Who: Jo Harvelle, Daryl Dixon What: Meeting up Where: The bar When: Today Warnings: Daryl's grumpy. Maybe language
Ten days he'd been in this place, this alternate New York where the bodies outside the window were living, breathing, mostly functional people. The shops were stocked, there were refrigerators to keep food cold, and ovens to cook what needed to be cooked. Ten days of uncertainty worse than anything he'd known back home, because at least there in the world he knew as his own, he knew what to expect. He knew who he was, and what he needed to do. He didn't always make the right, or the best, choice, but he had earned his place, he had become part of a family.
Rick was here, in this alternate New York. None of the others had come through that stupid Tesseract yet. A few people had told Daryl they might come through one day. It didn't seem right that he and Rick were here, living the good life with food and running water, while they were stuck in that dark, dank prison with food rations and boiled river water.
He needed to get out of the apartment. He needed to do something other than gorge himself on fresh fruit and steamed vegetables. He'd eaten few vegetables before, now he couldn't get enough. But there was more to life than fresh food and hot showers.
Leaving a barely legible note for Rick on the kitchen counter, Daryl left the apartment paradise and headed downstairs to the bar. He'd met Jo his first night in this place, before he'd even reconnected with Rick. He didn't know if she'd be working now, and maybe she wouldn't even want to see him, but he wanted to see her.
He tugged the front of his shirt and his hand drifted to his hair, as if he could tame the wildness of it with a pat down. It was what it was, and he hadn't bothered to actually try and make himself presentable. Coming down here had been a whim, and even as he moved forward toward the bar, he started having second thoughts and considered turning around and heading back upstairs to the apartment.