hopeless wanderer

Independent and Fandomless Original CharacterMultiverse & Multi-ship Highly NSFW (triggers not tagged) See Rules for more information. Established: June 2013 Tagging: #rilesbaker She/her | Age: 28 | Pacific Standard Written by: Blue

[daryliisms]

Click here to support Ireland Study Abroad for a New Start organized by Gianna Rea

I’m new to this “living your best life” deal right now. The last 10 years of my life, I was in a toxic and highly abusive relationship. It e

TLDR; I’m going to Ireland for the summer. I won’t be getting any type of income during this time frame and I don’t have enough to help with my bills. Any small amounts would do wonders to helping me sustain myself. Please and thank you!

[daryliisms]

Because I feel fucking beautiful and free of my fucking shackles and I want to post shit of me– because I deserve the moon and everything in between and nothing less than.

Hi, hello. I’m Blue. Some of you know me really fucking well and others don’t at all. I’ve probably only posted a couple of sad woe-fucking me posts since my life went to hell back in November, but let me be completely transparent with you:

My 10-year relationship with my best friend and partner ended abruptly and fucking awfully. Not only that, but removing those disgusting rose-tinted glasses gave me a new prescription I was in desperate need of.

I was abused. I was physically, sexually, verbally and emotionally abused for the last 10 years of my life with my ex-boyfriend. He gaslit me every chance he got and when we argued I was made to feel like a fucking idiot. When I no longer wanted to fuck him because my body aversely reacted to his touch because how could someone you love beat the ever loving shit out of you and expect you to not be repulsed by such an action— he sought the comfort of a naive and dumb teenage girl that he could now manipulate and control. I was chided for being quiet and was used as a physical punching bag when he played games for the first 3 years of our relationship. That only stopped when he cracked my scalp open and threatened to kill himself when I made the decision to leave. I didn’t. That pattern of behavior is his norm: he threatened to do the exact same thing when I came home the next day after he cheated on me and I told him he would “have to learn to live without me”… I did not leave, because I’m a naive idiot who thought a narcissist would change his behaviors. Not a fat chance in fucking hell.

Obviously that wasn’t a completely consistent pattern but pretty frequent for it to be a norm for me. And I was okay with that being what my life was. That was the love I “thought” I deserved– NO. Behavior like that is not o-fucking-kay… EVER. I will be the first to say, I was a victim, but I am a survivor and I will never let another man lay his hands on me, talk down to me, make me feel less than what I am or give me an ultimatum of him or nothing at all. I deserve more than what I got out of the relationship. And you know what? It was a blessing in disguise and I’m better for it now. Why? Because I am no longer under the subtle guise of control where I couldn’t talk to people. I am no longer being forcefully coerced into relenting to his badgering when he wanted to fuck when I didn’t want to. Made to feel bad about the things I enjoyed like RP and TWD. Made to feel like a god damned pennied out whore or belittled for the tiniest petty things. Hearing him bang out a teenage girl in the room next door to me spoke volumes about the person HE is and the person SHE is and the levels of RESPECT they did not have for me… as a person but also as that little cunt’s BOSS. Yeah, fucked the boss’ boyfriend, smart move.

I realize that I am more than the sum of my flaws. I know I’m not perfect, but god damn was I close to fucking “wifey” material as it could get with the level of “beck-and-call” bullshit I had to endure. I in essence lived two lives, I focused more on him than myself and I forgot about who Blue was. I still do not know who I am, but I know now that I am better for it now– all the shit I endured. I will not settle for the familiar mediocrity that was my life.

Being able to be OPEN about WHY I can write Daryl so well is because I know what he’s been through. I understand why he is the way he is and how he is with his relationships because I’ve been in his shoes for so fucking long it’s ingrained into my being. I’ve been writing Daryl for the last 6 years as a coping mechanism for the shit I’ve endured and it makes sense why some people find my variant of him so intimidating– because it’s fucking realistic. That’s not me being “elitist”– I’m simply speaking facts here. I find that now I can come BACK to him because I don’t need to COPE on my own anymore because I’m growing… just like he is. We’re learning to not be so alone anymore.

I am living on my own– in an apartment with my cat. I still have my health and my car. I’m almost done with school– Fall semester here we go. I’ll be going to Galway, Ireland for the Summer for Photojournalism Study Abroad and I’m going to keep seeing this new guy that makes me feel great about myself. No conditions to his affections.

Just being me. And learning to love me and know that I am ENOUGH.

Again, I am Blue. I am Daryl’s mun and it’s nice to finally meet you.

[fyp-philosophy]

We are our choices.

Jean-Paul Sartre (via wordsnquotes)

[rilesbaker-blog]

DARYL | & riley:

          she smiles at him, and somehow, it makes him feel good. it feels like when jesus smiles at him, or rick, or carol; someone he’s close to. he gives a little half-smile in return, and it’s almost effortless.

          but then she proposes starting over, her hand held out in introduction like it’s the first time, and daryl can’t tell whether or not it’s in jest.

          finally, daryl shakes his head, waving away her hand.     ❛ don’ wanna start over, ❜     he says. he knows maybe she’s joking, that they would of course still know just as much about one another as they do now, but something about the phrase makes him uneasy. he’s already started over so many times in his life—– he doesn’t want to keep hitting the do-over button. doesn’t want to keep losing little bits of himself each time.

          ❛ don’ need to. we’re good. ❜

THE MUSCLES IN HER shoulders are bunched with her arm stuck out a little awkward, chin tucked tight against her chest. She’s still waiting on the hunter to take her hand back in return and give it a shake-- approving their new beginning on their friendship. But the gesture never comes and she’s carefully glancing beneath the fringe of her bangs to get a read on what Daryl might be thinking. When he finally gives his head a shake in response and waves her hand away, Riley’s smile falters a little and her outstretched hand retreats back in towards her body, fingers anxiously picking at her thumb.

What an idiot. How could I be so fucking stupid to think he’d want a do over. She’s agonizing in her head that she’s really ruined everything, but when Daryl gives exposition to his action, there’s an ease in the tension worked through her muscles.

“We’re good.” She reiterates. “Okay, we’ll be good. So... can we wear jerseys together since we’re a team?” The faintest smirk starts gracing her features as she glances to catch Daryl’s attention hoping he’ll enjoy her teasing.

[a-hedgehog-s-dilemma]

[rilesbaker-blog]

STEVE | & riley:

      No interest sparks inside his heart at her offer. Bullets, water, food, none of this interest him, none of it is something he wants. Want is not a word he needs to use anymore because a miracle would be needed for him to have what he wants, what he wishes. Blue eyes keeps scrutinizing her face, decisions are to be made. Steve thought about the water he has, the food he has, the goods he has. It means NOTHING. Living a life like a caged beast, alone without anyone. He feels like a poltergeist, here to see, here for people to go through ( or for him to go through people’s life ). Invisible, common, nobody to remember his face or even his name. He amounts to nothing in this world. 

      He had no amount too much before, that’s true but still, he could change before this. Now ? Now, he just has to survive until he dies. The only thing that can deliver him is death. Thoughts of suicide has passed by, sure. But still, he is a Catholic, he is not sure he believes but he would not do that to his Ma. If there is a HOPE for him to see her face again, he would not waste it. Some do think that Hell is here and they are living in it so he’s hoping. Plus, it’s not like he’s made to be anything but a fighter, but someone good. 

      Head tilts to the left side. Swallowing, clearing his throat before wetting his lips, he weighs his options. Either, tell her to get out or invite her in. Either sending a good person away to die or invite a monster in to rob him blind. Kill or save. Do good or evil. Either he chooses wisely, either he dies. His guts have been telling him since the beginning that he could trust her. Bracing himself as a last inhale passes his lips, he readies himself.      “I’ll give you what you want. Follow me.”      Dices have been thrown && now the game starts. 

      Back faces her as Steve starts walking toward the stairs. Trusting his guts, he decides to not worry about what is to happen. Future cannot be seen beforehand, there is no need to worry once choices are made. Boots hit the steps, sound jumping from walls to walls, resonating. Place is clean, he makes sure of it but sometimes, he thinks that maybe it indicates his presence too much ( but he needs his brain occupied ). Being at the top of the stairs, he stops, waiting, ears ready to hear whatever warning he can if something, someone is coming. 

SHE’S PERPLEXED BY his sudden response. For the longest time it felt like eternity had lapsed between the two strangers seemingly standing at the edge of the world. The motes of dust fluttered by through the shafts of light streaming through the darkened lobby. Her grip loosened ever so slightly on her weapon, boot slipping back to ground herself. A bead of sweat had formed at her temple, gently sliding down the curve of her cheekbone awaiting the stranger’s answer. Riley wasn’t sure if she could trust that what he was offering was valid. Such graciousness didn’t come for free-- there was always a cost attached somewhere. But, she reasoned that she could question his hospitality after viewing his supplies and whether or not she wanted to partake.

Riley doesn’t say anything. Her eyes fixate on the stranger as he turns and begins to lead her back the way he had come. There’s a sort of hollowness to his words and an empty cadence laced in his voice that leaves her a little uneasy as she hesitates to take a step forward.

I need these supplies. I don’t want to die.

Swallowing any anxiety she had pilling in her throat, Riley decides to follow along after the stranger. She’s still not quite sure if the man is offering up his supplies freely or wanting to barter. She had no qualms with the latter, but the former was something she could not accept without understanding the conditions that came with such graciousness.

“Do you get many visitors ‘round these parts?” She asks as she quietly picks her way up the staircase. Soft TUP TUP TUP of her boots clicking against the surface as she hesitates when he suddenly stops at the height of the stairs. “I’m just heading East. Trying for the coast. Trading for supplies along the way.”

Riley waits just as the stranger above her does so, too. She’s not sure what he’s waiting for, but it creates a thickened tension, which feels electric against her sweat-slicked skin. The inside of the building is stuffy. The air is thick and the energy of the afternoon sun broiling down on the roof traps enough heat that it’s almost insufferable. “I’m Riley.” She finally calls up to the stranger, feeling like there was a necessity there to break the ice in some capacity.

The wrench is still clutched in her hands, a loose offensive position in case this good samaritan of hers turned on her.

[shinichiro-watanabe]

Visit Original Link

Arianne Schreiber - Komm Susser Tod

[rilesbaker-blog]

DARYL | & riley:

          he stands there, waiting, watching her as she struggles to formulate what she wants to say now that she’s under the spotlight of his gaze. but as riley finally stutters through the first couple of words, daryl feels himself soften up slowly, his heart beating new empathy through his veins. it forces him to push through the fog of his irritation, thinking through the feelings of loneliness and betrayal that came up during their conversation and breaking them down as she talks him through her own thoughts. he tries to listen. tries to consider how she feels. it’s a lot harder than denise said it would be.

          his gaze drops.     you matter. —– we’re a team.

          does she truly believe those things?

          and why does he only seem to have these sorts of feelings with her?

          ❛ yeah, ❜     daryl says after a long moment, nodding a little. he’s calmed down, the anger in his gut soothed with every steady breath he takes. he shouldn’t be so harsh with her, he comes to realize. it’s not fair.     ❛ yeah. we’re a team. ❜

RILEY WANTS TO HEAR him say that he understands her maddened rambling and that her peaked anxiety is just something she orchestrated over upsetting him. She knows that there’s a layer of thin ice just barely holding together what semblance of a friendship they had or could have. She doesn’t even know if he cares to bother with it anymore. Please don’t stop being my friend. She’s screaming it in her head like a silent mantra she hopes he can feel through the transcendence of time and space.

She doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

She can’t do it again.

After a long painful pause, Daryl finally delivers her an answer. It’s brief but to the point. We’re a team. A feeling of elatedness fills her chest as her words echo back. A feeble smile curls her lips-- he understands. “Right. We’re a team.” She reiterates. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to upset you, Daryl. Can we start over?”

Riley tentatively holds her hand out. “Hi, I’m Riley. Nice to meet you.”

[rilesbaker-blog]

STEVE | & riley:

      Blue hues fixed on her face, he observed, his steps taking him closer and closer. Steve walked slowly, a silence chattering THUD for each time his shoes hit the floor. He was taking his time purposely, he wanted her to know that he had no fear in his heart, that his body was a SHIELD to protect what he possessed, that strength was not something she could use against him. He was a good man in a storm: he would not move, he would not yield. Observing, he noted the stress that dripped from her stance, fidgeting, hesitating. She was scared and, as much as he hated himself for thinking that, he was relieved. Scared meant that she had no plan to attack him, no trick upon her sleeve, scared meant that she might be honest in her entreprise. 

      His gaze never wavered, unflinching like his stance, he would hold his ground. He had been abused, tricked. His compassion, his need to help was a FLAW in a world like this, with everyone being prey to others’ needs and desires. Steve was careful to keep his face blank as she spoke, steps halting however ( he had no wish to be too close, he had no wish to be in harm’s way ). So she wanted protection or, at least, somewhere to be safe. The girl wished to trade too which meant that either she was playing him on the long run OR she really wanted both of them to get out of this encounter unscarred. Anyway, he could give her a minimum of trust his guts told him and he tried to always listen to them. In the past, it had hardly faulted him. 

      “ What kind of supplies do you need ? “ he asked, tilting a bit his head. Left hand on his belt, right clenched on the machette, he waited. Steve knew that he could help, that he had supplies to spare. Nevertheless, he WOULD NOT give anything to bad people, no, he wouldn’t help them strive. His jaw clenched, thinking that if he wasn’t in this particular state of mind, he would be able to move and thus, he would be able to put an end to all those people that made this situation oh so terrible. Steve would put them all down if only he could be sure that he would be putting down whose who needed to be. But his brain was a TRAITOR, spreading its influence slowly but surely and poisoning his judgement. He just couldn’t do it. 

RILEY WAS STILL BOUNCING on the balls of her feet, arm cocked back with the hydrant wrench clasped tightly in her white-knuckled grasp. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest-- THUD THUD THUD. It rattled her insides, but she had to keep the tangled emotions from bubbling forth, locking them in a stoic gaze. Her jaw clenched, muscle pulsing as the man took slow, but deliberate steps in her direction. The sound of boots gently sliding back felt like nails on a chalkboard as she inched back just enough that she wasn’t losing too much distance from where she’d entered from.

As her eyes fidgeted to hold their gaze on the man, she noticed something almost DEAD within those hazy blue eyes so focused ahead. It was hard to place whether he had endured such horrors that any triflings with survivors were so commonplace it didn’t matter anymore or that there was hidden trauma long since seeped into his bones. She wasn’t looking to find out. His deadened stare was causing a shiver to run the gamut of her spine and unnerving as it was, she was desperate to get away from this place.

“Food.” She answered immediately. Nodding her head in a hurried manner. There was no curtailing the necessities she had entered the building for. It had been a few days since she’d found food. The last of her supplies were slowly dwindling and what little she had was left for an emergency. Water was her top priority. Folks lived vastly longer on water than food alone, but that was not a theory she was willing to test. “I got bullets and some painkillers for trade.”

Riley hopes that whatever the stranger has to offer is enough that relinquishing the precious supplies she has buried in her pack will satiate her hunger. She’s scavenged enough that it should be a worthy offering or enticing enough that she gets more for what it’s worth.

“If you don’t have anything-- don’t bother. I’ll leave.” She finally adds noticing the way the man is poised with his hand set at his belt. The gleam of the somewhat dull machete dangles, glint of sunlight idly bouncing off it from the splintered boards securing the building. It’s only then her attention flits towards her surroundings. Everything is neat, orderly, and relatively clean considering the shit-hole the world had evolved into. The muscles in her arms are aching from the dead weight of the wrench still clutched in a batter’s swing. She’s waiting on the stranger to make his move.

[wordsnquotes]

She’s never where she is. She’s only inside her head.

Janet Fitch, White Oleander. (via wordsnquotes)

[rilesbaker-blog]

STEVE | & riley:

   The girl didn’t see what he did, she didn’t see the light, didn’t see the warning. But nonetheless, she retracted and he gritted his teeth as he realized that she was coming for his building. He haven’t known the town before the outbreak, had stumbled upon it as he had searched for somewhere to hide away. He had liked the proximity of the shopping center. Steve was afraid of himself, of the part of his mind that he had no grasp on. 

   Sighing, he straightened his back. He didn’t wish to hurt anyone, didn’t wish to cause any problem. Still, this was his building, his safe place and he would prefer if she could just get the hell away from him. Fingers tightened around the handle of his machete, light step guiding him through the only usable stairwell. He hadn’t built any trap, for fear of hurting himself when his mind was overcome. However, he had created some kind of labyrinth, made so as to guide someone to him, made so as to make someone lose their way inside the building. 

   Steve heard a door creaking, he knew the sound of every door, every floor, every window of this building. He knew exactly where she was. Keeping his feet light, he walked swiftly to the stairs on the side of the entry. The girl was there, dark hair and slender frame. He knew that, physically, he could easily overpower her. Not that it was what he wanted to do but it was always better to assess a possible enemy (even though there was no greater enemy than himself). The girl spoke and he approached, slowly, keeping his blue eyes on her face, trying to catch her gaze. 

   The calm that surrounded him felt good. Those kind of situations were familiar, the possibility of fighting, the fact that hostility was dormant and tension was everywhere. He knew this and that made him feel safe. Her voice broke the tension like a knife, clear in the silence surrounding them. “Who are you ?” he asked, his voice hoarse from lack of talking.

SHE HEARD HIM long before she ever saw him, but as the stranger made his appearance known, Riley was winding up her swing as he approached. She kept her distance. Her steps sidling back and forth from boot tip to boot tip, bouncing back and forth in case she needed to make a breaking sprint back the way she came. She could never be too cautious-- especially given the nature of the world and the way men conducted themselves in such a lawless manner. She’d had one too many scruples to underestimate the nature and will of men.

The air swelling within the room felt thick and difficult to breathe. Each effort to intake a lungful of air felt like a struggle. But as his voice croaked through the unerring silence, Riley couldn’t back down-- not yet at least.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard noticing his unwavering hawklike gaze. It unnerved her a little with how focused it was and she had to avert her own attention just enough so that it wasn’t so piercing, as if boring through her soul and seeing her for what she was. “I’m just chasing safety.” She answers tentatively, her tongue darting to lick along her chapped lips. Her own voice had cracked, wondering how long it had been since last she’d spoken with another human being. It certainly was far too long-- beyond her own commentary spoken to herself regarding the happenstance of her situation. “I don’t want trouble. I can trade for supplies-- if you’ve any to spare. Otherwise, I’ll leave you be.”

Riley hopes that her offer will entice the man to produce her an ultimatum of to “scram” or barter for any munitions she can gather. She’s got a stash of painkillers and some bullets for a pistol that don’t fit inside the magazine of the one tucked into her backpack. The only time she used it was for bluffing-- she was lucky that the person that was hastling her didn’t notice that she’d forgotten the safety.

[thequotejournals]

Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self portrait. Everything is a diary.

Chuck Palahniuk (via wordsnquotes)

[rilesbaker-blog]

STEVE | & riley:

        It was nothing, nothing AT ALL. His breath caught in his throat, his windpipe drying as he waited for another sound. But nothing came, everything was silent, terribly, SADLY silent. His jaw tightened as he realized he had wished for something, someone. He had wished for ANYTHING. Though he was aware he should stay as he was, utterly alone, he had wished for someone to show. Dry lips exhaled a shallow breath, head shaking so as to compose himself once more and he reclaimed his previous position. 

        Maybe he had wished so hard, he had heard things. Maybe he had wanted to hear someone else, another human being, so bad, he had imagined it. His mind spiraled to all the flaws his mind held, to all the scars his body shown and he wondered once more if he wasn’t CRAZY. If all of this wasn’t some kind of nightmarish lullaby he had been singing to himself. Something caught his attention though, a light that lit his face.

        Blue eyes squinting, he found the source of this change in a matter of seconds. There was someone outside, trying to get inside the shopping center. Knowledge that this entry wasn’t one to be used flooded him and, in an action that puzzled him, he raised the blade of his machete, willing the sun to blind this person, to make her look at him.

        As far as he could remember, he had always wanted to serve his country, to help the weak, to HELP people. That was the reason that drove him to enlist in the army, that was the reason that made him fight all those bullies back in the days. It was that same reason that made him immediately, instinctively help this person. He wanted to be useful, he wanted to help, he wanted to protect.

        Teeth grinding, he hoped that the girl would understand, would see what it was that he was trying to do. Because yes, it was a girl, he could now see it clear as day. He wasn’t naive enough to believe someone would TRUST him in an instant in a world like this but he hoped she would at least give him the benefit of the doubt. It was, after all, for her own good.

THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, stalled on squeaky hinges before silence flooded the entry. Riley took a hesitant step through the threshold, fingers grasped tight about the hydrant wrench in her hands. She had to be careful-- always. Too much sound alerted the dead and their surrounding cohorts, almost as if they all were a hive mind. Riley tried to keep her footsteps as light as possible, but her boots were heavy and her body trembled and shook from the leg of her journey. So her boots THUD THUD THUDDED just loud enough that anyone within the vicinity should hear her before she encountered them.

In spite of her intuition nagging her to retreat back to the main street, Riley proceeded forward a few more steps before stopping altogether. She listened. Her ears pricked at each subtle sound that echoed solemnly through the hall she entered. From what she discerned of the sparse seconds of silence she endured, there were no dead and no other scavengers that resided within-- at least so far from where she stood.

Cautiously she continued on, not really knowing which way she should be heading. The hall was dimly lit from the sun filtering through the initial entry and from the few boarded up windows she passed. A dank smell of dust and mold filled her senses and Riley had to pull her shirt up above her nose to stifle the scent. Hopefully it wasn’t for much longer until she found a door with a large “CAUTION: THIS DOOR LOCKS” sign plastered on it. Glancing around, she looked for a door-stopper to prevent it from locking. Last thing she needed was to get trapped inside and not have a means of escape should it be required.

She quickly rummaged through her bag and dug out a tin mint case. It was empty. The mints long since expired had been used to flavor tea or anything else she deemed bland. With the door now propped open, Riley entered through the entry and halted when she took notice of something else in the building. “Who’s there?” She called softly, raising her wrench up slowly like a bat. Riley waited for the person to approach, her heart beginning to hammer away at her chest.

[rilesbaker-blog]

STEVE | & riley:

Sweat clung to his skin, a lone drop slowly making its way down his face. Blue eyes were staying on the street below. The sun was high, its rays hitting his pupils, making him blink once MORE. Steve felt a chill run up his spine and shook his head, trying not to let his mind run away from him.

Memories were plaguing him, never letting him totally surface, always sticking to him like a bad smell. Feeling underwater most of the time, never being truly sure of what was true and what was a figment of his imagination, he had chosen to stay away from other human beings. He had already been a DANGER to others before, before the Apocalypse, before the corpses came back to life but now, now he was a death sentence. They lived in a world where blood, screams, the scent of powder, gunshots were a day-to-day occurrence. All those little things, and even more he wasn’t yet aware of, could trigger him, could trigger this person inside him that he had no control over.

This person he didn’t even remember completely was him except past traumas had built an empire over his mind, claiming him whole. He had TRIED to fight against it, to reclaim some scraps of himself but it has won as only fear controlled him. Oh sure, he had his tricks, children tricks (like putting his hands over his ears, closing his eyes so tight he would start to see stars), bloodied tricks (like lettings his nails bite his skin, crimson blood & pain anchoring him) but nothing really shut it down, it was just delaying!!! the inevitable.

And thus, Steve hid himself away, away from harm, away from people, away from all. He tried to keep sane by keeping a routine, by keeping a journal. Fingers tightened on the machette that rested against his side, his body tight in front of the window. Breathe in, breathe out, he thought of himself as a good man in a storm so as to keep steady the rhythm of his heartbeat and the static in his mind. A sound startled him, like THUNDER with a cloudless sky as background and his breath caught. Blood pumping rapidly, his heart raced, a cold sweat dampened his previously hot skin and he turned. 

SHE WAS TIRED from walking, calves burning and her joints a dulling ache. Riley wanted to stop and take a breather, but she knew the time spent on such trivial moments only further delayed the inevitable. If she couldn’t find a decent shelter or some meager munitions, Riley would go hungry again. At the very least, she needed to hunt down a drinking source. She knew she could live longer if she had water, but food would provide the desired energy required that so she could endure the next leg of her journey in search of sanction.

Riley swiped at her face. A trickle of sweat ran down her brow as the blistering sun beat down upon her as she trudged unwillingly down the street. It was a small town in the middle of podunk nowhere. She imagined that everyone probably knew everyone and their business alike. Nothing ever happened here. The worst was probably a burglary or a domestic dispute, but nothing exciting ever occurred-- until the day the corpses reanimated and came stripping flesh of bone. The thought made her shiver as she continued down the main road.

Cars were abandoned everywhere-- their doors wide open, trunks half-shut or still stuck in the collisions they’d occurred in at the time. It was always interesting encountering such happenstance the moment the fevers took hold of the country. Part of Riley tried not to think of it.

She swallowed hard but continued her walk, fingers loosely clenched about the large hydrant wrench. The power behind the blunt force of the wrench was more formidable than an axe. She’d abandoned the axe when it got stuck in the skull of one of the walking dead as more encroached upon her position and she was forced to flee.

In the middle of town, Riley stopped to gather her bearings. The main road led in and out of the town-- however there appeared to be a small shopping center not too far from where she was and that seemed her best bet on securing munitions. The walk was short and she moved briskly to get out of the sun faster. From its appearance the front doors were locked and barred, so Riley scouted about in search of an entry. When she found one, she took a long deep breath and entered with trepidatious steps.

[rilesbaker-blog]

DARYL | & RILEY:

          the night comes like a storm, blanketing them in darkness and leaving behind only the stars and the moon for natural light. no way they would have made it home in time, he thinks. no way in hell. he’s glad they stopped, anyway: the last thing they need is to encounter something wicked in the dark.

          after a little while, daryl pulls a granola bar out of his backpack and unwraps it, tossing the silvery packaging into the flames and watching as it quickly crinkles and folds in on itself, melting into ash. it tastes incredibly stale, daryl notes as he takes the first bite, and it’s a little more solid than a granola bar should be, but there isn’t much to be expected from packaged food these days. that is, if you can still find any.

          ❛ sleep if you can, ❜          he says in between bites. his voice is low so as to keep anything or anyone from hearing him speak.          ❛ i’ll keep watch. we start again at dawn. ❜

HER ABSENT MINDED gaze lazily observes the way the flames lick up in long snaking tendrils, casting cinders to dance along the light breeze fluttering by. Riley keeps quiet as she feels the aching tension of the day’s hike ebb into her muscles. There were still many miles to travel before they made it back to camp. She yawned visibly tired and thankful that Daryl had volunteered to take the first shift of night watch.

Frankly, she’d hardly heard him until the flames darkened a little when he tossed the wrapper from his granola bar into the flames. The flames had danced in a wispy motion before receding back to the normal cascade of flickering.

“Wake me in a few hours-- you need to sleep.” She urges, rubbing the heel of her hand into the hollow of her eye and yawning. “You need your strength, too.” Her gaze flickers over towards the hunter briefly, noting his disheveled appearance and wondered when he did or if he ever got a decent night’s sleep.

[weretooyoungtofallasleep]

[rilesbaker-blog]

CLYDE | & RILEY:

“As I said suppose that's fuckin’ fine fer ye but not fer me… do what ye want aye… I’m not interested.” The ex-mechanic snarls out to the strange woman with a dusting of his dusty jeans and a shake of his leg while shoving another spoonful into his mouth. In truth, he did mind what she said. In truth the loneliness and bitterness had begun to take a bit of a toll on him, but negativity in some way seemed to ease that ache. Guaranteed, that too much of it wasn’t good by any means, but quite a bit of it went a long way and seemed necessary to Clyde. The acceptance that the world around him was bleak, kept him strong, diverted the demons from taking hold of him and oddly kept death at bay. The terminally ill were always told that positivity was part of the cure or at least crucial for battling whatever ailed them and a sheer sign of power. However in this circumstance and where Clyde found himself, it was detrimental to making it out alive and a sign of weakness. The ex-mechanic just wasn’t prepared to give up the sourness gaping inside and the strength he had harnessed through his pessimism, for the sake of warm and accepting company. That company would only turn on him in the end like everyone he had attempted to trust in the past. 

THOUGH SHE DIDN’T wait to pay him much mind after making her peace with the stranger, Riley hesitated halfway up the stairwell. The stranger was rambling on again. She paused-- neither bothering to glance his direction nor to grant him that privilege. The stranger had been rude to her and though her good laurels were hollering to be "kind", Riley could hardly fein to do so. “We all have our methods of survival-- some more self-destructive than others. You go your way and I’ll go mine.” She states simply before continuing her ascension to the second floor of the little cottage.

The return back to the bathroom felt more claustrophobic than before. The walls far too close and the air a bit more stifling somehow. She wasn’t sure if it had to do with her prior scuffle with the strangeror; or if she was still a little rattled from having a canned food item chucked in her general direction. Come to think she’d never really dealt with much confrontation in her life and dealing with such an ornery and standoffish man like that took her by surprise. Most folks she encountered on the road were stern, but usually placated themselves when she offered to trade for whatever munitions they could spare.

Sighing to herself, Riley resigned that her night would be confined to the upstairs for the time being. She would leave once the morning came. The sun was creeping down along the coastal valleys and she didn’t care to get lost in the countryside after dark.