"Might be surprised by what I'd believe. Place I'm from, the dead get back up and eat the living," Daryl explains, deadpan, his expression becoming more grim by degrees. "But the real monsters are other people. They're even worse now." The sort of worse that defies description, that can make the murderers in Panem seem run-of-the-mill and arguably even humane by comparison, and isn't that a chilling thought. Attempting to put the horrors into words is beyond him at the moment, and he doubts Jeremy is really in any need of additional nightmare fuel, considering that glimpse into his own history that he'd offered.
Glancing back down, he begins picking more of the little white capped mushrooms and collecting them in a pocket of his pack. This is precisely what he'd hoped they'd find on their trip to his camp, but he gathers them in an almost absent manner, as though he's just doing it to keep his hands occupied while his mind is elsewhere.
"So who's to say ghosts can't exist. I believe you," he says with all the sincerity of someone who's also experienced weird shit that nobody believes. Like the chupacabra that he still maintains he saw, despite even people from his own world — the aforementioned world overrun with reanimated corpses, no less — thinking him a liar. To hell with 'em. He knows what he saw.
"Who do you reckon was haunting 'em?" he asks after a few moments, uncertain whether he should drop that line of conversation but concerned and a bit curious despite himself. Hashing out past trauma has seemed to help some folks he's known, and he has to wonder whether Jeremy may be like that. It'll be simple enough to shift the topic back toward safer, less personal territory if the need arises — there's still so much more to arena survival than the basics that he's shared, after all, and he's hoping to give that advantage to Jeremy.
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Glancing back down, he begins picking more of the little white capped mushrooms and collecting them in a pocket of his pack. This is precisely what he'd hoped they'd find on their trip to his camp, but he gathers them in an almost absent manner, as though he's just doing it to keep his hands occupied while his mind is elsewhere.
"So who's to say ghosts can't exist. I believe you," he says with all the sincerity of someone who's also experienced weird shit that nobody believes. Like the chupacabra that he still maintains he saw, despite even people from his own world — the aforementioned world overrun with reanimated corpses, no less — thinking him a liar. To hell with 'em. He knows what he saw.
"Who do you reckon was haunting 'em?" he asks after a few moments, uncertain whether he should drop that line of conversation but concerned and a bit curious despite himself. Hashing out past trauma has seemed to help some folks he's known, and he has to wonder whether Jeremy may be like that. It'll be simple enough to shift the topic back toward safer, less personal territory if the need arises — there's still so much more to arena survival than the basics that he's shared, after all, and he's hoping to give that advantage to Jeremy.