pietro.
“it can be. i mean… if the walls.” he motions with long fingers, grits his teeth. “y’know, if they fall, i could probably get everyone out before anything happened. or get rid of. …whatever caused it.” both of his legs are pulled up to his chest, locked in place by his arms as pietro stares outwards at the endless arms of silent trees. sometimes he imagines that there’s a flash of red light from between them. or a cry of a familiar voice– modern day illusions that make his throat ache despite the way pietro forces himself to smile at the older man. friendly and human, what an odd combination. “i don’t want to destroy this. it needs to stay safe so. you can trust me, you and… everyone, i guess.”
a moment of silence, before he extends a hand.
“pietro.”
a grunt of acknowledgement, low and rough, Daryl’s grime coated fingers raking across his stubbled chin. it isn’t like he hasn’t thought of that - thought of it the moment the figured out what the kid was and could do. ❝ yeah, ❞ he shrugs, hand dropping, eyes following, and he takes the offered hand and shakes it ‘cause it kinda feels like Pietro expects it, and hell, it’s awkward, but he seems alright. ❝ daryl. ❞ another pause, less awkward as he looks at him, arms crossing. ❝ people get spooked by you a lot, or what? ❞
