Far off in the distance, somewhere you can't see

[weaintashes]

Who| Daryl, Rick, Luke, Rochelle.
What| Sharing noms, meeting Rochelle, explaining L4D Nick's death.
Where| Camp TWDG.
When| Sometime after week 1 but before week 4.
Warnings/Notes| Survivors survivin'.

With the recent abundance of game Daryl and Rick have had the good fortunate of snaring and hunting, as well as some surprising generosity from a number of people — sponsors, Nick, Oceana, Gary — they're able to comfortably spare more than enough to share with Nick's group. This isn't the first trip Daryl's made to their camp with these intentions, but it is the first time Rick has felt it's safe enough to accompany him, courtesy of Phillip being willing to watch their own camp with Vivi.

The supplies and already cooked meat have been carefully stored in repurposed containers, or wrapped in animal hide, and everything's carried in the makeshift pack slung across Daryl's back. He's still sporting the hooded monk robes of District 9, with a long knife fastened at his waist within easy reach and more substantial twin battle axes at his back. That they haven't managed to find a bow or crossbow during any of their scavenging runs is unfortunate, but he's made do, as he always will.

The way to Luke's camp is a familiar route by now, with the only variable being the starting point; after a run-in with one supremely pissed off, monstrous tree, Daryl and Rick have taken to routinely relocating their own camp, for an additional sense of security. So far it's worked in their favour — there hasn't been a single lethal incident since.

The artificial midday sun's muted within the dreary haze that's been growing thicker by the day, casting a sickly light over the terrain, but the existence of crisscrossing trails both human and animal remain clear to a trained eye. The traffic in the area has picked up since last Daryl was here, and he conveys this change to Rick with a pointed look and gesture indicating multiple lines on the ground, all the warning that's needed. The additional tracks may mean nothing, but it's best to stay on their guard.

Eventually his eyes catch on movement in the distance. A male figure resolves itself, and as it moves out of the deeper shadows, Luke's more recognisable features become apparent. With his hood down, Daryl gives a short, sharp whistle as a courtesy, his customary method of announcing his presence to allies at a distance. It just isn't very neighbourly to sneak up on fellow survivors, which he's learnt is a real risk with how silently he tends to walk out of habit. He falls into step beside Rick as they approach the camp.

Comments

[rictator]

Rick's trust was hard earned, and even now, he wouldn't have said that Phillip had it in its entirety. It would take far more than their temporary allegiance in an arena to gain that level of respect from him - but it was a definite start.

In some ways, the day could have been considered a test of sorts, leaving the newcomer behind to watch over the camp. He wouldn't be there alone, and Vivi had proved himself more than capable that night beneath the tree; Rick wasn't fond of the idea of potentially throwing him to the wolves, but the mage wouldn't be able to count on them being there forever. Things happened, too often beyond their control. It had gone that way for Beth - She'd faced the end of the last arena without either one of them. Realistically, being alone was inevitable at one point or another, and faced with the trials they were, it was just another element they would all need to adapt to.

While he hadn't seen the projection in the night sky, they knew by then that Nick had fallen relatively early on; they'd received supplies from him in the weeks that followed, accompanied by signed notes of his support. It was more than Rick had expected from anyone truthfully, his appreciation of the gesture genuine - and a large part of why he'd elected to join the trip. They owed him and his people, and this was one of the few ways they could repay that debt; Luke had done the same for Beth, and though Rick may not have agreed with his methods, he wasn't going to refuse him what small help they could offer.

... And it really wasn't a matter of ego to say that Rick's group had the better hunter. (He'd be the first to admit that it was not him.)

Rick had his own short sword bared and at the ready, keeping stride with Daryl as he approached the camp. His jester costume was long gone, disposed of the minute he was able to; they'd found workable peasant clothes in the village, which were filthy, threadbare, and a definite step up from the tacky gold and purple. He nodded his greeting, lips set in a grim line as he kept one eye on the perimeter.

It was automatic, the way he quietly filed away information, looking for weaknesses, ways to improve the camp. Fortify. It wasn't a bad setup all things considered, but one could never be too safe. The volume of traffic, as pointed out by Daryl earlier, was a point of concern; they wouldn't remain undiscovered forever, and dependent on who it was that crossed their path, it wouldn't end well.

please let me know if you'd like me to tweak anything

[burningdaylight]

That whistle slices through the air and his thoughts go still, head swinging up as an animal alertness snaps through him and readies him to drop his kindling and twist around with his axe out. The same knee-jerk instinct every time. But then comes a ping of recognition. Something clicks. And while the wary edge in his eyes doesn't soften right away there's a slow, partial loosening of his shoulders in the moment that follows as he squints against the sun slanting through the trees and brings Daryl's features into focus from under his cowl. Then Rick's.

He's in trusted company, but what - and who - lies beyond them could be a different story. He can't help glancing left and right for anything else the sound might be drawing, flicking a backwards glance towards their shelter. But their corner of the woods seems still, at least for the moment. It's the most they can hope for.

Luke catches Rick's eyes first as he turns his head, taking stock of him. They both look fighting-fit and well-armed. In a decent place, he'd like to think. And though Rick's presence comes as a mild surprise, suggested by the slight lift to his eyebrows before his expression settles into something distracted, more worn around the edges, he's as welcome as Daryl is. They're all allies here - and he will never object to having that many more pairs of eyes keeping a lookout for him and what's left of his people.

"Hey," Luke offers when they're more in earshot, resting a bundle of branches by their shelter and taking a moment to dust his hands of the dirt. Sweat-damp curls are plastered to his forehead, soot and blood - Nick's, mostly - smudged across his skin. Though he's been keeping mostly to the shade, his neck and shoulders are well on their way to being seared a raw, angry red between trips made to scavenge and the time put into reinforcing the framework of their shelter. His blacksmith's apron offers little protection from the sun but at least it has a few pockets, eliminating the need to travel with extra weight from the backpack he managed to escape the blazing cornucopia with.

He reaches for containers with the berries and mushrooms he's rinsed off and set aside for them. If the arena's good for one thing, it's that the dampness hanging heavy in the air makes the latter a fairly easy find. Sure, not all of them dotting the forest floor or plating logs and tree trunks are recognizable or edible, but thankfully there's enough that are that can be gathered and shared, cooked and dried.

They're all making it, making do with what they can scrounge up and stretch to make last. It's what life has been for years. Entire lifetimes, for some. He can't profess to know what that's like.

"S'everythin' okay back there?" He catches a mouth-watering whiff of roasted meat as he comes within a few feet of them, holding out his offerings after a moment. Looking between them. His nails are dirt-encrusted, stained with berry-juice.

[somegrimshit]

The air around the group here was different than it had been with her own group, in her own world. Everything hangs heavier, the dangers are more unknown, and therefore more dangerous. Maybe her group would be similar, if they had ever managed to be all together for this place. As it stood, all she had to go on was how her and Nick managed. They'd stayed on the move, Nick wanting to hunt down tributes right away.

While Nick dying wasn't what she would have wanted at all, she was glad that he hadn't had the chance to kill more of them. Because this time, her name would've been harder to remove from his. Not with her by his side for the whole thing.

But she's here now, and this group seems content to wait it out. Wait for...something. And Rochelle is pretty content to wait with them. But there's still a tension in the air. Maybe it's from the omnipresent danger, or from them also losing one of their own so quickly. Maybe it's from the scarcity of food. But Rochelle toughs it out as she always has, and does her part to contribute. She's ducked into the castle for the banquets, risking an encounter for the chance at a decent meal. She's not much for all this hunting and gathering, but after she was showed what's safe and what's not, she's done her best to collect as well.

She could also work on the tent, taking tips from Jane on plastering newspaper and leaves with mud to seal out water and wind. She'd been working out of sight when she heard the whistle, and heard Luke's voice. Slowly, she peeks up from behind the little mud, stick, and Celebrus hut they had crafted. And that's when her blood runs cold.

She'd worried it'd come to this, that the two of them would try to find her. It kept her from sleeping when she was alone, until she was the sleep-deprived mess that Luke had taken back to his group. She was on edge for the next day or so, but she'd figured if they were going to come after her, they would have managed to track her down by now. But looking at them now, she guesses they were just biding their time. Maybe some emergency danger came up to keep them off her trail. And now, here they were, chatting it up with Luke. Who had no idea what had happened.

For a single, very tempting moment, the survivor instinct kicks in, and she wants to run. Run while Luke unknowingly distracts them. Maybe they won't hurt him, and just let him go, to keep looking for her. But her gut twists at the idea. Luke had taken her in when most tributes wouldn't have. They would have ignored her at best, killed her at worst. She can't repay the group's kindness with cowardice. So she grabs her mace that's ever at her side, and moves forward.

"Luke! Watch out!" And with that cry, she grabs him, trying to pull him back, while stepping in front of him, keeping herself solidly between him and the two.

For a moment, she just stares at them, tense and ready to fight. When she does speak, her voice is low, and laced with poison. It might have been slightly less ridiculous if Rochelle had switched out of her own jester outfit--The stupid neck ruff and hat were gone at least, but Rochelle had inspected the available clothes and found them too thin and bug-ridden for her own tastes. Her pride wasn't worth risking the plague.

"Nick wasn't enough for you? Well, you know what? If you've got beef you want to settle with me, we can do that, but these people haven't done nothing but be kind, so we can square away our issues away from them."

Even as she spoke, she thought over her options, mind racing. Best bet would be to get them away from this camp, first. She won't be able to fight them, that much she knows for sure. If Nick couldn't beat them, that she's fucked. Best bet would be to try to make a run for it. If she can lose them, maybe she can swing by the camp to pick up her supplies and leave. Might be safer just to go, though. Castle would probably be the safest place, even with all of its traps and lurking tributes.

It was a shitty plan, but at least it'd keep the rest of this camp safe.

[weaintashes]

There aren't others in the immediate vicinity that Daryl's aware of, or he wouldn't have risked that sort of noise, nor even the trip to begin with. Aside from the handful of other Tributes Daryl and his group are on good terms with, such as Luke's folks, they've been actively avoiding everyone they can this time around. Last arena had been a harsh wake up call in that regard, reminding them of exactly why trusting outsiders, why helping them could be such a double-edged sword. Their kindness had been repaid in blood.

Despite that, the ill-fated confrontation with Nick the prior week had, in fact, been pure coincidence. One which they hadn't hesitated to act on, but a coincidence all the same. They hadn't lost their minds and decided to risk their lives in some foolish quest for bloody vengeance — had Nick likewise managed to avoid them, he would've been left alive until he inevitably crossed the paths of other Tributes he'd wronged. There's certainly enough people thirsting for his blood, it would've only been a matter of time.

"As well as it ever is," he replies easily. Both groups had lost someone at the Cornucopia, and though they'd yet to receive any word from Beth in the Capitol, he still has full confidence that she and Nick — somber-eyed, hat wearing, guitar lesson giving Nick — are both safe and alive there, waiting for their friends and family.

As he's shrugging off his pack to retrieve their own food for the swap, his eyes momentarily stray to Luke's tattoo, ink still vivid with the newness of it, and prominently visible with his current attire. Likely intentionally so, knowing the stylists. That thought has a corner of his mouth lifting upward as he ducks his head, feeling strangely embarrassed by the unfamiliar sense of pride it inspires. It's short lived.

The startling shout and appearance of the unknown woman has Daryl instinctively drop his pack to free up both hands, while simultaneously stepping well back, outside of what he judges the range of her mace to be with room to spare. The fact he hasn't yet drawn a weapon is owed entirely to the knowledge that Rick already has his out, as well as the trust he has in Luke. The only threat here is the armed jester. Ridiculous as her attire may be, he isn't about to doubt the seriousness of her intent, and keeps his eyes on hers. If a tell exists — that moment just before someone pulls a trigger, or takes a swing — it's nearly always exposed first in their eyes.

"Dunno who the hell you are," he starts, tone gone gruff with exasperated confusion, "but if we wanted you dead, we sure as shit wouldn't be ringin' the doorbell and bringin' your camp supplies. These folks're our friends." And there's the unfortunate truth of the matter. Aside from Ellis, who he'd witnessed on the projected death roll the first night of the arena, he genuinely hadn't been aware of Nick having any other allies who might be affected by his death. And he doesn't hold Ellis responsible for Nick's actions; whatever perceived grudge there is, it begins and ends with Nick alone.

"How d'you know Nick?" he asks after a moment, and his gaze briefly flickers to Luke's face, then back to the woman's, while trying to keep Rick in his peripheral vision. All it will take is a signal from Rick for Daryl to arm himself, if that's going to be their plan of action. If it's up to Daryl, he'd really rather not spill blood on Luke's doorstep, but he will do whatever's necessary to keep himself and Rick — and Luke, for that matter — safe from harm.

[rictator]

With the loss of Beth, the dynamic in their group had begun a gradual shift; after all, there wasn't much need for a leader as it stood now. Circumstances and trust had pushed things towards more of a partnership, and for the moment, Rick was content to let Daryl speak for both of them. He was on better terms with Luke, though in the end, this wasn't meant to be a social call; they had business and an audience, and once the former was finished, Rick didn't plan on sticking around. Judging by appearances, they were faring well enough as it was. They'd managed to scrape up a shelter, and they had food - That was already a step ahead of some tributes. No sign of Jane or Clementine, but Rick couldn't imagine they'd have strayed far.

He'd admittedly felt better about the state of things following the conversation he'd had with Daryl at the crowning. While there'd always been that silent understanding that Daryl would have cared for his kids in the event of things going wrong, hearing him say it aloud had made a difference somehow. If Carl were ever dragged into this mess and something happened to Rick, he'd be alright. He wouldn't be forced to face it alone. Even if Rick didn't know her half as well, he still found some small comfort in the fact that Clementine wouldn't have to either. It was tough enough for most adults to cope with what was being thrown at them, much less the kids.

It had been their absence that had lowered his guard that little bit, the initial rustle not setting off the usual alarm bells. He'd heard the noise from the tent, but it took him too long to react, to realize that something was off. The speed of the movement, the raised voice-

It was strange how even now, after months in Panem, his first instinct was always to reach for his holster.

There would be time later to beat himself up over letting things slip. For now, he was far more focused on the mace, and the too-short distance that separated it from Daryl's face, his mind already working to map out the quickest, safest way to take her out of commission. He'd yet to raise his own weapon, but his intent was written plainly across his features, posture leaving little question as to whether he would act; his muscles were tensed like an animal cornered, prepared to strike back if pushed.

"No."

His gaze flickered back to Daryl for a brief moment, before settling back on the woman. It wasn't that he wasn't wondering the same thing - but this wasn't how this conversation was going to happen.

"You want to talk, you put the weapon down." The words carried that same clipped, precise air that they'd had back when he was still a sheriff. It had been a long time since he'd considered himself a cop, but old habits die hard.

It was hard to imagine that Nick would have many friends here, after the stunt he'd pulled last arena. Beth hadn't been the only casualty from his rampage, nor had she been the youngest. Ellis had known him from their own world, which left Rick to wonder if the same could be said about her - because he was fairly sure he could count the other man's redeeming qualities on one hand, and have fingers to spare.

She had one chance - which was more than he'd offered most people who threatened his family.

[burningdaylight]

Luke’s pulse jumps in his throat. “Whoa, whoa--” He cuts in, his eyebrows shooting up.

The shift from a neutral state back into survival is whiplash-fast, and by the time he registers her hand snapping around his arm, he's already being yanked back a half-step. He frees his hands too, unable to afford setting the containers down gently. They're well-sealed and able to take a beating. And hopefully the fruit's the only thing that'll come out of this bruised.

"Everybody jus’ calm down, a'right?” His voice is carefully controlled like he's trying to tame a cornered animal. The air hums with tension. “We can figure this out.”

He feels his stomach lurch when they don't deny taking Nick down and he looks to Rochelle, his face falling, an apologetic knit to his brow. He can't say Nick - her Nick - being taken out of the picture hadn't brought a vague sense of relief until now. But every little pebble tossed into a pond makes ripples, every action coming at a cost, and he can't help thinking of Walter now. Of Matthew, blood spraying bright between the fingers pressed stiffly to his neck.

Rochelle's fierce-looking, anger rolling off her in waves, and he doesn’t doubt that she could land a mean swing of that mace if given the chance any more than he doubts the warning edging Rick's words. She's smart and pragmatic, but he knows how grief could eat someone alive and justify the worst of choices. It's why he's quick to step out from behind her, edging between both parties with his hands half-raised and open and well away from the axe strapped to his hip.

"...Rick an’ Daryl are with us." He fixes her a calm, focused look, his voice pitched low in an effort to smooth over her frayed nerves. Hoping that if she doesn't lower her weapon on Rick's request, she will on his. "We been lookin’ out for each other an’ tradin' food when we can. An' that's why nobody's gon' do anythin' they’ll regret."

With a sigh he shifts his attention to Rick and Daryl, taking in their wary faces. Soberly, sympathetically.

"Rochelle’s lost her people so she’s been stayin' with us for a while." It's not a bid for their pity but for their understanding, though he's not sure how much he'd find with her threat putting them on edge. Everyone has felt a fierce protectiveness towards their own; everyone has lost. "Helpin' us."

[somegrimshit]

There's plenty of confusion to go around, and Rochelle feels like she's got the lion's share, when Daryl speaks up, and seems to have no idea what she's talking about. Her knee-jerk reaction is to feel rather irritated, wondering if he's baiting her. Trying to act like he doesn't know. But he admits to killing Nick--Why would he lie about one, and not the other?

The next part of what he claims meets as much scrutiny as the first, and she looks down at the bag he claims has supplies. It's too close to him to check it and make sure that he's not trying to sell her a story, but it would explain why he bothered to announce his arrival. The news that they might be friends with the group she's settled with is met with a frown, and a glance over at Luke, expression incredulous. "They are your friends?" She hisses to him, though everyone is in close enough quarters that there isn't much point in whispering.

Not that it absolves them of her number of misgivings--It explains why they might have appeared here, more of a run of her own luck that's gone from bad to worse. It doesn't mean that they aren't aware of who she is, and might take the opportunity to finish the job that they started with Nick. The only thing she's assured of is that Luke is probably not going to be killed for harboring her. It's a weight off her mind, but there's enough worries burdening her that it doesn't make much of a dent.

Rick's words only cause her to bristle, gripping the mace tighter, and shooting him a sharp look. She didn't seem to be buying the cop routine--It just made her more on edge. Where did he get off, acting like he got to be in charge of this? That there was any law to abide here aside from the Capitol, who would be thrilled if they all killed each other. She stares at him, no words to be said, but her weapon still brandished and ready to swing at any provocation.

It was hard to say how that standoff would have been resolved, other than it probably would have gone badly for everyone involved, if Luke hadn't been there. She's still tense, still ready to fight if need be, as he steps between them. She doesn't particularly want to fight the other two men, if just for the risk that it'd be to her, but she's not afraid to. She won't go down without a fight, and she'll strike first if she feels that a fight is inevitable. She might even enjoy watching the mace connect with the head of a man who had killed one of her best friends.

But Luke's assurances hold more sway with her than any words the other two offered. At the words with us, she frowns again, disapproval clear on her face. Despite her opinions on Luke's choice in allies, his words are sound enough, and if he'd wanted to lead her into a bad situation he could've done it countless times already. It's not much, but she relaxes just enough to make her stance less threatening, lower the mace. She's not letting it go, but it hangs by her side, loosely clutched. Her eyes focused on Luke, so everyone is clear who it is that's convincing her--Not out of any threats from other parties involved.

"They ought to know that I lost my people," Despite the fact that she doesn't look like she might take a swing at them anymore, her voice is still plenty hostile. "Considering they killed the last one that I had left. Over some dumb grudge." Her eyes flick over to them, a scowl on her face. "Hard to believe they didn't know I was with him. Unless they're just that inattentive, I guess." It was a cheap shot, powered more by a pettiness in her heart than actual fact.

[weaintashes]

"Let's get somethin' real clear," he says evenly, voice flat, and he spares a glance toward Rick before looking back at the woman. He knows better than to take her bait, and doubts Luke will be deceived by the ploy either and arbitrarily turn against them, as though the bonds of friendship are so easily broken. That's just insulting Luke's intelligence, as far as Daryl's concerned. "Last arena we gave Nick and Ellis food, we gave 'em first aid supplies, when we coulda just as easily have killed the both of 'em. S'all there in the footage, you can see for yourself later. Wanna know what we got in return?" He doesn't wait for an answer, continuing in a low voice, tension creeping into his words.

"Nick murdered one of ours. Little girl, Beth, shot her point blank with a goddamn rifle. Except that didn't kill her outright, so he took his time beatin' her to death. It was fuckin' gruesome." Coming from someone who's seen and experienced so many truly fucked up things, it's saying something — not that half of the people present will realise that. Beth had done what she could to fight back, armed with only a knife and scant combat skills, against an opponent twice her size. And she's certainly no pushover, but she hadn't stood a chance. Not against someone like Nick, seemingly hellbent on killing her at virtually any cost.

"Hell, the guy murdered half of Luke's camp too. Murdered Luke's best friend, who also happens to be my good friend." And he slants a questioning, sympathetic look at Luke with that before shaking his head. He has no idea what Luke feels about that particular detail, but isn't about to believe he's completely unaffected by it. Who could be?

"... Yeah, it was an arena, shit happens. I get it. Most of us get it." And he does understand it, in a way he honestly wishes he didn't. What Nick did may not have even been personal, to him. But that hardly makes it any better, any more justifiable. "Nick stayed away from us in the Capitol, so we let him be. I saw him plenty at the bar, coulda put his head through the wall if I'd wanted to. Coulda made this real ugly. Wasn't worth it. An' we were still gonna let him be here. But he made the mistake of findin' us this time, and I wasn't gonna sit back and let him murder more of my family'n friends."

Compared to the protracted, grisly death Nick had inflicted on Beth, his own death this arena had been downright merciful in its quickness. He hadn't been made to suffer long, there hadn't been any torture, or taunting. Neither Daryl nor Rick had taken any particular satisfaction in it, but they also clearly aren't sorry for it. They'd done what they felt they had to, to keep Vivi and themselves safe. Nick undoubtedly would've tried to kill them if they'd given him any opportunity to.

It isn't even a matter of kill or be killed in the way they're more familiar with. Nick would still be alive if he'd continued avoiding them, if he hadn't made the mistake of straying near their camp one too many times. But as far as Daryl's concerned, the score is even now, and if Nick leaves it that way, it's how it will remain. Ball's in his court. They have a hell of a lot more important concerns than nursing a grudge, but nor will any future retaliation go unanswered.

With a final look at each person in turn, he blows out a breath and wills some of tension to go with it as he crouches down, his movement cautious and deliberate. He has nothing to hide. Reaching to tug his makeshift pack closer to himself, he proceeds to pull out the repurposed containers of food, rope, a bundle of first aid supplies, and the miscellaneous other items they've brought for Luke's camp, laying them out mainly for the woman's benefit — showing their hand. Dishonesty has no place in this. It's unfortunate that Luke's newest camp member may try poisoning his ear later on, but hopefully he has sense enough to make up his own mind on the matter.

Little in life is truly black and white. It's that knowledge that's prevented Daryl from writing Nick off as an evil piece of shit; morality is simply more complicated than that. It's also what makes him willing to actually listen to what this woman has to say, without holding her personally accountable for the actions of her ally. He still has no intention whatsoever of attacking her, something which is made fairly obvious by his posture.