maskormenacelogs | I can't drown my demons (Open Catch-All)

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I can't drown my demons (Open Catch-All)

WHO:Daryl Dixon and You!
WHERE:Heropa, Nonah, De Chima
WHEN:All of September
WHAT:Catch-All for the month; Daryl deals with the side effects of his new powers, specific starters in the comments
WARNINGS:Language, some gore(marked), others tbd

4th-10th, Outskirts of De Chima
Daryl remembered nothing between heading out Saturday morning and quite suddenly finding himself in the Porter chamber one day later with a fresh file folder being handed over to him as he came to. What he read in the file as he was escorted out made him decide not to go home. Either of them. He had the car drop him off at the city porter and from there he went straight to the woods. A place he knew few people frequented and he could destroy things in peace. Mostly the papers of the file and his own hands as punched some trees. After that he just kind of kept to himself and around the makeshift camp he'd set up. Close enough to the edges of town to head back in a couple times for basic supplies he'd neglected to take with him.

A bottle of water here, some bandages there for now-healing knuckles. A bar of soap for the hand baths he was doing. Nothing to help the smell of his clothes after three days, but short of going back home and changing, he couldn't do a lot about that. He avoided engaging in much else. But as long as he didn't see one of his people from back home, he didn't hurry off from anyone risking the smell to say hi.

After the 10th
The Cities
Daryl had just bought himself the blandest hot dog he could find and walked off from the vendor. He'd tried three others piled high with relish and ketchup and mustard, then just ketchup and relish, then just ketchup. Each of them had been too much for him to handle and he was hoping, silently praying to a God he'd ceased to believe in out of habit alone, that he'd be able to choke this dog down and have to resort to buying a pack of uncooked ones from the store just to eat today.

He very carefully took a cautious bite and at first things seemed fine. The flavor of the bread stood out the most. But then the cooked meat his his tongue and it just tasted wrong. The tiniest bit of char made the whole thing taste like it;d been burned to a crisp. Daryl ended up choking the bite back up and spat it out to the ground at his feet. The clump of half-chewed hot dog and bun splattering as it hit the ground.

Daryl hadn't been aware of the person passing and/or approaching him when he did it, but as he bent over to pick it up, he gave a clearly embarrassed and quiet, "Sorry." before finding the nearest trash bin and grumpily tossing both the half-eaten bit and the rest of the dog inside. He just wanted to eat one damn meal without feeling like he'd need to puke right after.

Heropa, the park (Gore Warning) ~~Open to first responder~~ Closed
Daryl had grown to enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the park and the opportunity to practice his hunting - the tracking mostly - without being too far from family. This morning Daryl had managed to catch a rabbit in a small, humane snare that wasn't meant to kill it. He hadn't killed any animals in the park since he got there. It was illegal and after his arrest for fighting with Ronan a week after his arrival, he'd been far more conscientious about the laws of the land.

Today that might change. He was holding the rabbit - a tiny, quivering bundle of nerves already to the point of just staying as still as possible in its fear - in both hands, petting it gently. But he was staring at it hard and every now and then his tongue moved out to wet his slightly parted lips. Seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world with his intense focus.

His thoughts, for those of the mind reading sort, flashed with images of biting into it's grey-furred side and ripping the meat out while it screamed it's little bunny scream. Blood running down his face while he chewed on the raw flesh. Daryl was both gut-wrenchingly revolted by them and tempted at the same time. The hunger was harder to fight the longer he put off eating something still living.

Wildcard
Daryl is scarce around his usual haunts from the 4th to the 10th, but after that can be found regularly in Heropa, Nonah, and De Chima acting a little weird.

For those that know him, Daryl looks a lot more on edge than normal as he goes about his business. His shoulders are near constantly-hunched, his eyes wider and his head faster to whip around at even the slightest sounds like they're echoing in his ears. It's surprisingly easy to sneak up on him on accident or otherwise. Just because he could hear a lot more didn't mean he was good at figuring out how far away it was. Yet. A coin falling to the ground twenty feet away was as just about as loud to him as the man in front of him clearing his throat. Footfalls were all pounding sounds that blended together.

Hit him up if you'd like.

[[OOC: Action or prose is fine. Will match.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Perhaps the forests are infrequently visited by humans, but Saint Walker is no human. When he is not doing his duties, he prefers to venture out into the wilderness, wherever that may be, where he feels truly at home, where he is meant to be. While he may have gotten used to his humble bed, a roof over his head, it has been too long for him to feel as though that is where he should be. Some nights, he doesn't go home at all, simply lies out in the forest, staring at the stars.

On one of the first nights Daryl had been in the forest, he may have heard sounds of another there, nothing more than the plucked chords of a foreign, far-off instrument, but by the end of the evening, it stilled, and it seemed he was alone once more. The night afterwards, however, Daryl will discover the source of the music.

Or, rather, the source of the magic will discover him. He will hear a rustling sound from above, as light as a small animal, but instead of a bird, a rather familiar face peers down at him from the trees. Saint Walker looks as though he belongs there, and doesn't move to get down quite yet, not until he knows for a fact that he's not unwanted.] Hello, there! I hadn't expected anyone to be camping all the way out here.

Ain't camping.

[Well, he was. Just not there. So technically it was the truth.]

...just walking.

[He was not particularly in the mood to be around other people. The hunger spike when he saw Walker was like a punch to the gut. Not quite as bad as whenever he'd spot one of the birds or squirrels running around. But that probably had to do with the fact that he knew how those tasted. Not that he wanted to find out what Saint Walker tasted like - okay, so there was that feeling in the back of his mind and a gurgle in his gut at the thought of taking a bite - just it helped that he wasn't something Daryl was already familiar with.]

What're you doing out here?

The same thing as you, I imagine.

[It's likely unhelpful that Walker gets closer rather than further away as he simply steps off of the branch and lands lightly in front of Daryl, standing as comfortably as if he had been standing there all along instead of hurling himself off of a tree.]

I enjoy it out here, in the relative solitude of this place, away from the crowds. Is it the same for you, or do you have another reason to be here beyond simply walking?

[He did. He totally did.

Daryl dropped his head and shrugged, taking a few steps back in what he hoped looked casual. As if to give Walker room now that he was on the ground, but was more to give himself space.]

Just needed to get out of the city for a while.

[Wasn't a lie.]

Heard that music last night.

[Saint Walker notices the way that Daryl edges away from him. He stares at him curiously, looking down at his feet, then back towards his face once more, but does not utter a word about it. Not yet, anyway. He treats those reluctant to speak upon their feelings - as Daryl seems to be - as wild animals much of the time, beings that need calm and understanding before they can speak upon the matter at hand.

So instead, he simply responds to Daryl's words rather than his actions.]

That was me, yes. I prefer playing underneath the stars. It is less... confining than playing indoors. I was not aware, however, that I had company. I am sorry if I disturbed your sense of solitude.

[He shook his head again. This time denying the suggestion Walker had disturbed him.]

You coulda kept playin'. Didn't need to stop for me.

[The sound had actually been nice. When he'd been walking, he'd thought it was further off. Didn't realize he was getting so close to it. The heightened hearing he'd gotten made it hard for him to tell the differences as well any more. Everything was louder and clearer. The city had overwhelmed him. Out here was still loud and full of sounds, but they were ones he could recognize a little easier. And they weren't so ever-present, either.]

[He simply shakes his head.] I prefer to remain aware of my surroundings. When I felt the presence of another, I felt the need to investigate -- though it was certainly a welcome surprise to see a friend rather than a stranger.

[He doesn't buy that Daryl hasn't been camping, but isn't particularly inclined to call him out on it, so gently, he says,] And while you may not be camping, I certainly was. I have a base of sorts set up not too far from here, with food, and drink. Would you like any?

[Daryl's own hunting and cooking had been doing little to curb the hunger he'd been having lately. Even when he was full off the well-done meats (because he patently refused to let himself indulge in the urge to eat them anywhere close to raw), he still found himself licking his lips and wanting to take bites... Maybe a change of pace in the eating would help.

Even if it was with another person around, it might be good to have it be someone he didn't much care about.

Daryl nodded his head slowly and adjusted the strap of his bow across his shoulder. Then made a small 'after you' gesture.]

Okay.

Excellent!

[When Saint Walker claimed that he had a base set up, it was being overly kind. He is used to the life of a hermit, of lying down and sleeping when the mood struck him, relying on the sort of lifestyle where it is nearly impossible to track him, for he leaves nearly nothing behind him. When they come across the small clearing, there is no sleeping bag, nor is there a tent; instead, there is merely a small bundle of sticks that counts as firewood, and little else.

He leaps into the air, long fingers ensnaring one of the branches above them as he climbs up a tree, and returns with a battered pot, three waterskins, and a square of cloth wrapped around berries, their juices just beginning to bleed through it. He offers one of the waterskins to Daryl, then bashes a couple of rocks together for a spark before starting a fire, and places the pot on top of it to reheat it.]

It's certainly edible now but, I think, far more pleasant when heated up. In the meantime, however, do help yourself to some berries; they are far better picked yourself than purchased at the local grocery store.

[Daryl accepted the berries and the water skin. Took a drink of the second before setting it down and leaning against one of the trees opposite Walker. Opened the cloth to start picking at the berries. It wasn't what his body kept urging him to eat, so he was determined to force it down.

One berry in, though, and the flavor was too strong. Over ripe maybe? Hard to tell exactly. All he knew was that almost as soon as it touched his tongue he was spitting it back out into his hand and coughing.

When he'd manged to clear his throat, he folded the cloth back over the rest of them and held it out for Walker to take back.

A soft 'sorry' was coughed out as he did so.]

You needn't apologize, [Saint Walker says, but he looks alarmed, and rightfully so; as he peers into his small collection of berries, he sees that it has been untouched by animal life, and each of the berries is as ripe as they were when he first picked them. If there is nothing wrong with the food, then there must, of course, be something wrong with Daryl. He places the berries down on the ground gently, then edges forward, fingers resting against the face of his ring.]

Are you sick, my friend? If you have fallen ill, or eaten something that you shouldn't have, I may be able to help.

[He has not yet come across an illness that his ring hasn't been able to fix, after all. Surely this, too, he can fix.]

I'm fine.

[Daryl snapped the words out and took a step back to keep the distance between them. He'd caught Walker edging closer out of the corner of his eye and he didn't need that shit. Not right now.

His shoulders tensed and his hands balled into fists. Fear being overwhelmed by anger to keep himself from looking weak in front of the other.]

Ain't sick.

[Saint Walker stops as soon as Daryl starts moving away, but unlike Daryl, his body language becomes almost more pronounced in its peaceful nature. He stands erect, feet shoulder-width apart, but his hands are tucked neatly behind his back, head slightly cocked in confusion and concern.]

Perhaps not, [he agrees, low voice quiet, resonant.] I could not possibly well. But whatever is the case, you certainly do not feel well, either. What is troubling you?

[Daryl let his glare sweep over Walker, not wanting to talk about it. Not wanting to deal with it. Not wanting anyone to know the bullshit he was dealing with.]

I said I ain't sick. It was your damn berries bein' too ripe. Just let me have some water or whatever that soup is you're heating up if you're gonna.

[And leave the rest alone because he really didn't want to deal with anyone looking at him the way he'd be looking at himself every morning in the mirror.]

You needn't be sick to be troubled, [he says, voice gentle.] But if you do not wish to speak on it, I will not force the topic further.

[It's his go-to for situations such as these, after all; he doesn't wish to simply drop anything, lest the people he speaks to believe that they are somehow able to hide their unrest from him, but similarly, he doesn't wish to press people beyond their sense of comfort. If they talk, they will talk. If not... that is their decision, and theirs alone.

He spoons some of the soup, at least quietly bubbling by now, into a bowl, and offers it to Daryl wordlessly.

He may not be talking, but he is watching.]

And I said I'm fine, too.

[He snapped the words out, hands curling into fists at his side. Fighting with himself about accepting the soup (and he was damn hungry) or walking away so he didn't have to deal with the probing bullshit he was getting from Walker.

Hunger won out.

Still clearly fuming, but almost looking ashamed at his anger, Daryl dropped his eyes and reached out to take the bowl. He did so politely, carefully. There was no obvious rage in the action. Instead, it was almost contrite.

When he had it, he moved back to a tree he could lean against and still keep an eye on Walker while he tried the soup. Didn't bother to blow on it before he put into his mouth. Maybe if the taste was bad, burning his tongue would dull his senses enough to get it down.

All in all, he probably looked about the same as a wild, wary animal.]

[Saint Walker leaves Daryl be as he stalks over to the tree, scarcely moving a muscle as he simply watches him, observing rather than speaking. Clearly he's upset about something -- but what? He supposes that he could use his ring to detect whatever's wrong, whatever that may be, but he's not willing to use his power in such a breach of privacy. That aside, even if he did use it, he suspects that Daryl would never forgive him for the violation.

No, better to stand and watch, quietly, gauge what could be bothering the man. Something to do with intestinal distress, but not the normal sort, but why be secretive about such a thing? There's shame there, certainly, particularly as his temper swings up and down, but Walker has never been a man predisposed to shame about anything and cannot therefore guess what could be troubling him.

He stays quiet for quite some time - he's good at staying quiet - but once he supposes that enough time has passed, he says,] Is it to your liking, my friend?

[The broth was just bland enough - though not necessarily lacking in flavor, simply lacking in many flavors - that Daryl was able to stomach it without it being too strong or too much for his newly enhanced senses. He still allowed it to burn his tongue a bit to help dull his tastebuds before hes started blowing on it and taking it easy. Much as he wanted to gulp the whole bowl down he knew better than to make himself sick doing so. And he at least had that much control over himself.

He'd almost forgotten Walker was there as he let his senses, both taste and smell, get overwhelmed by the soup. Drown all the other things around him out. Not really relaxing, but not as tense as he had been.

The quiet inquiry brought him back to the hear and now and he glanced up from the bowl - now half empty - to Walker. Took a moment to swallow his current mouthful. Then shrugged as if it was merely okay. His words were more honest than his body, however.]

It's good. There enough for you if I have seconds?

I already had my fill earlier today. I require less sustenance than your kind does, [he says, not unkindly. He's noticed that humans eat three times a day, if not more, whereas he requires much less than that. He certain enjoys the act of eating, but it's not a necessity. And, he supposes, it's a necessity for Daryl at this very moment; the way all of his focus was diverted to the broth and nothing else was, to say the least, rather telling.]

You may help yourself to the rest, if you need it. It does seem as though this is agreeing with you more.

[Daryl gave a slow nod and continued his way through the bowl. When he was done, he stood up and moved closer to the fire. Stood opposite Walker for a couple moments before deciding it was safe to sit down and get himself some more. He really did need the food and felt better having it weighing his stomach down even if it wasn't as heavy as the meat he'd been craving.]

You said you do this a lot?

Camp? Yes, when I have the time and the opportunity to do so.

[Once Daryl sits, Saint Walker sits across from him. He sits across the small fire, keeping his distance, but it's certainly close enough to carry on a pleasant conversation.]

I am... unaccustomed to life in cities, surrounded by so many people. It is places like this that I find peace. And yourself?

Grew up in the woods.

[He offered quietly. It wasn't a detail of his life he thought was worth the hiding. Never had.]

Small town, nothing like the cities. Everyone knew everyone. Been to cities before, but this is the longest I've ever lived in one.

[And he wasn't as comfortable in them as he pretended. Much as he did like the constant proof of life around him, he still worried about the day all that life would end, then stand up and come after him and his.]

It is odd, is it not? To be surrounded with so much noise, without even the slightest chance of repose. Even in the dead of the night, nothing is as truly quiet as it can be, and our view of the sky is hindered by the light.

[He glances up at the sky now, as if able to look beyond the blue sky and the clouds to see the stars that linger there, just out of reach.]

Is that why you are camping now? To return to a place where you are more comfortable?

Quiet ain't always a good thing.

[He murmured it, but didn't otherwise argue with Walker's assessment of the city. It took some getting used to, but it really wasn't that much different than sleeping in the back of his truck outside a rowdy bar because Merle decided to get shitfaced with the wrong crowd.

But at the question, he shrugged.]

Something like that.

[Not to be more comfortable, but to clear his head. Be safer. As much as he could be.]

Ain't really familiar with these woods yet.

[Only reason he wasn't deeper in them.]

You will gain familiarity with them in time, I'm sure.

[Even words murmured are words that Walker can hear, and this time, he decides to push a little. He's heard this sentiment before - from Hartley, to be exact - though it's never been a sentiment that's applied to him; even when silence signified terrible things, it had always brought him time to think and to reflect, to carve something new out of stillness and nothingness.]

You are not fond of the quiet?

I can't drown my demons (Open Catch-All)

De Chima's Outskirts!

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