#tradcrs

[backwaterscum]

@tradcrs // plotted starter.

Seeing Thalia emerge from the entrance to the living room has Daryl stopping in his tracks on the stairs. Relief flicks, however briefly, over his features, and then he shuffles the rest of the way down until he's on the landing.

"Second floor's clear, but I'd avoid the master's bedroom-- guy opted out and I had to put him down," he says, tone as matter-of-fact as it's been since they started running together. "Water's running, too, so I say we take advantage of that."

After two days of trekking in the outdoors, this neighbourhood is salvation wrapped in white collar paychecks. Standing in a house this nice makes Daryl's skin crawl, but he's not about to take any type of shelter for granted. At any rate, it'll be good to sleep with a little less vigilance given all the working locks and the unbroken windows.

"We can probably nab some supplies 'fore we leave. Dad's the only geek I found, and I don't think his wife and kid're comin' home any time soon."

[7ndcvils-archived]

@tradcrs continuation from here

this time it was angela's turn to snort. when asking the question, she was unsure if it would illicit a response. if anything, a glare was expected. but she was pleasantly surprised by the other's answer. "good ol' donnie walhberg," angela whispered, a smirk clearly tugging at the corner of her lips. "I was a backstreet boy gal through and through. though, truthfully, my parents and brother solely listened to country so i was surrounded by johnny cash and rascal flatts." it's what happened when growing up in the south, especially in a small georgia town not big enough to employ a police station.

looking to thalia, angela's smile faded. "looking for anyone out here? or are you just trying to survive and find shelter?"

[ridmachete]

Stepping outside the coddling glorified safety of Alexandria’s walls is revelatory; there’s an element of purity, a touch of deathly holiness. Rick does not believe in God—not anymore. His faith is a tattered fruitless tragedy, a gutted lighthouse, a death song. In hallowed cavernous churches, he seethed and prayed and knelt on his knees, his truculent heart offered in the cupful of his calloused palms and only silent indifference washed over him in harrowing waves. Rick’s faith is housed in the oiled hinges of his colt, in the smooth well-used grip of his machete, in the instincts he has cultivated and bred and nurtured so carefully, with such tempestuous resolve. And he will not part with them, come peace, come comfort, come the jubilant prosperity of their community. He scrubs a weathered hand over his growing beard (he will not shave again.

Let him be the impulsive savage the Alexandrians believe him to be. He will not disabuse them of the notion. No one will fuck with him then. Certainly not after the little performance he put on for them, the blues of his eyes watery, sanguine streaks splashed over his cheeks, blood crusting underneath his fingernails). He glances over at the most recent addition to their little deranged settlement: he did not expect anyone new to join them, but lo & behold, she did, bearing a formidable rifle that she sure looks like she knows how to handle with polished expertise. Rick is no stranger to sizing survivors up and the mechanic walks with the gait of a person familiar with the spitting hurtle of danger. Now, he just needs to see if her mettle can be tested; is she as valuable as she seems to be? This wet run will tell. Perhaps, he should not have taken her out so soon, but better be safe than sorry, better position her in the face of risk in a controlled environment than have her endanger any of his people and make corpses out of them. He begins striding in the direction of an abandoned decaying town that one of his scouts chanced upon while doing the rounds a week ago: there is an outdoor strip mall with a grocery store and a mechanic’s shop they can strip for parts. Promising enough that it is worth the trip.

“Are you alright with walkin’ on your feet?” his voice comes out brittle, a harsh intonation with flickers of dim humor. “Could take a vehicle but seems a waste when we could stretch out our legs. Been a while since we trekked out like this. It’s better than bein’ cooped up in those suffocatin’ houses.”

Mired in the timorous mistrust of the docile sheep and their lacklustre malice, it is a comfort to pull himself away from it all: the politics, the backstabbing, the whispers behind closed doors and drawn curtains. At least, out here, it is all laid bare, truthful. The forest may as well be a house of glass.

@tradcrs

[godstrayed]

He understood anger but it never sat well with him. It felt ugly and displaced in his body, something too all-consuming for him to keep buried in his chest. It’s always accompanied by hurt because that seems the only way to feel angry anymore — cemented by loss, grief, and rage. It wasn’t something he wanted to be navigated by. It meant mistakes and more importantly? It meant he was throwing his life away. Not when so many had sacrificial, offering themselves when it should have been him and treating him with consideration & care this world offered sparingly.

River reaches for some, nibbling the dried fruit and savoring each moment. Fruit was something he couldn’t easily or quickly grow, if it wasn’t from a can — it was rare. “It’s easy to just act and not consider the consequences. Like we’ve lost so much so what’s a little more?” He smiles, wearied.

@godstrayed // asked "anger makes you stupid. stupid gets you killed." ( from river )

"I feel like that's almost killed more people than walkers these days." Thalia replied, sipping at her water before she screwed the cap back on. "People get so angry that they don't think clearly, just run head on into a group of 'em. Or try to fight the wrong people. It's a shame really." She quickly waved her hand in the air, humming. "Not to say I haven't done it, but I've had the right people pull me back by my collar before I could do anything stupid." She laughed, before she held out a bag of dried fruit to the man. "Want some?"

[stoicorvm-blog]

death by chocolate - a guilty pleasure headcanon. 🍫

“I like to eat bananas with milk to drink. It’s really rare to see me eating a banana without a glass of milk. Those two things are just.. inseparable to me. A packaged deal, really.”

[godstrayed]

There was no point in being consumed by it. She'd only drown if she headed down that path. He’d seen it before: how grief and regret feast on the living long before the dead ever lay its claim. The mind, fragile as glass, was never meant to carry such weight without shattering. “Think the days of resets are long gone. Ain't nothin' gonna be like it used to be. We just gotta figure out how to make do with what’s left.” And the part left unsaid? Or learn to bury it with themselves when they go. 'Cause eventually they all would.

@godstrayed // asked "we've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive." ( from daryl )

"I know, I don't think anyone could actually get through all of this without getting their hands dirty. It's just . . ." Thalia fiddled with the closed pocket knife in her hand before she looked back up at him. "At what point do you think it's going to become too much? As much as I'd like to become numb to it all, I feel like if I do then that's the point you don't come back from. Right?" What she wouldn't give to have to go through the menial stress of doing her taxes, or dealing with unruly patrons. "I just wish everything would calm down for awhile, give us all time to . . . I don't know, reset or something."

[rebelliousfamily]

Maggie nodded in agreement. She was glad that her friend at least had the same kinds of morals as she did. It made her feel better about everything that had gone on in the world. All the crap that had taken over. "I understand that. I think it's only worth killing the ones that come across wherever you're headed."

She sighed when Tally asked her about everything stopping. "I really hope so. I'd like to see the world get back to normality."

@rebelliousfamily // asked “how many walkers have you killed?” ( from maggie )

A beat, sucking in a breath before Thalia finally replied. “As many as I’ve had to. I don’t go out searching for them by any means but if they cross my path . . . I don’t risk them doubling back.” She explained, fingers fiddling with the magazine she’d been focused on reloading. Tally wasn’t a killer by nature, but when the walkers came after her she didn’t hesitate anymore.

“Do you think they’ll ever just . . . stop? They have to, right? Logically I mean, they have to wither away eventually.”

[backwaterscum]

"A good..." Jesus, it doesn't matter how often Thalia's nice to him-- Daryl never knows what to say, not when she's so genuine about it. The compliment to his cooking makes the back of his neck prickle with heat, so it's probably no surprise he scowls about it.

"Whatever." He waves a hand dismissively, already walking away from Thalia to keep from disrupting her work. "Let's hear you say that when we're out in the fucking wild again 'stead of Martha Stewart's miracle kitchen."

(Warmth settles in his stomach, nice and easy, at the thought of Thalia enjoying his food. Daryl works hard foraging what herbs and plants they come across to make his game taste as good as it can get out there, and it's nice to be appreciated. God knows his family never noticed.)

"You can make whatever you want-- the earlier we eat, the more time we get for sleepin'." Daryl's fingers brush the doorway to the kitchen, and he turns briefly over his shoulder to glance at Thalia moving about. Though he hesitates for a moment, in the end he manages: "Thanks for taking over, though, Thal."

Then he's scurrying away to get himself clean-- dirt out of his hair, dirt off his face, and dirt away from every inch of skin he leaves exposed to the heat and humidity of the world outside. It feels damn good to have soap and shampoo again. Hell, these people are well off enough that Daryl even works conditioner in his hair.

Daryl’s reaction to her compliment is borderline cute, but she doesn’t push him on it. Just smirks to herself as she manages to slip one should strap of her backpack off as she listens to him.

Nodding with a hum, she turns on her heel. “Not a problem, we can do the laundry after you shower. Have it going while we’re eating or something.” She remarks, before disappearing upstairs.

She makes a mental note to avoid the master bedroom, and instead sets her backpack in one of the spare rooms for the time being. Within a matter of minutes she’s changed out of her clothes and in the shower, seemingly having forgotten just how good it actually felt. Sure it has only been a few days, but with everything that has gone down it could’ve been a month for all she knew.

The timer on her watch buzzes, letting her know to get out before she potentially uses all of the hot water. She doesn’t want to risk leaving Daryl with only cold water, after him looking out for her. So she quickly towel dries herself off and gets dressed in the clothes Daryl had managed to find for her, before she makes her way downstairs with a grin. Dirty clothes in a discarded hamper she found, she sets it into a nearby chair. “Shower’s all yours, and the clothes work perfectly by the way.”

At his question, Thalia walks over to the kitchen table, glancing over everything. Her gaze makes it way back to her companion. “I’m thinking pasta, that’s always been one of my favorites actually.” She reached to grab the required ingredients before laughing. “I mean, it is nice to have some variety. Not that I’m complaining, you’re a good cook, Dixon.”

“Want me to start on dinner while you shower? Or wait until you’re out?”

[backwaterscum]

Being called anything other than an "asshole" is new in and of itself-- being called a southern gentleman, of all things, makes Daryl groan out a "stop" in mild embarrassment.

He doesn't push the topic, though, and only adds in a quick, "Wait for me 'fore you start on that laundry load.

"I'll see you in a bit, Rosenfeld."

Then he shoos her off to get her shower done.

Knowing there's no-one in the house makes raiding the kitchen easy. Though Daryl's stomach twists at the juice boxes he finds in the pantry (that kid's never gonna go home to drink them), he finds enough food items that planning a meal for the night won't be difficult at all. The canned tomatoes alone would make for a good pasta sauce, and the packages of uncooked noodles definitely don't hurt.

Daryl squirrels away a package of rice for later-- that'd be good for travelling-- and makes a mental note to look for another backpack to put some cooking things in. It was a real shame he'd left so many of what he brought to the family hunt in the mountains, but there's no use crying about it.

The sound of Thalia's footsteps is familiar enough that Daryl's calm when he turns to look over his shoulder at her. He gestures to the food items laid out on the kitchen table.

"Any of this speak to you?" His arms cross over his chest. "Figure it's a nice change of pace from all the stew and roast we've been eatin', anyway."

Thalia smirks at his non-argumentative reply to her plan and gives a mock salute to the man, nodding in response. “Sounds good to me. I’ll see what I can find.”

That was one of the things she likes about Daryl. Over the past few days, it seemed like he’d managed to trust her to some degree. At least to the extent that she was capable of handling some things on her own. It was a nice dose of validation in a time of high stress, where she could focus on the appreciation for the moment instead of everything else going on.

She starts pushing various pieces of furniture in front of the windows; chairs, a few small bookcases etc, anything she could move and that would prove an obstacle for the walkers if they got in. She wasn’t as worried about the locked doors, but the windows were more prone to breaking. So as soon as she’s satisfied with her busy work, she sets her sights on the various rooms on the main level. There wasn’t too much in the way of valuable items in the office or living room ( though she does find a couple of Agatha Christie novels she stuffs into her pack ). A couple of bottles of pain killers, a pair of walkie-talkies, and a concealed gun were her more lucrative finds before she heads towards the kitchen.

Listening to Daryl, she nods before taking the offered clothes into her grasp. “You’re a true southern gentleman after all.” She grins, nodding to the clothes in her arms. “Thanks, I could do with a clean outfit. Or at least the opportunity to wash this one. I appreciate it.”

A laugh escapes her as she scrunches her nose up. “Is that what that smell is? And here I thought we tracked something in on our boots.” She teases, before turning on her heel. “I’ll go get showered and then after you do, we can figure out something to eat, yea?”

[backwaterscum]

To most people Daryl would be saying a quick don't push yourself, but Thalia's proven herself enough these past few days that all he does is snort and shrug.

"Yeah, all right." He'd have better luck finding a needle in a haystack than keeping Thalia from doing something nice for him, it feels like. "I'll see what I can find upstairs" -- best not to let Thalia look at the corpse in the bedroom, he decides -- "and you can scavenge down here.

"Meet me in the kitchen in thirty minutes."

Regardless of her answer, Daryl already makes his way back up the stairs to really dive into the treasure trove of normalcy left behind. He spends a few minutes looking through cabinets and wardrobes, prioritising stuffing his pack with medication before seeking out clothes for them. The wife, as far as he can tell, must have been close to Thalia's height and build; the husband, meanwhile, was taller than him, but Daryl could use the clean clothes regardless. By the end of it, he makes sure to shut the master's bedroom door behind him to hide the gore inside.

When he meets with Thalia again, he says, "So I'm thinkin' you shower first. I found these clothes" -- Daryl offers the armful of women's shirts and pants he'd taken downstairs for Thalia to peruse -- "but I dunno if they'll fit.

"Either way, we stink." But they have been walking for days. "Figure clean anything's better than nothin'."

Thalia herself breaths a silent sigh of relief when she sees the footsteps belonged to Daryl, and not some nameless threat, as she exited the room. Leaning against the wall, she lets her rifle fall a little as she looks up at him expectantly. She figures if he ran into too many walkers upstairs, she would’ve heard a commotion.

“That’s a bonus for us I suppose, we don’t have to drag a crap ton of bodies out.” She glances around. “Would hate to have that smell everywhere.” Thalia scrunches up her nose, tone half joking before her eyes light up at his follow up. “No really? Oh we definitely are gonna have to put that to good use.”

After the last few days, constantly looking over their shoulders, scrutinizing every shadow and twig snapping, this felt like paradise on earth for the moment. It’ll be nice to get at least one good night’s sleep before heading back out onto the road. She isn’t sure if the ache in her bones will ever go away, but she can sure try to keep it at bay.

“Sounds like a good plan to me. I’ll push some furniture in front of the windows down here just to be safe, give the walkers some obstacles if they try to get in.”