[He really should have expected it, given that it's his memories this shit had been conjured up from, but the fact that there seem to be more and more geeks no matter how many he puts down has his patience worn pretty thin by the third day. But pissed and exhausted though he is, he's made it his mission to keep as many people safe as possible, and currently that means combing the woods for anyone who's lost, stranded, or otherwise screwed over with the aim of dragging them back to the farm house he'd found out in the middle of nowhere- the "safe haven" the Red Queen had mentioned.
And also mowing down any walkers in his path, but that should go without saying. It's Daryl, after all.
And that mowing is precisely what he's doing- picking the fuckers off one by one like he's weeding a garden- when he runs into the kid. Or, well, when the kid runs into him. The thing about loading his crossbow is that it requires that he stop, and sometimes that he look down to get things situated, and it's right at that unfortunate moment that something collides with him, just as he'd pulled the string back and locked it into place.
A quick glance is enough to tell him that it's a living person, but more importantly that same glance is enough to tell him that it's a living person who's got walkers on his tail; he's dimly aware of the kid saying something but for the moment he ignores it, intent on making the shots he needs to make. He can worry about talking once they're down. And down they go, one and then the second in quick succession, and once the second body hits the ground he turns to look at the kid, finally. Familiar...
He makes a face.]
I don't live out-- [a tiny huff. come on, kid.] Whatever. You alright?
...I love your little swoopy arrow guy, bro. love iiiit
[He really should have expected it, given that it's his memories this shit had been conjured up from, but the fact that there seem to be more and more geeks no matter how many he puts down has his patience worn pretty thin by the third day. But pissed and exhausted though he is, he's made it his mission to keep as many people safe as possible, and currently that means combing the woods for anyone who's lost, stranded, or otherwise screwed over with the aim of dragging them back to the farm house he'd found out in the middle of nowhere- the "safe haven" the Red Queen had mentioned.
And also mowing down any walkers in his path, but that should go without saying. It's Daryl, after all.
And that mowing is precisely what he's doing- picking the fuckers off one by one like he's weeding a garden- when he runs into the kid. Or, well, when the kid runs into him. The thing about loading his crossbow is that it requires that he stop, and sometimes that he look down to get things situated, and it's right at that unfortunate moment that something collides with him, just as he'd pulled the string back and locked it into place.
A quick glance is enough to tell him that it's a living person, but more importantly that same glance is enough to tell him that it's a living person who's got walkers on his tail; he's dimly aware of the kid saying something but for the moment he ignores it, intent on making the shots he needs to make. He can worry about talking once they're down. And down they go, one and then the second in quick succession, and once the second body hits the ground he turns to look at the kid, finally. Familiar...
He makes a face.]
I don't live out-- [a tiny huff. come on, kid.] Whatever. You alright?