His ankles and wrists cross, elbows and knees fit together. He's tightwired enough that even the delicate touch (maybe especially the delicate touch) makes him flinch like a mouse trap. His fingers knot together, catching the ends of his hair. He shakes. "When is--when anything good supposed to h--hoo--happen? When the fuck are we supposed to see anything good, Daryl, I just--"
For the sake of breathing deep enough to get a grip, he jerks his head up, fits his chin hard against his wired knuckles. He can breathe and talk as long as he keeps his eyes open, that's good. Just keep them wide open. "I'm so fucking sick of losing people. I'm so fucking tired of it, I'm not like you. I need people. I need people, I can't keep losing them or I'm gonna fucking lose my mind, Daryl."
I'm not like you, I need people. Daryl stares into the sunless sky, and lets his eyes catch the uncaring stars. They're probably fake. He tried navigating by them once, and he ended up spinning in circles. Nothing makes sense, here. None of the old rules, from when the old world functioned, apply, and half the rules from the world of the dead are pretty near useless.
"How long you been here?" And then Daryl remembers how little patience Quentin has for leading questions. "World ended-- where I'm from-- near on ten years back."
He remembers Sophia, the farm, hiding on the edge of their group, worrying and feeling dejected.
"What you're feeling-- everybody's feeling it. Just-... I felt it ten years back."
As for good things, well. He knows better than to try and convince someone as young and angry and desperate as Quentin that good things are happening, will continue to do so. That's something the kid's get for his own self.
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For the sake of breathing deep enough to get a grip, he jerks his head up, fits his chin hard against his wired knuckles. He can breathe and talk as long as he keeps his eyes open, that's good. Just keep them wide open. "I'm so fucking sick of losing people. I'm so fucking tired of it, I'm not like you. I need people. I need people, I can't keep losing them or I'm gonna fucking lose my mind, Daryl."
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"How long you been here?" And then Daryl remembers how little patience Quentin has for leading questions. "World ended-- where I'm from-- near on ten years back."
He remembers Sophia, the farm, hiding on the edge of their group, worrying and feeling dejected.
"What you're feeling-- everybody's feeling it. Just-... I felt it ten years back."
As for good things, well. He knows better than to try and convince someone as young and angry and desperate as Quentin that good things are happening, will continue to do so. That's something the kid's get for his own self.