Daryl Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prayimdead) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2013-08-05 11:00 pm
prayimdead) wrote in all_inclusive2013-08-05 11:00 pm
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"Just ain't us, man."
Daryl's own words ring in his ears as he watches Rick walk off to talk to Merle. He doesn't agree with Rick's decision to go through with it, giving Michonne over to that jackass Governor, but he can still respect it. Survival is something Daryl understands. It's a bitch, and you don't gotta like it. Survival forces people to do things that cross the line of decency, and turning over a woman to certain death sure as hell ain't decent. It isn't them, isn't their group, but Daryl knows that Rick is just doing what he's gotta do for the greater good.
Giving Hershel a shrug, Daryl pushes off of the wall he'd leaned himself against. Maybe he'll go check on L'il Ass Kicker before getting his gear. A slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth at the thought of her. Judith, so tiny and perfect. He won't admit it to anyone, but that baby gives him hope that maybe the entire world ain't gone to shit after all.
"Later." Nodding at Hershel, Daryl reaches a hand out to the heavy, barred prison door and pushes slightly.
Preoccupied with deciding which knife to take along with his crossbow, he doesn't notice initially that suddenly he is no longer in the prison until he realizes that his footfalls sound different. They aren't echoing; they sound muffled, barely perceptible instead.
Puzzled, Daryl looks down to see that he is standing on some sort of large, decorative Oriental carpet. Mouth setting in a thin line, he lifts his gaze, eyes sweeping across a strange, large library that certainly isn't part of the prison.
"What the hell," he mutters. "Didn't fall in no rabbit hole, so where the hell am I?" Instinctively, he begins looking around for things he can use for makeshift weapons. Never can tell when you'll run into a walker, after all.
Daryl's own words ring in his ears as he watches Rick walk off to talk to Merle. He doesn't agree with Rick's decision to go through with it, giving Michonne over to that jackass Governor, but he can still respect it. Survival is something Daryl understands. It's a bitch, and you don't gotta like it. Survival forces people to do things that cross the line of decency, and turning over a woman to certain death sure as hell ain't decent. It isn't them, isn't their group, but Daryl knows that Rick is just doing what he's gotta do for the greater good.
Giving Hershel a shrug, Daryl pushes off of the wall he'd leaned himself against. Maybe he'll go check on L'il Ass Kicker before getting his gear. A slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth at the thought of her. Judith, so tiny and perfect. He won't admit it to anyone, but that baby gives him hope that maybe the entire world ain't gone to shit after all.
"Later." Nodding at Hershel, Daryl reaches a hand out to the heavy, barred prison door and pushes slightly.
Preoccupied with deciding which knife to take along with his crossbow, he doesn't notice initially that suddenly he is no longer in the prison until he realizes that his footfalls sound different. They aren't echoing; they sound muffled, barely perceptible instead.
Puzzled, Daryl looks down to see that he is standing on some sort of large, decorative Oriental carpet. Mouth setting in a thin line, he lifts his gaze, eyes sweeping across a strange, large library that certainly isn't part of the prison.
"What the hell," he mutters. "Didn't fall in no rabbit hole, so where the hell am I?" Instinctively, he begins looking around for things he can use for makeshift weapons. Never can tell when you'll run into a walker, after all.
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He pointed past Daryl to the library's wide entrance. "You go down that hall there and take a left, there's a front desk where they've even got informational pamphlets on it, that's how real it is."