The area they're in is relatively sheltered, with a dense canopy and enough trees at their back to make it an easily defensible position. And with how red in the face Jeremy's looking, a break probably wouldn't be amiss right about now, so after circling around the perimeter a couple times, Daryl likewise drops into the shade-cooled grass. As best he can tell they're not being followed, so it's probably safe here. For now.

Belatedly, it occurs to him that his prior comment might've been taken the wrong way. "...Sorry. Wasn't tryin' to embarrass you," he apologises, awkwardly looking away and peering up at the sky instead. "I know a guy here who worked at a joint with those creepy robotic animals too. Never thought they were so common. Maybe they just ain't common in Georgia." Not that he'd rightly know, beyond his vague memories of commercials about pizzerias with animatronics; the late Dixons were not the type of people to be found in family restaurants. His childhood had been characterised by abuse and neglect, not pizza parties.

The mystery of their stalker is eventually revealed in a flurry of movement overhead; large, bat-like wings snap out as a screeching dragon drifts above the canopy, barbed tail whipping in annoyance over having lost its prey. It soon disappears into the distance, flying away to continue its hunt elsewhere. Daryl drops his gaze back to Jeremy, looking at him with raised eyebrows but saying nothing for a long moment.

Once he's sure the threat's passed, he asks, "What'd you do, as a security guard?"