WHO: daryl & beth (later hershel) WHERE: the streets, then the sleepy hollow WHEN: evening of 16 may WHAT: holy shit beth is alive and wasn't turned into cannibal food WARNINGS: swearing
He was tired, that much was obvious. For a small town, it sure as hell felt like everytime he made a lap around its premises that he’d always see something, or hell, someone new. It was like these people just showed up out of nowhere, and he frankly didn’t want to think too much about it. At this point, Hershel’s idea of Purgatory was starting to make more sense by the minute. Maybe he, Rick, Glenn, and Michonne had all died in that box car in Terminus and they just didn’t know it.
But those were the kind of thoughts that gave Daryl a headache, and after drinking at the Ratcatcher Inn, that was the last thing he wanted to do. He dragged himself down the streets, intent on making one last run of the place to look for anything of value before heading back to find Rick. It was probably a good thing Carl wasn’t there, but he had to wonder how Rick was holding up not knowing with certainty where his son was.
The people in this town were, to say the least, weird as shit. Daryl really didn’t have time to play games, and while he resisted the urge to demand answers out of them via violent persuasion, he couldn’t help but wonder how long they all expected to survive in this kind of town with the shit that happened when those sirens went off. As uncomfortable as it made some small part of him, he looked at the natives like he did walkers. Just sentient, and not as eager to eat his flesh (that they knew of, yet.)
Daryl stopped by the church, turning his back to the side of the building and leaning against it, readjusting his crossbow to sit beside him. He leaned his head back against the structure and mulled over his thoughts, not that he had too many worth really focusing on longer than a few moments. It was out of pure luck, then, that he would turn his head to the side to stare at the few people walking down the street.
There were few things that could really catch his attention at that moment. The drink he had with that chick at the Ratcatcher was pretty damn strong, after all. And, honestly, there were a lot of blondes in the world. What there weren’t a lot of, however, were blondes that had a pretty prominent limp. He stood a little straighter, squinting his eyes to get a better look at the blonde walking the opposite direction, and at first he didn’t believe it. But in the end there was no mistaking that limp, or that mess of blonde hair.
“Beth!” he called, snatching up his crossbow and bolting away from the church.