The way he doesn't hesitate, just asks for the details, seems like a good sign. He's still him, even if this isn't where he wants to be. It takes more than suburbia to stop him.
"I thought maybe, next time you go out..." She feels shy suddenly, asking, and she doesn't know why. Because it's kind of a pain in the ass to have to do it, maybe, and because being in here, everything that exists outside the walls has started to feel so distant. Everything, including the places the two of them have gone together, the ways they talked and listened--maybe it's that. "Maybe you could bring back some edible plants, if you saw any. Or ones that're good for medicine. Oh, and maybe a mirror and a piece of glass."
That's probably the thing that'll make her reasoning clearest. Beth shrugs, reaching out to touch one of the bloody hides Daryl ripped off the rabbits. She showers just about every day now--and she hasn't had blood on her since Aaron brought them here in the first place. "These kids...all they know about surviving is, you can't go outside. I want to show them what to do when they have to."
Every goddamn thing here is so clean. He's still stubbornly refusing to live up to that, his hair's still a wreck and most of his clothes stained and in tatters. Being contrary is one little thing he can control, maybe. It just seems-- pointless, all of it. Scrubbing counters and sweeping porches when outside the walls, things are still falling to pieces.
He looks at her a long moment, thoughtful, thinking back on the prison again.
"Watch it," he says in a tone that might be teasing if it wasn't too bitter for that. "They'll get mad at you for scarin' 'em."
Which isn't a no, not by a long shot. It's a good idea, and maybe Beth-- young and friendly enough to pass for civilized, something not all of them are-- can convince the good clean people of Alexandria that it's worth learning how to get dirty.
If they're gonna survive-- and for all his inward bitching about these people and their shitty attitudes, he does want them to-- they're gonna have to learn. Might as well start young.
She snorts, idly rubbing a few drops of rabbit blood between her finger and thumb until they turn sticky from it. It's probably gross, but gross is relative after a while; go back a month or two, and she was ready to hunt and flay her own meat. Some of what qualifies as gross here makes her homesick, these days.
You can take the girl out of the walker-infected country, but you can't take the walker-infected country out of the girl. Maybe.
"I think they're already scared," she admits. They might not know they are--but someday, they might. Places aren't any more immortal than people. "I want to make them braver."
Christ, the girl knows how to ruin a self-indulgent sulk with her good ideas and her giving a shit about people. Thanks, Beth.
With an affirmative grunt he nods-- decisively, as though he hadn't already agreed, as though he wouldn't do any damn thing in his power for her, for any of the family. But it's a good idea, he can't argue with it. And honestly it makes him feel a little better to know she's worrying, too, about how soft they are here-- that she's not getting soft herself.
A smile lights her face--all of it, not just the tight curl of her lips that somebody like Deanna usually sees--and for a second, she's tempted to hug him. If he was anybody else in their group, she wouldn't hesitate. (Well. Maybe not Rosita. But otherwise...) But it's Daryl, so she just grins, knocking her shoulder against his.
"Thanks." He'll know what to look for, and she'll see what the garage-school's mildewed encyclopedias (from 1983! older than Maggie!) say about whatever he finds. She nods at the pile of rabbit guts and fur. "Want some help cleaning up?"
Beth's one of a handful of people who could get away with it if she tried. But it suits him just fine that she doesn't; it means just as much. He doesn't quite match her smile but his expression softens a bit.
"You wanna take the meat in?" he offers, nodding at the cleaned carcasses. They're bloody but neater than the rest of this mess. He's wondering if it's worth trying to cure the furs, or if they oughta just toss the whole thing into the compost.
(Stretched and scraped hides propped on the lawn would probably annoy the shit outta the postapocalyptic homeowner's association. That might be reason enough.)
"Sure." She reaches for it without a second thought, careful to hold it far enough away from her that she won't end up with blood on her clothes. A white cardigan actually has a chance of staying white around here--not that she has one right now, but it's the principle of the thing.
As she stands up, she glances at the rest of the mess. They can probably use some of it, right? You can eat chicken hearts and livers--maybe rabbits are the same way. And the skins are all in big pieces still. "Maybe we could make something with the fur. For when it gets cold."
Maybe if he'd have a little forethought, he'd have brought something to wrap them up. He's not getting soft, but he's falling back into the habit of thinking singularly. Like he can't rely on anyone but himself, and that's maybe just as bad.
"Might could cure 'em," he agrees, looking critically at the bloody skins. Not in bad condition, though one's got a hole punched through it. Still. Usable. Waste not, want not, right?
"Yeah." Her eyes light up. That'd be perfect--her own thought had been a vague one, of mittens for whoever's hands would fit, but that's nowhere near as good. There's more than enough fur for Judith's feet, no guesswork required. "She's getting to the age where she actually needs shoes."
She'll be running all over the place, getting into everything, sooner or later. No matter how much of a pain it ends up being, Beth can't wait. Everything new she gets to learn and explore is proof that they're doing something right. Judith's getting to live like a kid her age should, not like a fugitive.
She shifts the rabbit carcasses to one hand, leaving a bloody ring around the doorknob as she opens the front door. Whatever--she'll clean it off later. Hurrying toward the sink, she asks, "How do you cure 'em?"
The toddler-- too big to call a baby, now, he's not sure if there's another stage in there-- she's maybe the one real bright spot, the saving grace to this place. He could live out the rest of his days on the road, without showers and parties and fresh clothes, but Judith deserves more. If this place can give it to her, then they'll keep it safe. Somehow.
And if he left, it's why he'd leave alone.
"Salt," he muses, leaving the bloody bundle on the lawn (since it's not like anyone'll steal it, trailing after so he can answer, hesitating a little at the doorway. It's not that he worries about tracking in the mud, he just can't feel comfortable in these goddamn houses. Fuck it, though. He leans on the kitchen doorframe, lets himself childishly revel in the thought of the mark it'll leave on the pristine paint.
"Does the job. Ain't as soft as chemicals... Never did much of that kinda shit."
Beth turns on the tap and rinses off the rabbits, mostly because the novelty of water they can run whenever they want still hasn't gotten old. After so much time out in the woods, she doesn't give a damn if a few blades of grass find their way onto the meat--but she likes being able to wash the blood off everything, her hands included, and pat the carcasses dry with paper towels Aaron scavenged. It's been a long time since she's been able to do that without a second thought.
"The fur'll be soft," she points out, leaning back against the counter. Judith'll never know the difference anyway. For better or worse (and Beth, for one, has never been able to decide), she'll probably always be happy with rough leather. "I can ask Olivia for some salt, if you want."
And maybe she can make a conversation out of it next time she sees her students. Guess what Mister Dixon's doing-- She's been trying to work their group into discussions where she can, anyplace it might help the kids get to know them.
Somehow the offer takes him by surprise. It shouldn't, because of course that's the logical thing to do, but on his own-- well, he'd just wait until he could scare some up. Maybe stuff the skins in a freezer, since they can do that. Miracles never fuckin' end.
"Sure," he murmurs, not sure what else to say, somehow rebelling at the thought of asking for anything. Maybe just because of the chance they'll say no. But it's for a good cause, and they're all in this together, all that shit.
"I dunno." She doesn't know Olivia too well--not yet, anyway--and some of the people around here look at them like they might be a little bit feral. Not everybody, though, and if Beth's the one asking, maybe it'll be easier to get a yes. "But maybe. She seems nice."
Beth wipes her hands on her jeans unconsciously, leaving a faint streak of blood on one leg, and looks over at the rabbits. "I should probably ask for some vegetables for dinner anyway. Just regular salt, right?"
It'd suck if it turned out he needed something special.
Probably he'll have to look for more, but that's not so bad. Ain't like bulk salt is something people would think to take, probably; even picked-through shops might have a couple boxes left.
Besides, the worst that could happen is it won't work.
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"I thought maybe, next time you go out..." She feels shy suddenly, asking, and she doesn't know why. Because it's kind of a pain in the ass to have to do it, maybe, and because being in here, everything that exists outside the walls has started to feel so distant. Everything, including the places the two of them have gone together, the ways they talked and listened--maybe it's that. "Maybe you could bring back some edible plants, if you saw any. Or ones that're good for medicine. Oh, and maybe a mirror and a piece of glass."
That's probably the thing that'll make her reasoning clearest. Beth shrugs, reaching out to touch one of the bloody hides Daryl ripped off the rabbits. She showers just about every day now--and she hasn't had blood on her since Aaron brought them here in the first place. "These kids...all they know about surviving is, you can't go outside. I want to show them what to do when they have to."
no subject
He looks at her a long moment, thoughtful, thinking back on the prison again.
"Watch it," he says in a tone that might be teasing if it wasn't too bitter for that. "They'll get mad at you for scarin' 'em."
Which isn't a no, not by a long shot. It's a good idea, and maybe Beth-- young and friendly enough to pass for civilized, something not all of them are-- can convince the good clean people of Alexandria that it's worth learning how to get dirty.
If they're gonna survive-- and for all his inward bitching about these people and their shitty attitudes, he does want them to-- they're gonna have to learn. Might as well start young.
no subject
You can take the girl out of the walker-infected country, but you can't take the walker-infected country out of the girl. Maybe.
"I think they're already scared," she admits. They might not know they are--but someday, they might. Places aren't any more immortal than people. "I want to make them braver."
no subject
With an affirmative grunt he nods-- decisively, as though he hadn't already agreed, as though he wouldn't do any damn thing in his power for her, for any of the family. But it's a good idea, he can't argue with it. And honestly it makes him feel a little better to know she's worrying, too, about how soft they are here-- that she's not getting soft herself.
"I'll find somethin."
no subject
"Thanks." He'll know what to look for, and she'll see what the garage-school's mildewed encyclopedias (from 1983! older than Maggie!) say about whatever he finds. She nods at the pile of rabbit guts and fur. "Want some help cleaning up?"
no subject
"You wanna take the meat in?" he offers, nodding at the cleaned carcasses. They're bloody but neater than the rest of this mess. He's wondering if it's worth trying to cure the furs, or if they oughta just toss the whole thing into the compost.
(Stretched and scraped hides propped on the lawn would probably annoy the shit outta the postapocalyptic homeowner's association. That might be reason enough.)
no subject
As she stands up, she glances at the rest of the mess. They can probably use some of it, right? You can eat chicken hearts and livers--maybe rabbits are the same way. And the skins are all in big pieces still. "Maybe we could make something with the fur. For when it gets cold."
no subject
"Might could cure 'em," he agrees, looking critically at the bloody skins. Not in bad condition, though one's got a hole punched through it. Still. Usable. Waste not, want not, right?
"Pair'f boots for Judith, maybe."
no subject
She'll be running all over the place, getting into everything, sooner or later. No matter how much of a pain it ends up being, Beth can't wait. Everything new she gets to learn and explore is proof that they're doing something right. Judith's getting to live like a kid her age should, not like a fugitive.
She shifts the rabbit carcasses to one hand, leaving a bloody ring around the doorknob as she opens the front door. Whatever--she'll clean it off later. Hurrying toward the sink, she asks, "How do you cure 'em?"
no subject
And if he left, it's why he'd leave alone.
"Salt," he muses, leaving the bloody bundle on the lawn (since it's not like anyone'll steal it, trailing after so he can answer, hesitating a little at the doorway. It's not that he worries about tracking in the mud, he just can't feel comfortable in these goddamn houses. Fuck it, though. He leans on the kitchen doorframe, lets himself childishly revel in the thought of the mark it'll leave on the pristine paint.
"Does the job. Ain't as soft as chemicals... Never did much of that kinda shit."
no subject
"The fur'll be soft," she points out, leaning back against the counter. Judith'll never know the difference anyway. For better or worse (and Beth, for one, has never been able to decide), she'll probably always be happy with rough leather. "I can ask Olivia for some salt, if you want."
And maybe she can make a conversation out of it next time she sees her students. Guess what Mister Dixon's doing-- She's been trying to work their group into discussions where she can, anyplace it might help the kids get to know them.
no subject
"Sure," he murmurs, not sure what else to say, somehow rebelling at the thought of asking for anything. Maybe just because of the chance they'll say no. But it's for a good cause, and they're all in this together, all that shit.
"Think she'd give it?"
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Beth wipes her hands on her jeans unconsciously, leaving a faint streak of blood on one leg, and looks over at the rabbits. "I should probably ask for some vegetables for dinner anyway. Just regular salt, right?"
It'd suck if it turned out he needed something special.
no subject
Probably he'll have to look for more, but that's not so bad. Ain't like bulk salt is something people would think to take, probably; even picked-through shops might have a couple boxes left.
Besides, the worst that could happen is it won't work.