dum_spiro: (Default)

Teleios Flower Event-ish

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-10-13 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
((From this starter and this event. Action! (heh).))

If they knew her recent experience with flowers, anyone would understand Carol hating them. Wanting to stomp them into the mud. Doing everything possible to avoid the reminder of yellow wildflowers spattered with the blood of a little girl whose only crime was growing up in their world, or bouquets atop twin gravesites. A Cherokee Rose in an empty bottle representing a hope that would soon be ground into dust. But she can't manage it.

Maybe it's the speck of color they bring to a world that always seems to be tinted a dirty red, or a reminder that not everything in the world brings pain. Who knows, it could even be memories of those few, early good times with Ed. Whatever the case, Carol doesn't hate them.

That's why, when she spots a simple but colorful batch of freshcut flowers being handed out on the street, she partakes with a wistful smile. She indulges in a quick sniff, twirling the stem between thumb and finger, before placing it behind her ear. It doesn't even feel morbid. A fleeting joy by definition, though what isn't in her life? Carol may be hardened of necessity and cold when events demand, but part of her is still able to enjoy the little things in life, when she can. And here, now, if she refused, she really would be what Rick thinks of her.

So she walks, and thinks, and even chances a smile. Things are bad -- were bad, but she can survive it. She will.
dum_spiro: (Default)

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-10-13 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
How has she gotten so far? If she heard that thought, and knew the source of it, she might have teased him for what could be interpreted, in a playful moment, as jealousy. Fortunately or no, that is not where her mind goes; she is too far removed from comfort (literally and otherwise) for quips of familiarity.

Steeped in guilt, she takes his tone as an accusation and is caught between fear and indignation. So what, she thinks, if she wears a flower? She is bound to mourn in her own way, he of all people should understand...

The thought is only half formed when it gives way, something not exactly alarm rising when she sees how he's approaching her. Unknowing, she moves to grip his arms, not trying to halt him (she trusts him, no matter if he sees things differently) but to question, silently, what in the earthly hell could be going on to make him look at her that way.

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dum_spiro: (Default)

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-10-18 04:29 am (UTC)(link)
If Carol were home when fist met wall she'd have done -- something. She can't quite say what, but when she finally peeks in Daryl's room and sees the result of his over-boiling, her first thought is that she should have been there, that she could have made a difference for him. Somehow.

For herself, what's left in the wake of Rick's absence is mixed feelings. Lost opportunities. Redemption he offered but she couldn't truly accept because he simply didn't know. Standing in the bathroom doorway and watching Daryl's reflection watch the water over his hand, Carol's turmoil gives way to grief, shared and otherwise.

Rick was -- is family, but more than that he was constant. A compass for the group in all ways. His absence weighs her down on the wrong side of the doorjamb for a long, quiet moment before she shrugs it off, as she must, and steps inside.

Against Daryl's back she rests, cheek on his shoulder, arms slipping around him, comfort both offered and requested.

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dum_spiro: (Default)

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-10-22 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
Carol's been keeping to herself all the more since that day. If she wanted to tell people -- and that's still an if, part of her would have been quite content to keep it to herself -- that wasn't the choice she'd have made as to how. She's no stranger to secrets, she hid Ed's behavior for years before the apocalypse killed all measure of privacy. Karen and David though, it's as though even the act of speaking the truth changes her in ways she isn't sure she wants to be changed. There's no relief, no burden lifted now that it's out. Just fear, and shame, and doubt.

Lizzy and Mika still remain private for now, at least there's that. It's not just that she's less able to explain in a way that anyone who didn't know Lizzy could understand, though there is that, but rather that the whole thing feels too personal to share. Karen and David were a deep malignancy, hard to excise but left enough normalcy to salvage. Lizzy and Mika are wrapped in and around Carol's heart, her mind, everything that makes her. The longer she keeps their secret, the more it grows and the heavier it becomes, the harder Carol has to strain to drag it along, the more certain she is that there's no way she'd know how to survive without it.

Here there's no hiding, so when she goes to answer the knock Carol makes no attempt to shy away. She opens the door with one smooth motion and stands in the doorway, ready for judgment. Only being pulled in fifteen emotional directions keeps her expression some semblance of neutral at first glance; look closely and Daryl will see she simply can't decide between them.

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dum_spiro: (neutral :: glancing :: watching over)

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-11-16 01:36 am (UTC)(link)
If Carol had a choice, she'd have gone back to kitchen duty. The aspect of being around people is discomfiting at times but there's work enough to avoid much socializing without seeming conspicuous about avoiding it. There's a rhythm to the day, satisfaction of achievement at the end. Easy access to knives. Chances to bake in her off-time.

Fishing is useful, at times a grateful break from the bustle of the city which is new enough, still, to be jarring. Other than that, it's too easy to get lost in the quiet. Immerse herself in dark corners and have to fight her way back out. The occasional distraction of a tug on her line isn't nearly enough to keep her preoccupied and so she finds herself sinking into the dark again. Fortunate that there's enough reason to claw free and more or less shake it off.

Still, being alone is not the conducive to ridding herself of the lingering alienation she's feeling. She'll have to fight harder.
dum_spiro: (neutral :: dark :: backlit)

[personal profile] dum_spiro 2014-11-16 02:48 am (UTC)(link)
Fortunately she hasn't had much in the way of bites today and she's using bits of venison meat for bait, so the fishy smell is at a minimum. Also fortunate, he caught her snatching at the wisps of a fond memory for once, the crop up occasionally between the teeth of the bad ones. Carol turns to him with a tired but genuine smile; sitting for hours is plainly exhausting.

"I hope they call us off soon, in a few weeks I'll be ice fishing." And that sounds even less appealing than the regular sort, and even less productive.

She holds the end of her fishing rod between her crossed ankles to stretch her arms overhead, fingers laced.

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purgata: (✘ ᴠ)

[ so, after that scene cut... ]

[personal profile] purgata 2015-09-17 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Fact is, I'm lost, so... if you could tell me where we are... ?

[ He hands the map over to Daryl at that point, the inquiry lingering in his eyes as the other man looks it over. Having no idea who he'd managed to run into, who it was he'd just helped out of that trap, he's not prepared for, nor does he fully comprehend, the look with which he's transfixed a moment later. ]

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rheecon: (we will make it through somehow)

text 1/3 ;; [ set in savrou ]

[personal profile] rheecon 2016-07-14 06:42 pm (UTC)(link)
hey
Edited 2016-07-14 18:43 (UTC)
rheecon: (none of them can stop us now)

text 2/3 ;;

[personal profile] rheecon 2016-07-14 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
daryl
rheecon: (we're in this together now)

text 3/3 ;;

[personal profile] rheecon 2016-07-14 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
i'm pretty sure this place has a holodeck 😮

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photogaffe: (hey officer)

[personal profile] photogaffe 2016-12-17 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
It's a while before Eric lets him make the trip. Aaron would have made it sooner, but things kept getting in the way. The roads are dangerous. They need supplies. He has a black eye and a busted lip. He knows all of it's true, but that doesn't keep him from wanting to make the journey.

He finally convinces Eric to let him go when the cut on his lip goes down. His eye is still blotchy, but it's more yellow than purple, and that's what matters.

In truth, he's come to Hilltop to see Maggie. The need for supplies is less dire, and people are regularly making the journey between their communities. It's an easier trek to make than it was. He wasn't expecting to find Daryl. He was, in truth, never expecting to see Daryl again.

But there he is, carrying a crate of food from one place to another. Aaron runs up to him, would embrace him if he wasn't carrying something. He stops just short of that, a wide smile on his face, to clasp his hand over Daryl's shoulder. "You're here." He barely believes it.

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grheene: (07.)

[personal profile] grheene 2016-12-30 03:13 am (UTC)(link)
The moment they're (nearly) all at Hilltop, something shifts. Rick looks more like himself than he has since before they thought they'd taken out Negan. The gaps in their number--Aaron back in Alexandria, Eugene taken away by the Saviors--aren't permanent this time. In all of this, there's potential. There's hope.

(Except for Carol and Morgan. Maggie wants to believe they're out there somewhere, each surviving in ways only they can manage, but it's a hard, jagged piece of a dream. They always all seem to find each other again, but there's never a guarantee it'll be the way they want it to be. She remembers Beth limp in Daryl's arms, found and lost in the same moment.)

Inside, they talk and eat and plan, and Maggie lets the eating be blamed on her own ravenous appetite. Anything to make sure everyone else gets something solid in them, after all they've traveled and knowing that Alexandria's always suffered for its meals. Daryl's quiet, and Maggie's fine with that. She can't bring herself to look him in the face right now anyway, and she doubts he's looking forward to doing the same.

A day goes by, though, and a few more, and she knows she can't just circle around the fact that he's here. For the sake of Glenn's memory, for the baby's future, for her own sanity--there are plenty of reasons to force herself to go looking for Daryl later that week. When she finds him, she waits for him to notice her.

"C'mon," she says, crossing her arms. "I wanna show you something."

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photogaffe: (friends with a feral dog)

hope u like sads.

[personal profile] photogaffe 2017-01-18 02:35 am (UTC)(link)
So they go to war.

It's hard to really figure out when it started. Days pass and roll into weeks, and those weeks get more and more contentious. People start dying in silly, stupid skirmishes. It gets even less safe to go outside your walls, and then it's barely safe to go outside. With what he's seen before any of this even started, Aaron should really have known better. Things get dicey when you're not just fighting to survive, but fighting for your right to. Things get rough. The world hardens, gets bleaker, and then deflates.

It goes completely grey when Eric dies in a stupid accident. Everything is the same smudged color, sounds loose pitch. Aaron sleepwalks through the ensuing fight, and the funeral is a rushed mess at the overflowing cemetery at Alexandria.

Aaron doesn't go back to their house. His house. He takes the next supply caravan to Hilltop.

Maggie is busy with the world spinning around her shoulders. Aaron won't bother her. He tries to help out, keeps his head down, but word gets out. People start looking at Aaron differently. He notices, and doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything. There's nothing to do.

There's a wine cellar at the bottom of the big house at Hilltop's center. Aaron went on a tour there once, and he remembers it. There's still wine down there, once guarded fiercely by Gregory's goons. Now, nobody has the time to care about stupid status goods like that. Aaron steals a bottle and finds a room to drink it in. He's never drank alone. Never wanted to.

It occurs to him that he's never opened a wine bottle without an opener before, either. There is, of course, a penknife in Gregory's old desk. Well, no time like the present.

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i liiiiive

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rheecon: (until the very end of me)

i warned u

[personal profile] rheecon 2017-02-27 12:26 am (UTC)(link)
How he came to be here-- how he's anywhere at the moment-- is anyone's guess. Despite his newfound situation, he hasn't garnered any greater insight into the workings of the universe, the mechanics of human mortality, or any of the timeless, impossibly expansive questions surrounding the meaning, purpose, or definition of life.

But here he is, in some form that's not quite in sync with existence anymore, some manifestation of consciousness without corporeality, an essence in the shadows that, when the scarce light touches it, might be a vague approximation of the physical being that was Glenn Rhee.

And though he seems to be looking with his eyes, all of that essence is seeing the crumpled form of his friend.

"Daryl."

His voice hasn't changed; it isn't an unearthly howl or a groaning from the depths. Whether that makes it better or worse really depends on who's listening.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[personal profile] rheecon - 2017-03-21 23:27 (UTC) - Expand

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[personal profile] rheecon - 2017-04-18 19:55 (UTC) - Expand