@mycsctis ( I really tried holding back from writing this )
Thin streaks of sunlight crept through the blinds, making the dust in the air barely visible, as Paul opened the door to the next room they would scavenge. They hadn’t had much luck, in the abandoned town they searched through, but Jesus wouldn’t give up. If he’d learned one thing from all the times he’d gone to scavenge, it was that he’d always find at least one thing of value. While that hadn’t happened yet, Paul was persistent.
He turned to look Daryl, and gave him a silent nod. This is how they operated: wordlessly, but still in complete sync. They moved together, like two parts of one being, both ready to protect each other from anything that would stand in their way.
Knife and flashlight in hand and pointed before him, Paul walked through the fairly large room, one that seemed like a dining room table that had been destroyed by the end of the world, and now had been collecting years of dust. Blue hues then fell to something Jesus hadn’t layed eyes on it what seemed to be like years. An old wooded record player, sat on the very corner of the room.
“Hey, look at this,” he said, quietly, at the hunter behind him. Slowly, Paul walked to large music box. A vinyl disc, sat on top, just waiting to be played. Lowering his knife, and putting the flashlight in his pocket, Jesus carefully lifted the disc. He took a deep inhale, then exhaled, blowing all the dust away. There was an almost pealed off sign on the black disc that read. Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Who’s ever this was, Jesus knew they had good tasted.
A smile crept onto the mans face, as he looked at Daryl, wide eyed and curious. “I haven’t seen one of this in ages.” After looking to his sides, he’d come to the broad assumption that this house was safe. “We should see if this still works,” he finally said, letting curiosity get the better of him, and smiling the way he always did at Daryl.
The town had been well picked over; there was so little in the way of comforts let alone actual supplies and Daryl couldn't help but wonder about Grimes' law of averages -- about the belief system that had been explained to him when he first met Paul. Their luck had been incredible until he showed up and tricked them, and while Dixon tried not to be superstitious there was a voice in the back of his mind hinting towards the scout being something of a bad luck charm. He'd gone on plenty of runs in the past and never returned absolutely bone dry -- not like this, and the only conclusion in his mind was that it had something to do with Paul himself. Maybe the man was simply unlucky. Maybe their search styles didn't mesh. Maybe he was too much of a damn distraction.
It was hard to put his finger on, exactly -- but that doesn't stop him from placing the blame or getting frustrated as time goes on.
At least they work well together. Daryl trusts each one of Paul's steps as they move through the house, ears perked for any sound of the dead or otherwise. Blues are trained to movement, blades held tight. The lack of anything material or walking makes the town feel like it played home to ghosts and it causes a certain weight to grow in the hunter's chest. An uneasiness settles and he decides, in silence, that they wouldn't be checking many more houses after this one. Something felt wrong to him. Something that he couldn't place or name, but it was there.
Dixon sees nothing of interest in the dining room but something catches Paul's eye and sure enough, he ends up wondering and searching alongside the shorter man. A brow quickly lifts as Paul inspects the dusty player -- a million scolds forming on his tongue but dying befoe they pass his teeth.
It was a noisemaker. Noises were dangerous in their new world. Noises gave them away to shamblers and to smarter threats. It was music. Music had died with Beth Greene. With the rest of the world and yet he stops himself and thinks of baby Judith and her right to know such sounds as she aged. He thinks of the baby Maggie was fighting daily to carry -- about what kind of future the lot of them were fighting for.
In Daryl's heart, he wanted his loved ones to live in a world where they could enjoy music again.
“Don’t be surprised if it don’t.” The warning is for himself just as much as it is Paul as he shifts his gaze away from the smile -- away from the kindness that always seemed to radiate off the other. He shifts, unsure of himself and the comfortable air between them during their time alone. Unsure of what to think of it or what to really do about it.
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
dededos
origamiaround
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
