in seconds and paused there only long enough to check to see who his visitor was. With his hope confirmed that he wasn't the only survivor, he threw open the door, his breath catching at the sight of Rick. Very much whole and alive.
"Guess I overslept," he managed after a moment, incredulously, and moved aside to allow Rick room enough to enter, watching him all the while with an expression shifting between open astonishment and relief. How was this even possible?
Beth:
Occurrences within the recent arena weigh heavily on Daryl, and discovering that Beth had been returned home to Georgia, back to that hospital she'd been kidnapped to, and then got brought right back — somehow, he doesn't have the faintest idea how the Capitol manages it — only compounds his concerns. What had happened to her there, the way she's changed... And those changes are undeniable, as obvious to him as the new scars on her face, even though she's tried acting as though everything is the same.
Everything isn't the same. And it shouldn't have to be.
Everything now just consumes you, Carol had told him the last time he'd seen her, referring to who she used to be.
Maybe who they used to be does get burned away, time and time again. But he still believes what he'd told her then. They're not ashes. They're not shadows of their former selves, losing more of what makes them who they are with each new iteration. They're not less, or incomplete. He seeks to convey this sentiment to Beth through actions rather than words, hoping that maybe she can find comfort in it. He's still fumbling his way through learning how to take care of others in ways that don't involve violence or killing, or having to keep them at a distance...
This is what brings him to Beth's door with a squirming bundle tucked inside his coat. The puppy's still wearing a harness, but the leash is unhooked and in Daryl's pocket to prevent it from getting tangled. By the time Beth answers the door, he's freed his coat passenger and wordlessly holds him out to Beth, the puppy's tail a blur of motion as he meets his new owner. Daryl's trying not to smile, but his efforts are in vain.
What| Reunion with Rick. Puppy delivery for Beth.
Where| Daryl's District 9 suite. Beth's District 7 suite.
When| Immediately post-arena 12 for the reunion. A few days after this for the puppy.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of arena-typical violence, gore, death, etc. Mentions of child abuse and self harm may come up.
Rick:
Daryl had been deeply asleep only moments before, but something had woken him.
When he opened his eyes, the surroundings which greeted him were unfamiliar, and were made even more disorienting by the fact he couldn't recall how he'd gotten there, his memories of the previous day sluggish in coming back to him. He was sprawled face down on a too-soft, ridiculously plush, pristine bed, the topmost pillow still slightly damp from where he'd apparently fallen asleep with wet hair. Clean hair, judging by the smell, and not only his hair — there was a startling absence of the usual reek of sweat and filth and walker guts, he noted, and brought an arm up near his nose, disbelieving. Some kind of flowery soap scent was clinging to his skin but there was nothing else.
He didn't stink.
It was surreal.
In the same moment it struck him that he also wasn't dead, despite having extremely vivid memories of dying in the arena explosion alongside Rick. In fact his only injuries were what he'd already had upon arrival in Panem; the black eye, a few angry bruises, mostly courtesy of those claimer pricks. And if he was alive, that meant there was a good chance Rick and Beth—
There was an insistent pounding on his suite door, something that he realised had been going on for a while, intermittently. It was probably what had woken him.
Bolting from the bed, heedless of the fact he was only wearing a pair of
"Guess I overslept," he managed after a moment, incredulously, and moved aside to allow Rick room enough to enter, watching him all the while with an expression shifting between open astonishment and relief. How was this even possible?
Beth:
Occurrences within the recent arena weigh heavily on Daryl, and discovering that Beth had been returned home to Georgia, back to that hospital she'd been kidnapped to, and then got brought right back — somehow, he doesn't have the faintest idea how the Capitol manages it — only compounds his concerns. What had happened to her there, the way she's changed... And those changes are undeniable, as obvious to him as the new scars on her face, even though she's tried acting as though everything is the same.
Everything isn't the same. And it shouldn't have to be.
Everything now just consumes you, Carol had told him the last time he'd seen her, referring to who she used to be.
Maybe who they used to be does get burned away, time and time again. But he still believes what he'd told her then. They're not ashes. They're not shadows of their former selves, losing more of what makes them who they are with each new iteration. They're not less, or incomplete. He seeks to convey this sentiment to Beth through actions rather than words, hoping that maybe she can find comfort in it. He's still fumbling his way through learning how to take care of others in ways that don't involve violence or killing, or having to keep them at a distance...
This is what brings him to Beth's door with a squirming bundle tucked inside his coat. The puppy's still wearing a harness, but the leash is unhooked and in Daryl's pocket to prevent it from getting tangled. By the time Beth answers the door, he's freed his coat passenger and wordlessly holds him out to Beth, the puppy's tail a blur of motion as he meets his new owner. Daryl's trying not to smile, but his efforts are in vain.
very sorry for how damn late this one is
Despite his harsh upbringing, he'd never been prone to panic disorders and it had been ages since he'd had to deal with this. He could recognise what was happening to him enough to know it would pass, he'd just have to weather the discomfort until it did. Between the horrific discovery of their true purpose in Panem, and the shock of waking up when by rights he should have been dead, apparently he was having trouble... processing it.
"Yeah," he agreed dully in the wake of a silence that had lasted too long. He was surfacing from his momentary daze and could meet Rick's eyes then, with his characteristically dour expression slipping back into place like a mask. Never mind how furiously his heart continued to beat like a wretched, wild thing desperate to escape the prison of his ribs, or that he was mostly sure he was about to choke up whatever might be left in his starvation-shrunken stomach. He hated being seen as weak. Hated how much he wanted the comfort, the way he'd fumblingly sought it from Rick back in his suite but had managed to fuck it all up, somehow, just as he usually did where emotions were concerned. He wasn't sure what to do with the comfort now, when he felt he hardly deserved it. He'd undoubtedly ruin things again if Rick gave him the opportunity.
Turning his head, he muttered, "We should leave," as he searched for any likely-looking exits, their surroundings failing to stir any sense of recognition. Which raised some disturbing questions. Had he been dead when he'd first been brought through here? How had their captors revived them? He did have sense-memories of his recent shower — the startling heat and sensation of layers of filth falling away, the ache of his still healing ribs every time he'd reached upward — or at least he thought he did...
Finally spotting the elevator, he gave Rick a look as he nodded toward it, all the while trying to ignore the way the room seemed to be slowly rotating, slanting at strange angles and confusing his equilibrium. Harder to ignore when he nearly stumbled over one of the chairs on his way to the elevator, but he pressed on, swearing under his breath. His behaviour had attracted the attention of a few people, though none made any move to help or hinder.