Keep Singing

[moffnat]

YOU'RE GONNA

MISS ME

SO BAD

WHEN I'M GONE

"...you're gonna be the last man standing, you are.
And you're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

A Daryl/Beth roleplay featuring Sansa Stark and Ghosty.
Spoilers ahead. Do not read if you have not watched past Season 3
of AMC'S original series, "The Walking Dead".​

 

[Tyche]

There was an eerie calmness that rolled across the West Georgia Correctional Facility, which was located north of Highway 34 and in close proximity to the town of Newnan, Georgia. Although it was so gigantic, it could be easily missed if you weren't really looking for it-- a common case that had stumped a local group of bent-up and beaten-down survivors. They were a group of more than twelve bodies that had been together for most of the duration of the apocalypse. Some had been together longer than others; Rick Grimes, his son Carl, and his deceased wife Lori, who was pregnant with child; the Asian pizza delivery boy named Glenn Rhee and his astounded girlfriend/fiancee Maggie Rhee; Hershel Greene and his daughter Beth Greene; the badass archer Daryl Dixon; the grey-haired house-mother Carol Peletier; and a whole mess of other characters who made their mark on the group. They were quite the bunch and one little blonde, Beth Greene herself, could not be more happier being with them all.

In retrospect, the facility looked almost abandoned if you were to gaze down upon it, but a closer inspection would reveal the fact that the chain-link fence surrounding the building was rioting with lurkers. How Rick Grimes and his band of survivors managed to enter the chain-link fence unscathed? That's a mystery that most outsiders cannot wrap their head around. Though, if you were to dig inside the minds of either Rick Grimes or Glenn Rhee, you'd understand that the feat was unbearable, but the turnout was all too sweet. The group now resides in Cell Block C where they cozy up to a campfire each night to hear songs from a young woman's childhood and pass around a baby girl who does nothing but keep spirits soaring-- despite it all. Who knew, that even though the world had turned to shit and people were killing people for anything and everything, a group would come together with hopes of creating a new, extended, family.

After the group had decided who was to keep watch, the others retreated to their individual cells to rest easy, unbeknownst that it was going to be the last night of solitude for anyone. A particular blonde woman, Beth Greene, had been walking around cell block C with a pit in her stomach. She ruled out the fact that it could've been her canned dinner hours ago, and she had already confirmed with Rick that everything was in working order, so what was it? What was eating away at her on this cold, Georgia night? Her hand came up to wipe a few stray hairs from her face, her feet shuffling awkwardly off the side of the bed she was sitting upon. Here eyes were beginning to droop, but her body was refusing her mind sleep. There was something amidst...

A few more hours of dragging her feet across the prison floors, a few more conversations with her group members, and a few more blank stares out the barred windows finally concluded that there was absolutely nothing wrong and it was time for bed. Beth was unsure of the time, but looking at the thousands of stars confirmed that it had to be past midnight. She couldn't fight something that wasn't real. It was just a feeling, she told herself, making her way back to her cell and plopping down on the thin cot upon her bed. She fell asleep within seconds and the fact that she had forgot to close the curtain to her cell had barely registered in her mind.

---

A riot. A barrage of bullets cascading against the concrete walls outside. A baby screaming for attention, the noise unbearable for her frail ears. A shout. A scream. Beth had to be slipping into a nightmare. "Everyone we have to flee!" That voice, it was full of authority and promise, and it echoed throughout the cell block. Clutching her head, Beth pushed herself into a sitting position, fearing that at any second her brain would fall out of her ear. She was groggy, disoriented, the common symptoms when one barely wakes up from only eight hours of sleep. "Rick?" she groaned, getting to her feet and pushing back the curtain of her cell. Who had shut it for her? "Rick, what's going on?" The relieved face of the older gentlemen came into view as he hurriedly grabbed her arm and directed her towards Carol and the young infant. "Help Carol pack up. We need to move, now."

There was no use arguing; one-- it was Rick and two-- he had already hurried off outside where the groups most prominent fighters were fending off the intruders. "Try and pack as much food as you can." The voice belonged to the other woman, Carol, who was trying her best to calm the baby and pack up the group's most needed items. Beth was so enthralled with the battle outside that she hadn't caught what Carol had said. There were more than twenty men outside the prison gates, all armed to the teeth and sending an array of bullets towards her group. Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Rick, and... "Daryl..."

I have to do something, she concluded. Anything.

With those thoughts she pushed herself out of cell block C and ran, a shocked Carol behind her, and a whole mess of destruction ahead.​

 

[moffnat]

There was nothing left for them now.

The prison had been a pit stop for the group of battered survivors, a necessary risk for the sake of ultimate survival. It was a danger that they could not afford filled with horrors unknown and criminals turned undead, a nightmare for those who had the luxury of moving on. There had been no choice in the matter. Rick had led his people into the belly of a great stone beast and by the will of God or some streak of dumb luck, the latter of which more believable in times of such piercing hopelessness, the beast became home and home became an easy sense of comfort. Education for the children had become an sudden option, the soil was strangely fertile, there were plenty of nearby towns for supply runs and easy getaways should one be planned. The promise of safety settled into the hearts of men and women who should have known better.

"We don't kill the living," Rick had once told them. But what was the use of words now? They were as prized as burning crops and swarming walkers, as useful as education in a world of the dead.

Daryl dove behind stone walls and fumbled to catch a grip on the axe, keeping his crossbow slung around his shoulders to conserve the ammo that was running dangerously low. He peered around the corner to glimpse at his bearings, placing each and every enemy in his field of vision until a gun fired and he instantly retreated, narrowly missing a bullet to the eye. Daryl cursed under his breath and inhaled, closing his eyes to gather his composure before bravely stepping out from behind his rocky shield. "Come on!" he taunted from across burning field, burying the sharp blade deep in the skull of a walker and using the corpse for bullet protection. When he had safely crossed half the distance to the bike at the end of the stretch, he found shelter around a corner of the prison and waited for a window of opportunity. A getaway vehicle could mean the difference between life and death in a situation like this, when the group was scattered beyond hope and no plan had been formed. But with each passing second, the prize ahead became less and less achievable. I'm gonna have to make a run for it, he thought in dreadful realization. Being alone in this world was almost as fatal as a walker's teeth sinking into your flesh. The thought of leaving his friends and family behind did more damage than any bullet raining down from behind, but it was either life or death in the moment and Daryl's instincts were not wired for failure. He pushed himself from the wall and broke into a mad dash the opposite direction, where the blur of the dead was thinnest and the greatest opportunity for survival was potent.

Through the side of his eye, a blonde head came bursting into vision. Daryl turned and didn't hesitate despite the cover he was blowing for her sake. "Beth!" he shouted wildly from across the gravel path. "Beth, c'mere! Come on!" Daryl held out a hand to her and held his position, cutting down walker after walker to buy Beth time to cross the distance reach him. "Take my hand, I'll cover you!"​

 

[Tyche]

The prison was overrun by the most deadly creatures that walked this Earth now-- and the fact that the group had been living here, for God knew how long, with the inkling of hope that they would be safe, was almost comical. Those nights around the fire, the jokes passed between one another, they all seemed to be morphing into the background as Beth pumped her legs right into the line of fire. A bullet went clear past her shoulder and with a shriek she dove behind the guard tower's thick wall of old bricks. Was she hyperventilating? Why did I do that, she began to chastise herself, realizing the only weapon upon her was a flimsy Bowie knife that was dropped by another survivor in the woods. It wasn't going to do her much good with a whole squad of murderers ready to blow her head off at the slightest twitch of her fingers.

Beth took a deep breath, the Bowie knife sliding like butter out of its sheath and filling her small palm. It almost calmed her, but a sudden burst of energy took off a piece of brick beside her arm and the calmness dissipated almost instantly. Beth knew she could not sit here anymore, but it was obvious that running wasn't smart either. Then a voice began to register in her ears, ringing clear across the field and drawing a small horde of walkers toward the epitome of the sound. She squinted her eyes to look through the masses and catch the eye of her potential savior. "Daryl?" she questioned herself momentarily and then wildly swung her arm in a greeting, "Daryl! I'm coming!" Her next moves were not tainted with hesitation. It was a mad dash across the field, carefully avoiding a walker or two who decided that the blonde looked tasty enough to eat. Beth continued to run, reaching out her hand to grasp Daryl's as she rounded closer to his standpoint. What they had created at the prison was beginning to crumble. There was a set of dreams etched into the walls of that facility, created when Lori passed an a new life was born; created when the group could rest easy at night without any worries to keep them tossing and turning at night. Rick made them think that there was hope and Beth knew it was his fault that his promises weren't falling through. In this new world, promises cannot be kept in the long run and hope is something that simply cannot be obtained.

"Daryl? What do we do?" It was instinct to put herself behind the male, giving him a clearer picture of the dead flesh that moaned and groaned their way closer to the duo.​

 

[moffnat]

"We run," he told her breathlessly. "We haul ass and we don't go lookin' back."

Daryl let go of her hand, confident she could run on her own without the assistance he was unwilling to offer. He couldn't risk his own life further than he already had. "C'mon, don't fall behind!" He broke into a mad dash over fields of gravel and leapt gracefully over the occasional body that failed to block his path. His desperate call for Beth across the prison grounds had alerted every walker in the area to their presence and each time he looked back for the blonde teen, more hungry shells of dead eyes daringly met his stares. Dammit. In tryin' to save her life, I rang the fuckin' dinner bell. It became grossly clearer and clearer that their lives were inescapably on the line. Daryl felt it was now his responsibility to find a route that would take them both to survival and keep air in Beth's fragile lungs just a little while longer.

I ain't dyin' for a girl. She ain't dyin' for me, neither.

"The road," he called back, though he dare not turn again. "Make for the road!" Several constant minutes of an exhausting full sprint had put their collective endurance in jeopardy, and he had every doubt in the world that Beth Greene was capable of climbing trees. And even then, how would that help them? Staying in sight of walkers was a surefire way to keep them coming around and growing in numbers until there was only a single choice left. They needed a way out of this eminent demise, not further into it. Each second passed quicker than the last and Daryl Dixon was running out of options.

The sight of a blue Buick Century was the most welcome one in the world. Daryl gave an exhausted pant and smile, resting his hands on his knees to allow himself a shred of a moment's rest. "We got a gain on 'em," he grunted, turning back to see Beth nearby. "But they're comin' back. Damn things're relentless." He stood upright from his short break, one that he wish he had reconsidered, and sped towards the trunk of the car. Daryl forced it open and gestured wildly for Beth to come.

"In the trunk!" he commanded almost impatiently, the moans and groans of hell coming closer with each moment wasted. "Get in, we'll wait 'em out 'ere!"​

 

[Tyche]

"Got it." Beth complied quickly, knowing full well that their lives were at stake.

She followed his every movement through the terrain; the mountains of gravel, the mass of bodies that laid at their feet, Beth wondered if they were going to just keep running-- one foot in front of the other and back again. Her eyes kept north, not daring to look behind at the clump of flesh that she knew was following. The elder man had risked his life to call for Beth across the field and for that the duo was trudging slowly towards an unfinished plan, but she wasn't going to question his unsaid motives. There has to be something. It was life or death now, the groans becoming more apparent in the ears of the blond, which only heightened her sense of adrenaline and pushed her closer towards Daryl.

"The road!" he proclaimed suddenly, and Beth didn't hesitate to make a break towards the the direction of their salvation. But was it salvation? Their goal was obvious: get the hell out of the sight of the walkers. The creatures salivated over the sheer glance at rosy cheeks and the wind whipping at Beth's face was creating a frenzy upon her heels. She debated on whether or not she should point out to her comrade that the road had nothing reliable to keep them safe; once the arrived they would only be met with disappointment. "Daryl..." her words came out jumbled between ragged breaths, but no answer came from the body up ahead. Until, her counterpart suddenly stopped his trek and Beth was forced to slam on the breaks and nearly tumble head over heels. She regained her footing and placed her hands on her hips to try and keep herself upright and away from the dark tunnel called 'passing the hell out.'

"What do you expect? They're hungry..." Not the smartest sentence to utter at a time like this, but Beth was beginning to step off her cliff of adrenaline and her mind was scrambling because of her fears. She turned back to Daryl, but came face to face with a pocket of air. It seemed her comrade did have a plan, since he was currently holding the trunk of a Buick into the air and waving his arms like a maniac. The expression that passed her face was one of childish exasperation, but she sprinted towards him, reluctantly, and practically threw herself into the back end of the car.

This is going to be lovely.​

 

[moffnat]

If dangerous truth be told, Daryl Dixon had no idea what the hell he was doing. As Beth clambered into the back of the beaten Buick, the archer was quick to follow on the whims of his own insanity. There was no guarantee this would work, no singular reason in the whole godforsaken world why it should. But surviving in the atmosphere in which they lived meant endless amounts of improvisation and Daryl was blessed to have that aplenty. He pulled a rag from the side of his belt, normally used for wiping walker blood from his weapons but fortunately his mind was quick to see its other uses. He pulled the thankfully spacious trunk shut and tied the fabric through the notches to keep the metal clasped tightly together, and tied it again for good measure. The trunk remained slightly ajar however, despite his efforts to keep it as closed as possible. He cursed rather colorfully under his breath.

"Keep that knife in your hands," he told her softly before pressing a single finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. He kept his crossbow at the ready, aiming it at the spot where the trunk would open should his makeshift lock come apart. Daryl kept himself steadied and prepared for the onslaught that was short to come, eyeing Beth out of the corner of his eye and giving her a once-over to search for any immediate signs of distress. Seems alright, he concluded. Should be fine.

The sudden jolt of the car startled the both of them. Lazy groans and shrieks of walkers grew thunderously loud and the metal began to shake with the pounding of dead hands all around them. "Shhh," he cooed as quietly as possible to the teen, just to ensure that she wouldn't scream with the irrevocable force and strength of the deceased. He kept himself straight and didn't move a muscle, not to shush Beth or even acknowledge her presence, merely to stay focused on the task at hand. Better to have someone with me than a dead someone. I can't let 'er down here.

Daryl would never admit it, but he would soon realize that Beth Greene was all he had left.

---

Light crept in through the small crack in their steel protection. Daryl had been listening to the silence for hours, not trusting the darkness to cover as a cloak for their escape. He was anything but idiotic. There were too many walkers creeping in the shadows to risk bringing himself out of the car, and while Beth had long since fallen asleep at his side he saw no point in leaving until after the light from the sky had graced the world again. He shook the exhaustion of an all-nighter from his consciousness and held his crossbow tighter to his body in pure preparation.

"Hey," he said lowly, giving Beth and small kick to her side to wake her. "Get up and open the trunk. I'll cover you."

​

 

[Tyche]

The trunk, miraculously might Beth add, was able to pack the two survivors rather nicely. Granted, it wasn't the most comfortable place the blonde had ever hidden in (usually it's the cupboards beneath the kitchen sink or the closet in her room), but it did its job from keeping the walkers away from their skin.

She nodded, almost robotically, keeping the handle of her knife engraved into her palm incase the knot of the rag unravelled and either one of them had to act fast. The teen's lips opened in an attempt to thank the elder gentleman, but before a peep could come out a silent hush emanated from his gesture and Beth complied. If anyone knew what they were doing right now, at this moment, then that would be Daryl Dixon and Beth would be damned if she was to attempt to argue with him. Not like there was anything to argue about anyway. The cross-hairs of his bow was aimed through the sliver of the trunk, readied for whatever the undead decided to throw at them. Which was about to come slamming against the Buick full force in just a few seconds.

The clambering of bodies against the body of the automobile all at once caused a shriek to exit Beth's mouth, but she hurriedly used her hand to subside the noise as well as calm her jittering nerves. If she began to freak out now, then she was sure that the walkers wouldn't be the only ones she would have to fear. Her hand began to sweat around the handle of her knife, and she was uncomfortable, but that deep need to survive was more than apparent. So she sucked it up, squinting her eyes to watched the bodies drift back and forth through the sliver of the trunk, allowing herself to practically drift off to sleep.

Beth felt safe here, unbeknownst that feeling would continue as she traveled with Daryl Dixon.

---

After falling asleep hours ago, Beth was suddenly shaken by an omniscient force. Well, shaken may have been a nice way of saying that the light kick to her side had scared her out of her wits. "No need to get rowdy," she whispered, untying the knot that allowed them life and shoving it into then front pocket of her jeans. "Ready?" Her eyes gazed at him on the sidelines, but she didn't waste time by hearing his answer.

The trunk came up in a swift motion, the morning sunrise almost blinding Beth's sleepy eyes.​

 

[moffnat]

Daryl gave a restrained grunt as the purity of morning light bombarded his vision. He shielded his eyes a moment and let them readjust, breathing in the freshness of open air and letting it replace the stuffiness of the trunk in his lungs. The even greater joy was one that came swiftly onto his consciousness--there wasn't a walker in sight. All of them had moved along in search of better meat, no doubt, or something that was more real than what they had so briefly known of the pair in a trunk's space. Daryl hopped from their cover and felt solid concrete beneath his boots and the soft breeze of a warm Georgia morning.

In the distance, he could see the smoke.

It settled in softly at first, unnoticeable like the first plunge of a blade through flesh. The second wave was much more agonizing to bear until finally Daryl drowned in the weight of reality. Sorrow kept a fiery grip around his throat. He clenched the metal of the crossbow in his hands so tightly that the skin on his appendage paled and reddened, threatening to bruise. Daryl stood in the relief of gentle wind looking out upon billowing back smoke stretching up toward empty heavens, and trembled in the force of his rage.

Rick, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Carol, all the others...

"Town," he spat out, turning quickly back to the car and stripping it in search of weapons or anything of value. "Small town, five miles north. We're goin' there."

He didn't feel the need to say anything more. Daryl snatched the few things he had taken and marched upwards on the highway, not offering Beth a single glance backwards to see if she dared follow.​

 

[Tyche]

Beth began her feat out of the confined trunk, her legs and arms giving an audible sound of pleasure as she stood dutifully behind Daryl and stretched. She felt relieved, to put it lightly; the crossbow in Daryl's hands made no move to put a walker in its place because there was no walkers in sight. The two were standing, by themselves, in the crisp Georgia air with-- Is that smoke? Beth threw her hand over her eyes to shield the burning sun rays and allow her to see the blackness that swallowed the tree line.

She gasped, realization sinking in. Tears began to prick behind her eyes, but she hurriedly wiped the wetness away before it got out of hand and she collapsed upon the asphalt. There was a wrath gripping her innards at this point. That could've been her. The young blonde could have met the same fate if she hadn't run out of the prison like that, but, honestly, what good would she have been dead? What good am I going to be out here? The curling of the smoke continued, revealing that it was not an illusion, it was not a dream. There was no telling whether or not the group of survivors they had left behind were alive or not and it would practically be suicide to go back and make sure. All they could do now was rely on each other to survive. Beth felt a weight crashing down upon her shoulders; she had left behind her father and Maggie. She was trying to persuade herself into understanding the fact that the group is more than capable of staying alive at this point, but the weight doubled and she had to place a hand on her chest to relieve the pain.

Daryl's words made her jump. She looked over at him, wondering if she should ask how he was, but decided against the idea for her sake more than anything. He didn't seem to want to talk as they began their trek down the road, so she made no indication to. Beth kept her head low and kept up with the man's strides as best as she could.

This is going to be a long day...​

 

[moffnat]

The sore, exhausted duo of unlikely survivors strode on through their sorrow, marching upwards, headed east on the deserted highway 34. Not a word was uttered between the two of them, the older man preferring silence in his guilt-ridden trek. Daryl hadn't hesitated to put the clouds of smoke behind their backs and continue to keep away, never once offering a glance backward. There was no use moving toward the symbol of their desolation. The more distance Daryl put between himself and the prison the more...

The more what? The happier I'll be? The sadder I'll be? There's no happy or sad no more. There's nothin'. Just nothin'.

Silent hours passed. Any walker they encountered was instantly butchered by Daryl in his rage, split skulls and bludgeoned faces, using his crossbow as a club rather than what it was. He had no inclination as to the level of fear he had sparked in his companion; it was as if she weren't there at all. The way he avoided her gaze and ignored anything to do with Beth Greene spoke volumes. His previously miniscule ability to properly care for someone had returned in full force. Beth was a setback, a risk he couldn't afford to take, but she was a little piece of home as well. A small reminder of the prison burning to the west. It was that and a deep respect for Hershel which forced his mouth shut. I'll carry her with me as long as I can, he vowed, but that's all I can do.

The small town of Rainier, Georgia was a blemish on the face of the state, or was before the world drowned. Downtown was a single road that ran right through the heart of the small hick town, boasting a few general stores, a post office and a gas station in utter disrepair. Debris littered the concrete and signs withered with decay. "Damn dump," Daryl muttered under his breath before turning to the teen, who was remarkably still behind him. "Find whatever you need. We'll meet back 'ere in an hour and find some place t'lay up for the night." He didn't expect her to follow him, didn't want her to. She could take care of herself for a single hour, and if she couldn't than she was never worth his time anyway.

The first place Daryl took himself was the smoke shop nestled to the left of a bigger convenience store. He shattered the glass of the large cabinets and snatched as many packs of Malboro 100's that a man could reasonably carry in his small sack and four lighters for good measure. He snatched the last of peaches and pears, all in cans, along with some green beans and a single jar of peanut butter. He even found a little something for Beth. Daryl chuckled as he took it from the rack and went about other business. There wasn't much else to be found in the bowels of Rainier aside from a bit more food and some bottles of water still stuffed in the back of what was once refrigerated cupboards. Within the hour Daryl had returned to the meeting point and tossed his present directly to Beth upon her arrival, hoping she caught it before it fell to the ground.

The gift was a pink Disney backpack with a smiling Cinderella emblazoned on the front.

"Thought it'd suit you," he said deviously, but there was no smile to be found on his features.​

 

[Tyche]

The young woman traveling with Daryl Dixon had done the complete opposite of her counterpart. Her head continuously spun around to watch the smoke billow up into the sun. It was anything but calming, although it did help Beth Greene realize that there would come a time and place where everyone would die. She put one foot in front of the other, following the man down the highway almost on autopilot. There was no need to dwell on her friends and family... It would only cause her frail mind to break. It was best to stay collected.

As they walked, avoiding idle conversations and eye contact throughout the whole trek, Beth only had to put a few walkers out of their misery. Daryl on the other hand, it seemed that he was taking his sorrow and wrath out on the undead. It was understandable, but more than terrifying to watch as he beat them beyond all recognition. They were hard to tell apart anyway, now though, when Daryl was done with them, they looked like a pile of chopped liver. An inkling of suspicion ate away at Beth as they continued their journey. How far would they go together? Daryl wasn't the kind of man to keep himself tied up to an ignorant teen. She was holding him back, but she was smart enough not to test his limits and claim she could make it on her own completely. Eventually, an hour or two passed and the young girl was becoming restless. I wonder if we're close to the town, she questioned. We probably shouldn't--

Her thoughts were cut short as the town of Rainier, Georgia came into view. It wasn't extravagant, but Beth was feeling pretty sure it would hold something of value. And she intended to find it. Nodding at Daryl's proposal of scavenging separately, Beth turned on her heels and immediately found herself in one of the general stores. The small establishment seemed to have recently harbored a group of survivors; opened and unopened cans of food littered more than one sleeping area along with a reasonable amount of valuables that were only good for keeping spirits up. The teen took her time turning the place upside down and by the time the hour was up she had a small armful of canned beans and empty canteens. It wasn't entirely what she hoped to find, but it would have to do. As she exited the store, her eyes caught the glimpse of something sticking out from beneath a pile of rubble by the door. Upon closer inspection it seemed that Beth had hit the jackpot. With a quick swipe, she hurriedly made her way to the meeting point, just barely catching bright pink pack as she met with Daryl.

"Oomf," the items in her hands shifted, but nothing clattered to the floor. She looked at the sparkly bag a small smile playing at her lips as she realized that Daryl was trying to be funny. Trying. "Well, thanks." The paper came to mind and she moved her loot around so she was able to display a crudely drawn map to her comrade. "I found it in the store," she boasted proudly, her smile growing, "It seems to be a map to a house somewhere close by."​

 

[moffnat]

"A map?" he scoffed, snatching the paper from Beth's hands and reading it over in his mind. It was less a map and more a series of directions, no doubt written down in a hurry by someone long ago to instruct an opposite person on navigation to a certain point. The nature of the destination itself was unknown, however, and Daryl flipped the flimsy thing over in his hands more than once in search of a clue. Coming up with nothing, he considered the white blank page a moment and turned to Beth with a small shrug of his shoulders. "This place is a few miles out," he said, if not a bit harshly. "Better there than here. Those walkers'll be back." There was no doubt in his mind that all the biters flocking to the prison in wake of the explosions had come from around this area, and while they were all temporarily distracted he had no intention of finding out just how many had been drawn from Rainier. Daryl studied the paper once more before crumbling it up and shoving it deep into his left pocket.

"C'mon," Daryl barked as be broke into a speedwalk. "Don't fall behind again, I ain't waitin'."

He didn't look behind to see if she had managed to shove all her findings in the compact bag he had thrown her as a joke. Daryl continued his march forward and spared no glances over his shoulder back west, back towards the home that had once been and no longer was. Silent hours were found rather easily when in the company of Daryl Dixon, stopping occasionally to break the mystique and slaughter a few walkers to release some aggression. It was never enough. I need a damn drink, he thought to the pits of his heart, the compartments of his subconscious that were beginning to blacken. I need a long drink an' a long sleep, an' even then everything'll be the same. Fire was swallowed in his throat and he pressed on through the marshes of his own self-preservation.

When the sun was beginning it's descent behind treetops and distant hills, Daryl came to the peak of the upward path and squinted his eyes at the concrete sign standing firmly vertical in the ground. "Rainier Sheriff's Station," he read aloud. The place had clearly been raided of weapons and food, shattered glass littering the entranceways and windowsills alike, but Daryl was certain there could be a proper place within to hole up for the night. He gave a turn back to Beth and gestured for her to follow, keeping his crossbow at the ready and stepping over the threshold of the main doors. Glass crunched like snow underneath his boots.​

 

[Tyche]

"It ain't much, but it could be helpful later on," Beth shrugged nonchalantly, hurriedly putting her items into the bedazzled Cinderella backpack that had been tossed at her. Once that task was done, she slipped the mini-straps over her shoulders and awaited for Daryl's next instructions. It was apparent he was the leader right now. He seemed to not instantly throw her map in the street, so the young teen took that as a good sign. "We should get going then." She also did not want to be around when the walkers decided to return to their common resting place; the explosion from the prison was probably what drew them away in the first place. Daryl began to walk and Beth wasted no time in picking up a stride behind him, not really wishing to get left behind anyway.

Their journey, hopefully towards salvation, was soaked in an eerie quietness. Daryl Dixon was known to turn his nose up at a conversation, but Beth didn't realize that she would literally be itching halfway through for a simple sentence. The only sounds that emitted from either counterparts were the humble grunts and sneers as they each had to take down a few of the undead as they crossed their path. Minutes stretched into hours and hours seemed to stretch into many more hours-- the blonde was beginning to think that were just walking for the fun of it, momentarily stopping to take out their pain and feelings of loss out on the walkers. She was beginning to work on auto-pilot again, sometimes dropping her head in an attempt at some shut-eye as they walked, which wasn't the most comfortable or safe thing to do.

As the silhouette of the sun began to linger above the trees, Beth had barely enough time to stop when Daryl planted his feet into the soil and took a minute or two to read the sign up ahead. A Sheriff's Station? A place to rest? A wave of relief crashed against the young girl, practically sending her onto the ground in defeat. There was only so much walking a girl could do. Daryl gave his impromptu single to follow and Beth complied, the handle of her Bowie knife back into her hand and the cracking of glass right beneath her boots.

As the two entered the broken down Station, the first thing Beth noticed was the array of electronics that littered the floor in broken clumps. Printers, scanners, telephones-- the whole nine yards, were torn to pieces and thrown about as if someone had been looking for something or the Station had simply had a round with a few bad scavengers. There didn't seem to be any of the undead in sight, thank God. It looked like a common law enforcement establishment: mahogany desks upturned and beat, chairs left to rot from the muggy weather, animal nests and uneaten dinners cramped into the corners. The place was not somewhere that they should be holing in for the night, but Beth wasn't about to begin another trek down the Georgia for something better when there most likely wouldn't be anything better. "Over here," she whispered to Daryl, keeping her voice low as another sound was heard behind a half busted door on one side of the small station. She took the lead this time, nudging the door open slightly with her boot and preparing for anything that could come her way, except the only thing that could even attempt an attack was stuck below one of the metal lockers that held the Sherriff's guns.

Beth let out a sigh, crouching down to plow her knife into the skull of the walker until it's gurgles subsided and it lay without motion. "The place looks pretty ransacked." She shrugged, looking over at her comrade before beginning her search for anything useful. It seemed like they were pretty safe.​

 

[moffnat]

"Yeah," he agreed, "but pretty ain't good enough." He let Beth take care of the lone walker and stepped over the corpse when it was done twitching. He gave a half-hearted glance inside the locker room, complete with a few showers and spare pillows and blankets in case of takeover, and a some extra guns stashed in a locker on the far side. "Good enough," he concluded, "'less you don' like sleepin' on tile. Gonna have to deal with it."

Daryl set his crossbow gently atop one of the wooden benches and turned back to the empty doorway, lifting the body of the walker Beth had slain and shoving it out into the hall. He proceeded to close the door and lock it, looking about the room for something to use as a proper advantage to keep the door shut in case of an onslaught. While already heavy with steel, there was little need to add extra protection to the only way out of their temporary room and board. Even still, Daryl took a chair and propped it up underneath the cold handle for an added aura of safety.

Couldn't hurt.

Daryl glanced up to the small slivers of windows high above the lockers, confident that none of the undead could break through and offer any midnight surprises, but the duo also lacked in candles and lighting. The short spans of glass wouldn't let much moonlight in, if any. He had lighters from the convenience store and some paper. Daryl began searching the area for a metal trashcan, wondering briefly if the lockers would work as a fireplace of sorts. Wouldn't that be nice.

"Get those guns," he told her, "an' make a bed too. Get comfy. Gonna be here through the night. See if those lockers can hold a fire."

Curiously, Daryl glanced to the showers with only measly half-walls for protection; no doubt the men of the force held conversations while they showered after a day's work, but such wouldn't be the case for a female officer. The archer stepped over the tile and, with the tiniest shred of hope, twisted on the knob to the right.

Juts of water shot forth from the nozzle.

"No fuckin' way."​

 

[Tyche]

Beth got to her feet, making her way over to the locker that seemed to harbor a heavy load of weaponry the duo could really use. She began to unload the guns and few boxes of ammunition, carefully stacking them a top a second wood bench so Daryl had clear access to the locker as well as the one that once held the walker beneath it. She kept the locker that once held the guns open and began to inspect the inside to make sure it would be sturdy enough to hold a nice, warm fire. They were made from that easily bendable steel, but the backings were completely sealed-- if filled with flammable it would hold just fine-- so Beth backed away to allow Daryl his room to move them if he wished. "Gonna have to deal with it," the girl concluded, "I don't mind."

And with those last words, the blonde began to divide the few blankets and pillows so they both could create a nice bed to lay on for the night. She took her bedding and situated in the far corner of the shower, which gave Daryl the rest of the space to situate himself wherever he felt comfortable. After that was done, Beth did her own cheek-up of the place, not that she thought Daryl was doing a bad job, but to make herself a bit more confident and give her something else to do other than plop down on the floor and sleep for the next nine hours or more. The windows were too high for a five foot six walker to climb and break into; so that was something Beth could check off her list. The door was tightly locked and secured thanks to her comrade, although she couldn't help but think that they had just locked themselves into the room with no other means of escape. She shrugged, dismissing the thought and relishing in the fact that Daryl would be able to come up with something if an issue occurred.

Speaking of which, his voice rang out and Beth immediately turned back to the showers to see what was the matter. At first, she didn't see what the problem was and then she saw it: the jets of water crashing down onto the tile floor. "Now way." She was enthralled and elevated at the thought of cleaning up the gunk from the past few months.​

 

[moffnat]

Despite himself, Daryl broke into a small smile. There was nothing that could bring such a tiny spark of joy back into his heart other than the promise of clean skin and washed hair, nothing like the herbal stuff concocted at the prison that left him smelling like a damn hippie. He picked up a plastic bottle of year-old shampoo and grinned, looking to Beth with the ghost of a smile. "Here," he said, tossing it across the room so she would catch it. "Ladies first, right? Don't worry, I won't look. I ain't no perve." He walked past her and out towards the rows of lockets once more, seeing about tending to a fire with thoughts of the much-awaited shower filling his head. It was a strange thing, that he had offered the first go at fresh water and cleanliness to the girl instead of taking his discoveries for himself, but he supposed that was a part of the positive change Daryl had begun to make at the prison having a tiny moment in the sun. He didn't feel himself anymore, but offering Beth the first shower? It was the most joy he had felt in what seemed like years.

Daryl pulled out a pack of cigarettes from bag and lit one, drawing in and letting out with a content feeling rising with the burn of his lungs. He kept the redneck treat pinched between his lips, taking the occasional breath and puff while he set to work finding paper for the makeshift fire. It didn't take long to catch, though he would have to find something more fallible than paper if he wanted to keep the glow burning for any extended period of time. It was growing too dark to go outside and rip a small tree from it's trunk, so he settled on smashing the wooden benches apart instead and feeding the growing flame in moderation.

"I'm a cowboy..."

Daryl raised his head to listen, letting his ears fill with Beth and her song.

"...on a steel horse I ride,
and I'm wanted--waaaanted,
Dead or alive
When I walk these streets
A loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps
'Cause I might not make it back..."

He couldn't resist a chuckle that escaped his lips in fortitude. He gripped the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it away, watching the smoke from his mouth and nose blow out through the air. "That's my song," he teased. "What's some high-class white girl like you doin' singin' my song?"

He was too proud to admit she had done so beautifully.​

 

[Tyche]

As soon as the bottle of soap landed in the girl's hand she immediately took the place of where Daryl once was, unable to contain the excitement that came with a clean exterior. "It's okay," she admitted, stripping herself almost hurriedly and placing her clothes neatly away from the stream of water so they would be wearable after this lovely task. "I trust you." With that, she stepped beneath the stream of water, a bit surprised that it wasn't exactly the perfect temperature, but also not caring about that little tidbit. It was indeed strange that Daryl Dixon had offered her the first go at a shower, and the more Beth ran her fingers full of year-old soap through her blonde locks, the more she puzzled herself over that detail. Maybe the family, the one they had created together at the prison, the family they had to leave behind, was what had changed Daryl just a bit over the course of their time together. That thought alone was what made Beth smile.

She tried not to stay too long under the water, but a common shower habit came to mind midway through her rhythmic washing and Beth couldn't help the lyrics that tumbled out of her mouth. They were from a song she had heard plenty times on the radio and sung to herself whenever the timing deemed perfect. The fact that another human being was able to hear had been completely eradicated from her mind and as she ended the chorus, as well as her washing. She kept the water on in case it decided not to work later and continued to hum the melody as she grabbed a spare blanket to dry herself with. There seemed to be plenty about.

Daryl's voice made her jump a bit, but it also caused her to smile broadly. "High-class white girl? I grew up on a farm Daryl Dixon. I also had a radio." Maybe she knew that the song would fit her comrade well.​

 

[moffnat]

Daryl gave a slight scoff that sounded more humored and lighthearted than he felt. "Everyone's higher class than me," he stated casually as he placed a few more splinters of wood on the fire. "Don't make a difference where ya grew up." There was no hiding a bit of bitterness from the tone of his voice but it had melted seconds after the words were brought forth, and Beth's humming killed any resentment that began to grow. He allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and listen before opening them and returning to the work he was doing.

"You gonna hog up all the damn water?" he called. "I bet I smell worse than you." Daryl tossed another piece of splintered bench wood into the pathetic excuse for a fire and stood, making his makeshift bed by the lockers. He spread out two blankets and set a pillow at the head of it all, leaving one to cover himself with once the shower was taken and enjoyed. He looked down at his clothes and wondered if he should wash those as well, stained with sweat and dirt and blood as they were. Later, he thought with a small sigh. More things to worry about now.

"Move your bed over here," he told her. "Gotta keep an eye on you." Gotta make sure you're safe. He sniffled and sat on his makeshift cot, waiting for Beth to emerge from the shower so that he could salvage the water for himself.

"...and keep singing." She couldn't hear his mumble over the rush of running water.​

 

[Tyche]

Beth rolled her eyes at the man's little scoff, deciding to simply get back into her clothes and continue the light humming, which seemed to bring the other's spirit up. She tried to hurry and put the articles of clothing back upon her squeaky-clean skin, a feat that took a minute or two longer than usual because they were so dirty, but it got done. At his next words, she shrugged, "I won't go anywhere," and grabbed her bedding she had set up earlier; only to move it not too far from Daryl's own bed. She didn't want to suffocate him with her presence, except she would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit frightened to sleep on the other side of the room-- by herself. After a few minutes, her makeshift bed mirrored his and she retreated back to the showers so she could grab the shampoo and toss it towards Daryl, as he had done to her earlier. "We don't have to bet on that one," she chuckled, attempting to keep the joking mood in the air, "It's all yours."

The girl took a seat near the small fire, picking up small pieces of wood that covered the ground and throwing them into the blaze for safety reason. She sat and warmed herself, allowed her hair to cascade down her shoulders so the strands would dry quicker. As she sat, smiling form the warmth that engulfed her, Beth began her singing again. It was a shower-habit as well as a habit that returned whenever she needed some reassurance. The song from earlier playing in her mind as she continued the lyrics by heart.

"I been everywhere...
,and I'm standing taaaaall
I've seen a million faces and I've rocked them all
I'm a cowboy,
On a steel horse I ride
I'm wanted--wanted
Dead or alive
I'm a cowboy,
I got the night on my side
I'm wanted--wanted
Dead or alive..."

Her voice drifted off again, transforming into the light humming from earlier.

​