backwaterbelle | eudio

[Oh so it's sass'o'clock is it Daryl?]

Now this is important.

Keep the shirt off. It's a nice view.

[ He can't type, Rogue!! ]

[Lord have mercy. Well at least he's committing.

She's there in the promised fifteen, wearing a pair of jeans tucked into her favorite cowboy boots, a green tank top, and a brown leather riding jacket. Her hair's up in a messy bun of sorts since she rode her bike to his place. Pausing to shift the weight of her bag's shoulder strap, she knocks on the door before pushing her sunglasses up into her hair.]

[ There's no fanfare when Daryl gets the door - fully dressed, shirt included. He tilts his head back, suggesting that one eyebrow is raised behind his overgrown hair. Oh, it's you.

He feels a little odd answering a door like he owns the place, like this is normal and he has visitors. Accordingly he looks slightly uncomfortable, but buries it. ]

You going camping after? [ He asks, meaning her bag. Daryl just nods and steps back, wordlessly inviting her inside.

The apartment is unremarkable for the most part: everything is native to the 'starter' decor, nothing new and largely um-lived-in. There's an ash tray and some empty beer cans on the table next to his collection of weapons, a giant pink stuffed narwhal on the sofa, and a few grocery store bags shoved on the kitchen counter. ]

[She sighs in mock disappointment at his shirt being there, and pokes him gently in the upper arm as she walks inside, face breaking into a bright grin since she's also genuinely happy to not only see him, but see him actually living in his apartment. It's a step forward, and they both know that.

His question to her bag received a little hum as her eyes took in the apartment without judgment, merely curiosity.] Just a few things. [It's not a particularly large bag, but it could be considered a large purse, which apparently is a style again. Maybe? It doesn't really bother her.

She set the bag down against the wall and turns with her arms open and an expectant, lopsided grin splitting her features. Yep, she wants a hug Daryl.] Missed you sugah.

[ 'Living in' is a stretch, but he's been conceding a few nights here and there, and using the kitchen facility. In an unexpected turn, he's missed cooking. Or maybe he just misses the subreddit for using the fruits of a weekend hunting trip.

Daryl makes a hm sound that's only disgruntled for show, and gives her a hug. Light, gentle in its thoughtfulness, different to the last one they shared. Trying to think about what he does anymore, maybe. ]

Yeah, well. [ He shrugs one shoulder. ] Been working some shit out.

[ Kinda. ]

[The mutant notices the difference, and takes the opportunity to run her hand along his back during the hug, rubbing in a friendly, comforting manner before they separate. His response plus him even giving his apartment so much as a second glance have her thoughts somewhere, but she doesn't ask directly on the matter. It's likely a personal one.]

What sort of shit? [She asks, the desire to reach up and push hair out of his face increasing by the moment. Instead Rogue piques an eyebrow to indicate interest before bending over to pull some tupperware containers out of her bag, and unless he protests, her next stop is putting them in the fridge.]

[ The food gets a side-eye, but he doesn't protest when she packs it into his fridge - there's beer and soda in there (a bottle of whiskey in the freezer) next to a covered container of something he clearly made, but nothing else. ]

Got a talking-to.

[One the gifted food is all put away she stands and leans a hip on the nearby counter, arms loosely crossing over her chest. The fridge door closes on its own. His words earn a relatively neutral expression, but it's clear she's worried despite her attempts to hide it.]

By who? And what 'bout?

[ He exhales. Huh. Yeah, he can tell she's worried; it reminds him of Carol in a way he doesn't like thinking about. Fridge opens again and he offers a beer can to Rogue before taking one for himself. ]

The city handlers. Gonna send me home if I don't start pulling my weight with the whole touching people shit.

[She takes the offered beer, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet, her attention settling entirely on him for the time being.]

You want to talk about it? Ah ain't gonna judge you.

[ Daryl's resolution to not get drunk with other people is still standing firm, but he can knock back a couple of beers to dull the sandpaper feeling against his nerves without risk. He pops the tab on his and takes a long drink. ]

Ain't nothing to talk about, [ he says, gaze focused on the can, leaning back against the counter. ] Haven't done anything 'cause I don't want to.

[Her eyes fall to his beer, watching how much he downs in one go with a slight tilt of her head. It's then she takes a sip of her own.]

Alright. Do you want to go home without the incentive?

[ Of course not. He shakes his head even though it's practically rhetorical; there's no way he'd go home voluntarily and just check out of fixing his rotting world. He'd have left already if that were the case.

It's a while before he says anything. ]

'Dunno why they invited me here. There's better fuckin' people to have asked from where I'm from.

[ Literally. Fucking people. Ha, ha. ]

[She respectfully gives him the time he needs to think and speak his piece, not wanting him to feel rushed or forced.]

Maybe they wanted to give a chance to rest from all the shit you've endured... [Trailing off, she wonders if he knows that she likes him and would be happy to help if that's what he wants. It's not something she wants to bring up quite yet, content to give him all the time and space he requires. When she speaks, her voice is gentle and unassuming.] Why ain't you a fan of touchin' sugah?

Don't need a damn break. [ His tone is bitter at that, and it's clear he believes it - he's got some real guilt about being here when more deserving people are stuck at home. Or .. frozen in time? Christ, he doesn't know how the fuck it works. But he's the one who understands survival. He's the one who got them through winter after winter, who can wander off and be fine.

Daryl's a better person in the apocalypse. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to go back. ]

Makes me feel sick.

[ There. He thunks his empty beer can down on the counter and pushes the aluminum tab into the can itself, a dull rattling noise following. ]

S'why I might be moving in with somebody. Gotta get something done 'til I can get these fuckers to bring in someone else from where I'm from.

[Rogue remains quiet at the backlash her response causes, watching him with more understanding than he probably expected. Her world's on the brink of being destroyed (again), not to mention her probable death. Logan's healing factor could only do so much if he drags the blade up through her torso. She doesn't have an apocalypse of zombies waiting for her, but she does have friends depending on her, even if they don't know it.]

Don't force it then. Start slow.

[Her eyebrows lift together at the mention of him moving in with someone else and that worries her further, not because she's jealous (okay maybe a little), but because he's just started to kind of return to society and moving in with anyone is a big decision. Then again, she's not his keeper and maybe he's been spending healthier amounts of time with other individuals. Rogue only knows what he tells her and she witnesses.

Slowly, she sets her beer can down on the counter and pushes away from it, towards where he leaned, moving like one would approach a wild animal, a deer perhaps, without spooking it. With her eyes on his she reaches up to gently push his bangs off of his forehead, her fingers then trailing softly down along his jaw. He's free to move away from her touch if he wants, she's left enough room for escape.]

Buryin' it deeper, whatever it is, ain't gonna help sweetheart. Just gonna make it feel wrong, mess further with your head. Trust me, ah know.

[ Just because he's moving in with someone doesn't mean he's doing anything with that someone - in this case it's because Alice's world is like his. Alice isn't like him, she seems more sad and tired than skittish and traumatized like he is (about the touching thing, the apocalypse thing is another issue entirely), but they can hold hands and watch movies and it never has to be anything else. Not exactly wild sex parties.

He doesn't pull away from Rogue, but he thinks about it. Daryl watches her, his pale blue eyes surprisingly clear and sharp; a man who looks dead asleep and drunk most of the time but doesn't ever miss a damn thing. ]

My dad beat the shit out of me, [ he says dispassionately. ] Lots of kids get beaten though, I just. Never did nothing with nobody else, always looked bad. That's all. Ain't never wanted to.

[ And now he's 40 years old - probably older, it's not like he kept track later in life and sure as hell wasn't keeping up after the turn - and hasn't ever so much as kissed anyone. Fucking great for cuddletown. ]

[Rogue doesn't know any of that, and it's not her place to ask regardless of her curiosity on the matter. She'll just keep an eye on his mental health from her vantage point as a friend.

Her eyes don't shy away from his because she knows how sharp he is and how much he sees in the world, in the people he meets. He'll see no pity in her gaze at his point blank admission, her fingertips shifting so it's her hand cupping his jaw tenderly, her own tightening as a mix of anger and sadness roll through her at the thought of his father shit kicking him enough to leave scars.]

An' you ain't gotta do it here if you still feel that way, but ah'm here if you ever want to pursue that path. Not 'cause ah think you're a charity case or nothin', it ain't ever gonna be like that. Ah like spending time with you an' know what it's like to be starved of touchin' others, an' at the risk of scarin' you away ah think you're attractive.

[ The real disturbing thing about Daryl's scars is any halfway decent look at the ones on his back reveal themselves to be left by a knife carving lines out of him, or a whip. Will Dixon was a hell of a guy. Abuse so lifelong and ingrained that even when his father was bitten, Daryl couldn't bring himself to harm the man.

He hates people knowing. He hates mentioning it. What a pathetic complaint. Boo hoo, someone was mean to me and it gave me a lifetime of issues. Countless people suffer what he did and worse and they turn out fine. There are days when Daryl's self loathing rests quietly on an even keel, and then there are days when it's a black hole, crushing all light. Guess what kind of day this. ]

Ain't starved for nothing. Don't think so, anyway.

[Seeing those would break her heart and spark fruitless anger because there's nothing that Rogue can do now to take away that experience, but she could understand the complicated matter of crazy parents. See: Mystique.

He may see it as pathetic, but so much more clicks into place about him, confirming suspicions she had simply from observing. It doesn't change her opinion of her friend, and it sure as hell doesn't make her think any less than him. Quite the opposite actually. He's a survivor in more ways than physically still being alive after years in an apocalyptic world. Rogue stays there with him, hand still cupping his jaw as her thumb moved through the scruff on his chin with a slight smile.]

Sometimes somethin' ain't there for so long it's better to forget about it as a possibility. Least that's how it was with me. Hard to miss somethin' you ain't never had properly before y'know?

Ain't something I think about. It don't mean anything to me. [ Who cares? He's a survivor, yeah, and he's survived just fine without sex or dating. Sometimes he thinks about concepts like 'asexual', but all that shit's beyond him, and it's not entirely accurate. Not innately, anyway. Just how it's turned out. Daryl's not crying himself to sleep over being lonely and he's not jacking off non-stop, he's ... he's just himself. It bugs him when he's pressed but he moves away or says no and that's that. He doesn't want to change it. The defense mechanism of apathy has been built up over so many years as to be effective, and the thought of tearing down that protection is terrifying.

(But he has to change it.) ]

I want 'em to be okay though, [ he says quietly, almost a harsh whisper. ] I can't.. I can't leave knowing I could have stopped it and didn't.

[Rogue slowly pulls her hand back while still standing close, putting the ball entirely back in his quart. Her head shakes at his second statement, knowing that to be incorrect on at least some levels.] Remember when ah told you ‘bout my power? [She pauses so she can search his eyes with hers.] That meant somethin’ sugah, least to me.

[When he speaks again, her heart twists for him. He’s here for his people, just like her, and her empathy in that moment ran deep, nearly taking her breath away. She wants to pull him into a tight embrace, but is uncertain as to how he’ll react in that moment.]

You’re a good man, a strong man Daryl. You can do this. But, if you want some help, ah’ve got your back.

You didn't have a choice. Neither did I. 'Til I did.

[ And his choice was: Fuck no. A choice both unhealthy and self-protective. Daryl understands Rogue, he really does. He's just not there yet.

After a moment he reaches out and takes her hands in his, just holding them lightly between them, staring down at them. Hers are ... pretty, almost delicate-looking, against his scarred and weathered skin. ]

Ain't none of those things. This is ... okay. Though.

Feels weird havin' that choice after so long without it. [It's part question and part statement about herself, one that she expected held overlap with his experience.

She honestly didn't expect him to initiate anymore touching, but she smiles gently at the feel of his calloused hands around her own, fingertips nudging his in a little gesture of quiet affection.]

Ah think you are all of those things. [His hands receive a little squeeze.] Ah'm glad sugah.

eudio | ic inbox

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i thought i replied to this wtf @me

hdu