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.]]

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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?

[He let the spoon still as he thought about how to answer that. His words, when they came, were slow and a little cautious.]

Depends on what kind it is. It's never really quiet, even out here. The crickets, catydids, birds and squirrels... all'a them as much noise as the kind you find in the city. Just not somethin' most notice until the dead of night and all the shit they're used to is replaced with the sounds of the woods.

Real quiet, when there ain't any sounds 'cept maybe the wind and your feet against the ground... that's the kind that's bad. Means something's wrong.

Ah. If that is what you mean, then I understand your feelings completely. It is when all natural things fall silent that one has to worry about what is coming next.

[He looks at Daryl, a little curiously.] That could mean a great number of things, from an enemy attack to a natural disaster... but, if I may ask, what dangers does it typically mean to you?

Mostly the dead.

[Which was nothing more than he'd shared with a few people already. And he knew Rick and Carl had brought it up before, to others, too.]

They're quiet when they got nothing around to draw their attention. Just kind of stand there or sit there. A noise or a smell or something moving gets through what's left of their senses and they start moving. Can't always tell they're around 'til they do. Could be standing right next to what you think's a body that's been dealt with. That you been standin' near. And suddenly the signals from the brain make it through to it's limbs and it just...

[Daryl set his bowl down and leaned forward, hands rubbing together between his knees.]

Grabs you. If you're lucky you get away before it can pull it's mouth to your skin. If you're not, the best you can hope for is'at amputation will keep you alive.

The dead only got one thing on their rottin' minds. And that's eatin'.

[Saint Walker is difficult to surprise, but this time, he looks at Daryl with open astonishment. Others here may be able to identify what Daryl's talking about, whether it's from their own experiences with the undead or the plethora of media out there about zombies, redeads, vampires, whatever you want to call them.

Walker has no experience with them. He's read no books on the matter, watched no TV, hasn't fought off hundreds of zombies in the zombie shooter of the day. As far as he's concerned, this is a situation he has never heard of before.]

Do pardon me, but this is not something I have ever heard of. Your dead -- they rise again, once they have died? And choose to feast on their own kind?

Ain't no choosing involved.

[Daryl lifted his head to look at Walker, surprised himself that the man seemed so surprised. It was like he'd never heard of it. Which, considering how much 'zombie' media this damn world had, was hard to believe. But it was also, oddly, really refreshing. No assumptions made to it.]

You die, you don't get your brain taken out, you're gonna get back up and start eating whatever you can. Humans, animals, it don't matter. As long as it's livin' and warm-blooded. That's what they're drawn to. They ain't really thinkin'. But their bodies, they been re-activated.

[This wasn't the first time he'd explained this, but it was the first time he felt the need to go into detail. Real detail.]

They all run on instinct. There might be some basic reasonin' still around, distance judging, figuring out how to open doors, that sort of thing. But there ain't no person, no emotions, not even at the level of an animal. And what they do got, it goes fast with the rottin'. They're dead. Flesh might be movin' but it's fallin' away just as fast as normal. And as long as the...

It's a virus. When the body dies, it re-actives the brain stem. Nothin' else. Long as that's around, long as it ain't rotted away or destroyed, they'll keep goin'.

[Daryl's eyes dropped and he looked down at his hands.]

It's a human-only virus. The kind that don't cross over inta animals. Everyone's infected.

[A human-only virus, and one that Walker had not heard of up until this point. His lips thin as he listens, large, solemn eyes focused on Daryl's face, concentrated in taking in his words and all the implications that come with them. Itès a horrifying thought by any culture's imagination, Walker thinks. There is something sacred in death, something sacred in that final resting place, allowing your body to become one with the world around you once more until you are little more than dust, atoms drifting about the world you had once called home.

This idea takes away all of the dignity and connectivity of death and bastardizes it to its very core. When Walker considers what it would be like if his loved ones reanimated, he can do nothing but balk at the mere thought of it.]

I am sorry, Daryl. That this is a world that you have had to live with, [he says, sympathy in his voice.] That is a horrific fate. I only hope that once their brains are removed, that they will be able to find peace in their true resting place at last.

[He's quiet for a moment, then ventures:] Is this a disease that you have any reason to believe might spread here? To this world, and to the people in it?

[Daryl refrained from commenting on the assumption of the dead not being at peace already. As far as Daryl was concerned, the only ones that needed to find peace in ending a walker were the ones doing the ending. But that was probably some religious thing and he wasn't going to find fault in someone else's beliefs on that front when it didn't create any direct complications with doing what had to do be done.

But at the follow up question, he went still. His jaw tightened as his head dropped and his lips pressed together.]

Porter's supposed to suppress it.

[But he definitely believed it could spread here. If he ever died and started biting people...]

The Porter is the cause of so many inconveniences to so many here that I hope that in that, at least, it will do what it is intended to do.

[He frowns. The idea is still troubling, and clearly it troubles Daryl as well. He mulls the thought over in his head, then looks back to Daryl, voice still a little quieter than usual.]

We have many people here from many different backgrounds, with many different skills. Take heart. Should the Porter cease to work in that respect, perhaps there is still one here that will have the ability to halt this disease. [He brings one hand to the other, toying with the ring on his finger.] It may be a capability of mine as well.

But let us both hope that that will not come to pass.

[He shifted uncomfortably. That thread of hope Walker had was admirable, but it was very ignorant of a lot of factors. One's he had no reason to know, sure, but it didn't sit well with Daryl to just leave him thinking like that. It would cause problems if things did go bad and Walker thought he or someone else could just stop it.]

If it stops workin', this world is screwed. Everyone's infected. Whether they been touched by the dead or not. It's the kinda virus that coughin' spreads, you know? Can't exactly quarantine it.

No. Not quarantine. But cure, perhaps, though I recognize that curing something so widespread would be a costly, time-consuming and inefficient affair. I doubt that one could cure something that widespread as a whole, but little by little... perhaps.

[He considers it for a moment, then asks:] You do not have those with special powers in your world, correct?

[It's a guess, but an educated one. Powers have a way of mitigating events such as these, after all.]

Nah.

[The question got a shake of his head while he leaned back and rubbed at his knees, drumming his fingers nervously every few seconds.]

Got stories about them, but they're all made up. Fiction. 'Less you count the folklore and myths of cultures as truth. I mean, I seen things, but nothing human with powers like what we got here.

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