WHO: daryl & gretel WHERE: the ratcatcher inn WHEN: early evening of 16 may WHAT: a nice little meeting between two archers WARNINGS: swearing
He’d paced the entirety of the town maybe eight or nine times over today. His breaks consisted of going back to talk to Rick, and discuss their next move, or checking in on Glenn, Michonne, and Hershel. Not that any of them really needed checking in on. Who knew being trapped in a tiny town would turn Daryl into such a damn worrier? But he had plenty of reason to be worried, and restless. He’d been stabbed with a giant sword. By now, he remembered it vividly, and to say it made him uneasy was an understatement.
Daryl ignored the townspeople that he passed as he walked down the street. They weren’t really people anyway he’d decided, as callous as it sounded. He wasn’t much a talker, but by god he was good at observing people and these people were definitely not natural. The people he did see that acted more or less real, he didn’t have much cause to interact with. They were all too busy wrapped up in their own worlds, talking over the devices they had and loudly discussing their plans of escape. Hell, if one of them did manage to figure a way out, he’d owe them one, but until then they were just loud inconveniences in strange costumes from worlds he couldn’t have possibly understood.
Somehow he’d made his way to the Ratcatcher Inn, readjusting his crossbow to hang off his back rather than being held in front. There were only a few others in the room, but it wasn’t as populated as the Sleepy Hollow, so the lack of people was a welcome change. And certainly, the Ratcatcher Inn sounded and smelled like the kind of place he and Merle would frequent back in the old days.
Shit, the old days. Now he felt like an old man.
He moved for the bar, grudgingly acknowledging the guy behind it. He could put aside his own hesitations with the townspeople long enough to get a drink, he supposed. After he grumbled his order and turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. Most of them appeared to be your average dead-eyed townsperson, but only one caught his eye-- because there weren’t a lot of people who carried around giant ass crossbows.
Daryl eyed the weapon for a good moment, finally resigning to the fact that he’d never seen its design before, and it certainly looked too clunky to be a mainstream company. With the drink he ordered placed in front of him, Daryl looked down at it for a moment before he finally spoke up.
“Where’d you get that crossbow?” he asked, still looking down at his drink.