thearena | Vantage Points [semi-open]

Entry tags:

Vantage Points [semi-open]

Who| Ellis and the Walking Dead group or anyone who passes by
What| Meeting fellow zombie-apocalypse survivors
Where| Around the caves and glaciers
When| Week 3 before the Guido Suit massacre
Warnings/Notes| Language, talk of Gore...usual business

Ellis had to admit, the sponsors were kind to him to get him all warmed up and armed. Granted it wasn't a rifle like Nick and it was terribly lonely to wait for him to come back from whatever he was doing. He'd told the man to rest for a day in their cave, there wasn't that much need to hunt or defend themselves. Nick, this isn't Georgia, we don't have medkits lying around for us to find. Lay down an' recover, okay? But like hell Suits listened to him. He barely did back home!

Beth implied there were more survivors out there from his home state (halleluyah!) and Ellis knew that as soon as Lt. Raine gained a weapon, he'd be more than fine on his own. So the mechanic grabbed the nearest rock and scratched on the wall a message for Nick to find if the gambler came back before he did:

"LEFT FOR SUPPLIES, BE BACK SOON."

With that, bundled up and the small pocket knife on tow, Ellis set out to explore the Arena again now that the cats were gone.

A. Cave Story

The caves around this land had proven to be a challenge for the ever-curious man to explore and forage in. There was evidence of other people living in there, more experienced Tributes in the art of putting the best and bloodiest show the Capitol could see. All El could get out of these were scraps he could either consume or build trinkets to beat the boredom. Every time the mechanic ran into a campsite, he'd slow down his paces, avoid making unnecessary sounds as to not cause a fight. For all his boisterous acting, survival usually trumped his itch to say hello to anyone he met. Not everyone was as friendly as he was, Nick reminded him so many times back home.

"Hello?" Ellis called out inside, making sure he was close enough to the exit to make a quick getaway. Anyone returning his greeting would see him raise his weapon first before he relaxed.

B. Self-Imposed Challenge

"Okay, tha's impressive," El whispered under his breath as he admired the glacial majesty before him. He felt so tiny and insignificant against the massive structure. Naturally, he said to himself, "I'm gonna climb it." How he survived the Green Flu outbreak is sometimes a mystery. The thing about glaciers is the sheer difficulty that comes with trying to get footing without the proper shoe wear as the mechanic soon found out after a few unsuccessful tries at crossing the river to get to it. "Fuckin' hell," he hissed under his breath before giving up, "Coulda made for a good vantage point."

So the next best thing were the trees, something he had more experience in. It was how he kept whatever meager supplies he could find safe from any slippery hands. He was young and flexible enough to make his way up the branches. Anyone looking up will see a grinning idiot ready to say hello or pounce and get their supplies then disappear into the wilderness if they proved to be untrustworthy. Though Ellis had a fatal flaw in his plan: he wouldn't kill the target. These were thinking people, and he refused to commit murder.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was only by virtue of the fact that Rick had been expecting his group that Ellis had gotten as far as he did. The crunch of snow had caught his attention before the trespasser had even reached the cave entrance, and he was on his feet and out of the tent before they'd managed to cross the threshold. Pressed against the wall, the shadows were dense enough to temporarily mask his presence, leaving him the brief moments he'd need; while he'd been waiting on Beth and Daryl's return, there was always the other option.

Based on the unfamiliar gait, he was betting on the latter.

In the end, it had only been a matter of time; the arena was a finite space, and with the building snow, shelters were probably limited. Unfortunately for Ellis, this one had already been claimed.

"That's far enough."

Rick didn't need his gun to back his threats anymore; the look in his eyes carried more dangerous potential than any firearm. The space between them was still wide enough to eliminate any immediate threat, and he made no effort to hide his own weapon as he stepped out into the light of the dying fire. He moved with a practiced finesse, assertive but non-threatening - one of the few things that lingered from when he was still just a small town cop, defusing a tough situation.

Thus far, he'd managed to scrape by without killing any of the other tributes - but it wasn't because he was unwilling.

"I suggest you turn around."

The way the older man talked, not actively attacking or threatening and yet imposing, Ellis was well-aware this Tribute wasn't one to be messed with, even with jokes or rambling. He had to get to the point or get out. The mechanic pocketed his knife then raised his hands, no harm here. He'd done the same with Luke in the other cave, these were not times to fool around and taunt a former cop.

"Y-yessir, I was hopin' I coul' find more first aid supplies," thinking on his feet, El said the truth and hoped for the best. "I know this is a death arena, but I needed to scavenge for my companion. I'm not lookin' fer a cave, I have one."

Edited (added a little more) 2015-02-21 07:33 (UTC)

The footprints in the snow offered a wealth of information if one knew how to interpret it. Daryl already knew what to expect — an adult man a bit slighter than himself — long before he laid eyes on the person in question.

The deer carcass he'd been carrying had been stashed nearby, making his approach from behind almost entirely silent as he took care to step only in the already compacted areas of snow, timing his movements to coincide with Rick and the stranger speaking with each other, to further mask the sound of his soft footfalls. His hunting knife was drawn and he kept his other arm raised slightly higher than waist-level, in preparation to deflect any attack that might come his way.

It was in this manner that he appeared behind Ellis, ready to disarm or take him down as needed. His eyes were trained on Rick's face, just waiting for his signal, breath pluming in the frigid air at regular intervals. He was calm; this was a familiar, well practised routine.

Thus far in the arena, they'd been very fortunate and hadn't been forced to use many of their first aid supplies, so some could comfortably be spared, provided the request was genuine. But that decision was ultimately up to Rick, and Daryl wasn't yet of a mind to argue on the stranger's behalf. Best to speak with him a bit more first.

Ellis was unaware of Daryl's presence behind him so when he placed his weapon on the floor, he was completely vulnerable.

"I just need bandages an' antiseptic, I'm willin' to trade my knife fer it," the mechanic offered. This is how much he cared for Nick: to lay himself at the mercy of two experienced Tributes to make sure the man survived his injuries as best he could. And that sort of loyalty came with survival.

"I don't want trouble either an' I'll leave as soon as I git an answer."

The fact he'd lowered his weapon was a point in his favour, though Rick made no move to do the same. He'd been burned one too many times in the past, no longer naive enough to take a stranger at their word. The world had changed and he'd learned all too well what men were capable of - A trade was well and good, until the offered knife was buried in his back.

While there was no question as to whether he'd noticed Daryl's approach, his eyes remained trained on the stranger, gaze appraising and colder than the frigid climate. They'd run this same tactic countless times back in Georgia, their team work streamlined and perfected over time; it would take only the briefest signal and Daryl would be on him, taking out the target before they even realized the danger.

As it stood, Rick still wasn't sure it would be necessary. The arena was hardly the place to foster friendships, engineered as it was to have them at each other's throats. Ellis had come there for first aid supplies, or so he'd claimed. No food, no weapons... Bandages. Whether they were actually for his companion was anyone's guess, but he didn't move like a man injured. The bulky winter wear might have disguised it somewhat, but there was an absence of the usual signs - no blood, no favouring of one side over the other.

Not only that, but he was willing to hand over his knife, potentially leaving him defenseless against those with more dangerous intentions. Rick was prepared to accept that sort of loyalty from his own people, but in others? It could easily have been a bid for his sympathy. At one point in his life, it would probably have worked.

In the end, there could be no certainty in any of those observations. The silence hung for an uncomfortably long period before he finally spoke up, his head tilting slightly.

"How many tributes have you killed?"

Edited (Stupei was having a moment.) 2015-03-02 12:09 (UTC)

The relinquishment of the knife wasn't enough to cause any change in Daryl's stance, though he followed the movement with his eyes and made note of exactly where the knife ended up, in case he'd have to kick it out of reach momentarily. Then he was immediately back to watching Rick's face.

Either the situation with Ellis's companion was more dire than he was letting on, or he had to have other weapons somewhere — otherwise it was a damn foolish move, giving up his sole means of protection and defense like this. Each possibility was more concerning than the last. Desperation could drive people to do the most terrible things, and if this guy did have a stockpile of weapons elsewhere — while now knowing the location of their camp — what would prevent him from paying another visit later, to try and take whatever he wanted then?

He was certain Rick was already considering the same things and reaching similar conclusions.

Generally Daryl was still more inclined toward showing mercy than Rick was these days, if it served a practical purpose, but even he had his limits. Trying to deceive them was a gamble that rarely went in the liar's favour.

"None sir," Ellis admitted, "All I've killed is few fishes an' my friend's ego for not runnin' away from the sabertooth cats when he had a chance. I ran out changin' his bandages an' I know he can't walk straight with his back all fucked up. I just need that an' I'm outta here."

If Ellis had one glaring flaw, it's that what you see is what you get. The only manipulation he'd ever tried was to pass the blame of losing the weapons bag in Georgia and boy did the fallout of that teach him otherwise. Nick was nearly kicked out of the group because of his mistake, no way was he doing that ever again. So yeah, seeing him here in the Arena was his way of making amends for that mistake and he was willing to get killed so soon for just a few first aid supplies.

"I understand if y'all don't have them, I'll be on my way."

Rick shook his head, his brow furrowed. He knew Daryl had things covered if this all went south, but it wasn't the present that was concerning him.

"I never said we didn't."

It was as close as he could bring himself to admitting they had the means to help. Vague answers, leaving a lot to the imagination; when it came down to protecting his family, to protecting what they had, no amount of precautions would ever feel like enough. Particularly when it came to something as precious as medical supplies. The way he saw it, whether he conceded or not, there was a strong chance he would come to regret his decision. He didn't know this person. What was to say that if they did help, him and his friend wouldn't come back for a second helping later? Perhaps when it was only Beth? When they were preoccupied?

Their own world had made him entirely too adept at finding the worst case scenarios, his mind automatically leaping to the best way to prevent them. While the upstanding, moral sheriff from King County may have survived the worst of what life had to throw at him, it had left that once limitless generosity crippled; when it came time to extend his hand now, he couldn't help but wonder about the inevitable catch. In truth, there would never be a perfectly safe route. There was no way of knowing anyone's true nature, not for sure, and that was a risk they would always have to take.

That was just part of being a leader.

"Look, you answer my questions." There was an underlying threat to his words, his head tilting slightly as he looked him over, subtly gesturing for Daryl to close some of the distance. Even if Ellis noticed him now, he wasn't going anywhere without one of them putting a stop to it. "We'll see about the rest. You ever kill anybody before all this?"

The three questions Rick had devised back home might seem arbitrary, but they served a vital purpose when getting a feel for strangers. It wasn't so much about what their answers were, but the way in which they answered; thus far, it had been a surprisingly effective way to quickly judge the character of someone.

Ellis wasn't being questioned as a prelude to being allowed to join their group, but that didn't permit him any additional leeway in his answers, which became apparent to Daryl when Rick signaled for him to move in. He did so, continuing to take all due care in keeping his steps silent to maintain the element of surprise. Within another couple steps or so he could either bring his knife around to press to Ellis's throat, or kick his legs out from under him — or, ideally, back off entirely and maybe even greet him — all depending on his answers, and Rick's judgment.

For his part, Daryl wasn't picking up anything blatantly alarming about the guy yet, though he also couldn't see his face. Tone of voice and posture could only provide so much information, especially when both could lie in ways that eyes often didn't. There was a reason that Daryl and Rick could communicate so extensively through eye contact alone, even when it was one-sided.

"No sir, no humans, just the undead. We had an outbreak an' I did wha' I had to."

And there it was: the defining trait that brought the young man here from a survivor boat. Though the Hordes were Infected, not real undead, their sheer numbers and the danger that came along with their bite was reminiscent of the Walkers from Rick and Daryl's world.

Ellis' answer was steadfast, he didn't regret doing what he did if it kept his friends alive. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd have to kill humans but he wanted to delay that inevitable. He wasn't looking forward to it: zombies didn't think, humans like the two men did. This was the only dent in his nearly endless optimism about the Arena. He'd only kill if the attacker put him or Nick in trouble.

Edited 2015-03-18 00:02 (UTC)

"You did what you had to."

He nodded to himself as he considered the words, letting his gaze fall to the ground at Ellis' feet. It wasn't a gesture of submission by any stretch - If anything, it was just another test. He'd left the window open, giving him opportunity to strike, if that was when he'd intended.

There was a lot that could be done in the name of necessity; Rick knew better than most just what a man was capable of when pushed. It was a slippery slope to tread - When they'd all done terrible things, 'I did what I had to' became a pretty convenient out. It was dangerously easy to blur the lines, convincing yourself that 'I needed to' or 'there was no other option' rather than accepting responsibility for your actions. It wouldn't always help you sleep at night, but it was an easier pill to swallow than the label of 'murderer'.

If Ellis needed those supplies, just what was he prepared to do to get them? He didn't strike Rick as a killer, but what if his friend's life was hanging in the balance? What were the lives of a couple of strangers? Rick already knew what he would have done - and it had him considering what he might have to do now, if it came down to it.

His mention of the undead didn't surprise Rick as much as it could have - But then, Ellis was hardly the first person he'd spoken to that knew about the walkers. Clementine, Luke, Nick... It was becoming an alarming pattern, and one that he was already well aware of. Unfortunately, it wasn't the sort of kinship that helped put him at ease; if anything, it only served to make him warier. He'd seen firsthand the sorts of monsters his world had built, what the turn had done to people. Gareth, the Governor...

"You did what you had to do, but you say you haven't killed anyone. Why?"

Survivors were dangerous people - Rick would know.

It wasn't much of a test in truth, considering the way Daryl remained tensed, muscles coiled and prepared to knock the stranger on his ass if he so much as shifted in Rick's direction — not that Ellis could have known that. The guy seemed so oddly guileless, trusting in a way that raised more than a few red flags, and yet... there wasn't any air of deception about him, so far as Daryl could tell.

Reminded him a lot of Stookey, who'd been optimistic almost to a fault. He'd certainly had his secrets as well, but all Daryl'd had to do was bristle and flash a bit of fang to get him to wise up to how things were done in their group. Folks like that weren't difficult to get on with. Being able to muster that kind of hope and optimism in the face of everything they've dealt with, that took its own sort of strength. Bob would be missed.

These silent considerations were revealed in Daryl's slightly raised eyebrows, the set of his mouth, the tilt of his head. He was leaning toward letting this guy go, with or without the requested first-aid supplies. But his final answer would be the deciding factor.

"I stole and raided, sir...I don't hurt unless they hurt me first, let sleepin' dogs lie an' all tha' shit," Ellis was honest about these sorts of things. Infected could be killed a dime a dozen, but fellow Survivors? There was something to be said about this young man's sense of right and wrong when he'd rather share in the bounty with a complete stranger than shoot their head off. There had to be a light at the end of the tunnel, and the more survivors remained, the closer they could all get to rebuilding their home.

That said, his body language spoke more about remorse for having stolen from stores and little caches that were probably there for someone else. Nick told him to buck up, Coach assured him that more would come along and Rochelle added to that. It didn't take away from the sting but it was better than to starve and die. They needed their youngest to remain their unifying glue, or the wind would be knocked out of them. In Ellis' eyes, tomorrow would be another day, another chance to get to the promised land.

It was really only half an answer, but the rest was intimated in the line of his body, the tone of his voice. That anchor of guilt was too familiar to Rick, and he picked up on it immediately - but he didn't think he was lying. Ellis was in that same boat they were all in, doomed to get their hands dirty in the name of scraping by. Perhaps he hadn't been forced to the extreme of killing another person, but inevitably, he would. Or he'd die. Or he'd lose people. There were so many ways it could play out, but no matter how it did, happy endings were a relic of a world long gone.

While he didn't perceive him as an immediate threat, trying to force his guard to relax was a war in itself; his fingers were locked around the grip of his knife as though his life was threatened, his heart pounding a quick, uneven rhythm.

Killing him was still the safest route. If he was dead, it eliminated any future threat. And realistically, did it even matter anymore? He'd be brought back, alive and well for the next time he was slated to be murdered, this time without any knowledge of their location. Even if he wasn't planning anything, could he speak for this 'friend' of his? Would he end up running his mouth to the wrong people, spilling that vital information?

Was his life worth more than Beth's? Daryl's?

It was Daryl he looked to then, hoping that he might find the answer he needed - The answer Daryl seemed to know from the start. It wasn't so much that his own solution was wrong, but some small, damaged part of him needed to believe that there was still a better way. Daryl's answer, conveyed in that brief expression, was riskier, but... it was better. It was the one he knew he'd have gone with before everything had happened, before the Governor and Terminus and all the things that shaped him into what he was now. Maybe he would come to regret it - but he sincerely hoped that he wouldn't.

Rick let out a breath, releasing with it some of the built up tension from his lean frame.

"Alright," he conceded, making one final sweep of the arena beyond the cave. A brief hand signal to Daryl to give him the all clear, let him know that he was free to make his presence known.

"But let's get one thing clear. We help you, and you come back here- You threaten any of my people? I will kill you."

There was a grunt from directly behind Ellis as Daryl straightened his posture, and he purposely crunched some of the untouched snow beneath his boots to indicate his presence. He didn't want to inadvertently startle the stranger too badly and risk a violent reaction, because he knew Rick's retaliation would undoubtedly be fatal then. Unnecessarily messy for everyone involved.

Though he had a feeling they could probably trust the guy to not do anything foolish (more foolish than approaching strangers in a death match arena and asking for vital supplies, anyway), he briefly stooped down to collect the knife from the ground. Just in case.

"You'll get this back when you leave," he said with a glance to Ellis as he passed him, but only moved slightly ahead before turning to face him, pointedly not giving his back to the stranger. Nor had he sheathed his hunting knife yet, but it was held in a deceptively relaxed manner, just as his demeanour was intentionally friendlier than Rick's.

"M'Daryl," he said, and nodded to his companion. "That's Rick."

If Ellis were observant he might pick up on the traces of a third person in their camp (along with the fact Rick had stated 'my people'), but Daryl was less certain about mentioning Beth in any detail. The question was in his eyes as he gave Rick a look. Should they specifically tell him about her? If Ellis ran into her later it might make him more inclined to help her — or try to use her against them.

"So tell us 'bout this buddy'a yours with the cat scratches. How bad? N'are you two on your own?" Not that he was expecting the complete truth, but it couldn't hurt to ask, gauge the guy's response.

Ellis was startled out of his stance as soon as Daryl made himself known but the younger man quickly recovered his usual cautious stance. Hell, he even saluted Rick after learning his name, he looked military or at least commanding enough. He didn't mind Dixon taking the knife, he expected it.

"We ran outta them just keepin' him alive, an' I know for a fact tha' if those wounds don't get dressed, all tha' work would go to shit. He's from my world, an' I care about him enough t' get him as far as I can," the mechanic spoke up without a hint of deception. "Believe me, I'd rather not cause trouble o' put y'all under strains you can't handle. We're on our own."

Had El known this was Beth's group, he would've asked for her with a brighter smile and disposition. He wondered how she was, was she still alive? Was she safe? He could only tell the third person had been in the cave but wasn't present.

Faint amusement flickered across his features, probably the closest thing to friendliness he'd displayed thus far. Ellis' salute was edging on ridiculous, but seeing Daryl's easy shift into the role of the 'good cop'... It was such a far cry from the angry, grief-stricken man he'd met in Atlanta, It was almost hard to believe they were the same person. It suited him, somehow.

"We can handle it," he said, his gaze shifting from the confiscated knife back to Ellis, remaining a few paces behind, as though he might somehow act as a wall between him and his camp. "We wouldn't be offering otherwise."

Daryl's unspoken question was met with a near imperceptible sake of his head, his lips falling back into their grim line. There was no point in drawing attention to their third member, not when the potential threat outweighed any of the benefits. Their location was compromised, along with the status of their supplies; while Rick trusted Beth was capable, he didn't trust that other tributes were going to be playing fair. Ellis himself may not have been a threat, but that knowledge mixed with his straightforward, too-honest nature could prove lethal.

It had crossed his mind to ask about the location of their camp, how close it was - but for the moment, he'd let Daryl do the talking. If the subject strayed too far off course, he'd guide it back with a firmer hand - but it was better for both parties to keep the situation calm and controlled for as long as they could.

The salute was really something else, and though Daryl didn't smile there was laughter in his eyes, in the way the fine lines at the corners became more pronounced as he exchanged another pointed look with Rick. Even without the uniform, stetson, and badge, people could still recognise the cop in him. He was definitely going to get teased about it later.

"No trouble," Daryl agreed easily, "unless y'make trouble." Moving fully into the cave camp, he knelt near where he knew one of the first aid kits was stashed and brushed the pine needles off it. He laid out a sizable strip of tanned deer hide, then started picking out the medical supplies that would help with infected lacerations and arranged them on it. It wasn't a matter of being stingy, just practical; no sense in sending the entire kit with the guy, even if they did currently have a few to spare. They'd been extremely lucky so far, but there was no telling what the future held.

"Where ya from?" he called back over his shoulder as he worked. "Sounds like we might'a been neighbours before all this shit."

Ellis obviously hailed from the South, but Daryl was willing to put his money on Georgia specifically. And despite present circumstances, he found it a little heartening to think Ellis might be from some version of 'home' — not that it'd make them any more likely to trust him, but there was something to be said for familiarity.

That was enough for Ellis to tip his hat with a grin, "The great city o' Savannah good sirs, born an' raised an' evacuated!" That last part wasn't taken lightly, "We were overrun an' shit went down fast when th' Infected started mobbin' us all. My buddies Keith an' Dave, they got my momma an' their parents outta there in time t' head up north to I think it was Nebraska or Montana, I know they made it safe. I promised 'em I'd be on the next helicopter."

He still remembered waking up to go to work then saying goodbye to his dear mother, Miss Cordelia Ann, for the last time. It's that devotion and that drive to care a that stuck with Ellis. "I met my new family then. Where'd y'all come from though?"

Edited 2015-06-14 01:24 (UTC)

Oh, he knew he'd be hearing about it later. Here he was, beard wild and looking a few steps from homeless, and he was still recognized for his previous career, as though he'd never put away the badge. Daryl might as well have been grinning from where Rick stood, and he quirked a brow at him in silent challenge, daring him to push it. Opportunities to laugh were few and far between these days, so Rick wasn't going to let this one slip away - even if it was at his own expense.

With Daryl gathering the needed supplies, Rick continued to keep a sharp eye on their guest; the archer was more than up to the task, and Rick trusted in his ability to divvy them up. In truth, he'd been doing this far longer than Rick had. He'd be able to give him what he'd need without cutting into their own stock, factoring their potential future needs. Luck was never guaranteed to hold out.

King County was barely a mark on the map, and he doubted that Ellis would have heard of it . But the question did make him come to a rather abrupt realization - He had no idea where Daryl was from. He knew he'd lived with his brother, but was it in Atlanta? He didn't strike him as someone who'd lived in the city. Had they been travelling, like Andrea? He was half tempted to ask him later, once this was over.

"Down closer to Atlanta."

With talks of Washington still fresh, he remembered just how little of the country they'd seen since the turn. Atlanta was a graveyard, more dead than living by this point. The buildings were skeletons, stripped to the charred bare bones. Where there were higher concentrations of people, there were bound to be more walkers; it only made sense that the other cities had suffered a similar fate. Clementine's group had confirmed that much previously. If the 'infected' was just another name for walkers... It still may not have been the same world they'd left behind, but it was sounding remarkably close.

... In which case, it also wasn't the first time he'd heard talks of Nebraska. Or worse, a man named Dave who'd been planning on heading there with his group. A coincidence, but an unfortunate one.

"We call them walkers. They took the city, so we'd been keepin' out of the populated areas."

While giving no outward indication of it, Daryl's thoughts had snagged on the barbed wire memory of Dave and Nebraska, but he couldn't entirely recall why they were familiar. He covered by continuing to rifle through the supplies needlessly, allowing his mind time enough to follow the breadcrumb trail of memories which connected the two. It had been back at the farm... Hershel... his flask.

The bar. Rick and Glenn had found Hershel there — and so had a couple of drifters, Dave and Tony. Daryl'd only heard the account secondhand, but there was a reason his mind hadn't yet let go of the information. They'd brought back the injured kid, Randall, to the farm and no one else had been willing to get their hands dirty, so Daryl'd done what had to be done to get information from the little fucker. Dave, Tony, and Randall had been part of a much bigger group of men — their merry band of rapists and marauders.

Surely it couldn't possibly be the same Dave who'd helped evacuate someone's mother.

Thinking of it now, it felt as though everything had happened a lifetime ago. Daryl scrubbed his face with a hand as he pulled himself back to the present, then began carefully rolling up the supplies in the deer hide for easier carrying.

"Up north for me," he replied, unknowingly answering Rick's question at the same time. "In the mountains. Then shit hit the fan, ran into a group of survivors outside Atlanta, and been with 'em ever since." Not that he'd had much choice at the time, considering what the alternative had been after Merle vanished... but he was glad he'd stayed; he'd found his 'new family', too. Returning to Rick and Ellis, he offered the rolled up supplies and confiscated knife to the latter.

"Ain't the first person I've heard call 'em 'Infected'," he noted as he watched Ellis for his reaction. "You happen to know a guy named Nick?"

"Pretty sure my world's Atlanta's got the same fate as yours: overrun an' full o' the not-so-dead." At the mention of Nick, Ellis sighed out rather exasperated, "Black hair, kinda built, fuckin' diva o' a man?" Of course Nick had to run into these guys and give them trouble. Because what the hell was surviving in a group, right? Though he omits for now that the supplies he's requested are for them as a team, just in case.

"Wha' did tha' fuckin' idiot do to ya? I'm so sorry but he's like tha' I'm afraid. I may be his friend," and he speaks without shame about that fact, "but goddammit he gets into so much trouble," El rattled on, pretty much accepting that whatever Nick did in his absence may cost them dearly. "He's a survivor from my group, with me, a lady named Rochelle an' a man we call Coach. Well the last two ain't here, thank God but...Nick...well, sorry in advanced."

Oh fate would make sure that apology wasn't wasted.

It took a moment before Rick caught himself, not immediately registering the way his attention had shifted at Daryl's answer. Looking at him now, it was harder to ignore just how little he knew about his life before the turn, and more, how before this point, he'd never thought to ask. A large part of that had been respect for the other's privacy; between the glimpse of his scarred torso and spending more than five minutes in Merle Dixon's presence, he'd managed to piece together a few things. But really, when it came down to it, the same could be said for the majority of his group. He hadn't questioned how the Dixon's had come to throw their lot in with Shane anymore than he had Carol and Ed, or Jim.

Maybe, because in the end, the past didn't matter anymore. The people they'd been before, the lives they'd led - That wasn't who they were now. Were it up north, in the mountains, Rick and Daryl would likely have ended up on opposing sides, victims of their own prejudice; with his brother's influence still strong and Rick's career choice, the odds were stacked against them. In some bizarre way, the end of the world had paved the way for their friendship, to the point now where Rick couldn't imagine his life without the archer at his side. Christ, even here, universes away, Daryl still had a knack for showing up precisely when he needed him most.

And yet, even with that in mind, curiosity had somehow crept up on him, taking up residence in the back of his mind. He wanted to know more about the other man, past and present.

But not right now.

He let the question fall to Daryl, having never encountered Nick personally; he'd heard about the encounter after the fact. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it, as their particular brand of survivor was becoming more common in Panem - But hearing Ellis' story, he couldn't help but sympathize. Rick understood better than most; having his people there was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, it helped to have another set of eyes to watch your back, but the inevitable end of the arena was always looming on the horizon. There was only ever going to be one winner, which meant one way or another, they were all going to lose.

Rick's silence was acknowledged with another glance directed his way, and Daryl's eyes remained on him for several moments, ~~eyefucking~~ returning his curious regard, as he began his account of the murderous flock of geese.

"Back at the very starta things, I found 'im surrounded by some real pissed off geese, so I helped out. Sent 'im on his way with a bird for his trouble. He didn't do nothin' sneaky when I had my back turned, and he coulda — I wasn't armed then," Daryl explained, a hint of confusion in his tone because of Ellis apologising on Nick's behalf. Almost seemed as though they were talking about two different people, if not for the description Ellis provided. This had to be the same guy. "Seemed like an alright guy, really. But I didn't stick around to socialise."

Understandably. He wasn't keen on giving people the opportunity to shank him.

Despite the briefness of their encounter, he thought Nick was a fairly stand up guy both for thanking him and for keeping his word about not attacking. Daryl tended to operate on the assumption that people were inherently self-centered and cruel, particularly in an arena where it was in their best interests to try and kill him and everyone he cared about, so someone behaving in a trustworthy manner is significant to him. Of course, it would be a vastly different story in a few weeks time... but at present, Daryl and Rick might just be the only two people here who didn't think Nick was an asshole.

"Oh, Oh good, he behaved," Ellis exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in. He was so sure Nick had gotten into trouble while he wasn't here. "Sorry, I just know he's not th' friendliest type but he's got his head on survivin' an' keepin' us safe. It's been a while since we've split up."

The way El spoke, it was more like a younger brother talking about his more accomplished sibling, a sweetness that never went away even as he scolded Nick. He wouldn't regret his friendship in any way.

Vantage Points [semi-open]

Late zombro for A?

not late, fashionable

/gatecrashes

WELCOME

It's a real party now.

guess who brought possum cake!

Aw yeah, get the beers!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)