[ march ii log: ageless beauty ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone!
What: The skies finally lighten, and so do spirits, but there are still quiet machinations in the dark. The good doctor's fate is finally decided.
When: March 18th - 31st
Where: Barrayaran camp, Cetagandan base & Riverfall Village
Warnings: TBD

Quick links:
Riverfall
Barrayar: Plague / Camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Plague / Base / Missions

First: Special thanks and credit to Vee (veelynn) for lending us her beautiful photography for this event!
TIMELINE
3/19 Art Fair
3/20 York & Ratchet's arrival to the Barrayaran camp
3/22 Raid: Medical Supplies
3/26 Haut Sei's arrival, Eavesdropping Eta
3/27 Eavesdropping Sigma
3/27 - 3/28 Rat Race
3/29 Official reception for Haut Sei
3/30 Mystery Plot

One thing can be said for the month of March: at least the weather's gotten better. By mid-month, while the piled-up snow is slow to melt, the temperatures have now risen to just freezing rather than well below freezing. It's still a pretty cold March, but by this point, anything close to freezing feels like a balmy spring, and they have a nice string of sunny days for the rest of the month.

riverfall
Although their numbers have been thinned by the flu epidemic, Cetagandan patrols still pass regularly through the village, allowing those spying for the Cetagandans to pass along information via dead drop.

Riverfall was hit just as hard by the epidemic as the camp, and by the end of the month, the village houses no more than sixty people. The aid from the outsiders and soldiers in caring for and treating the sick goes a long way, but by the end, there are still a lot of bodies to bury and souls to burn death offerings for. There's an overall somber cast to the village despite the brightening weather.

barrayar
The Barrayarans haven't been hit as dramatically as the Cetagandans, but their numbers are much fewer, and patrols are still thin. Anyone healthy enough is being asked to pull double shifts, stretching their resources where they can, but at least the food situation is improving considerably thanks to both Xav's relief supplies and the lightening weather.

Once seeing both his daughters recover from the flu, Prince Xav leaves camp on the 19th to rendezvous with his transport back to Vorbarr Sultana so he can make another risky attempt at getting off-planet and back through the wormhole blockade. Ezar, as Piotr's aide-de-camp, sticks around -- and so does Negri, of course.

Knowing that it would be safer (if less comfortable) and possibly more useful for the Barrayarans to rendezvous with Micah rather than try to get them back off-planet, Xav leaves Doctor Niadem's fate in Barrayaran hands…and not to great result. Now that the Cetagandans have Micah, Piotr and his general staff -- and anyone in-the-know enough about the situation to provide any advisement -- are still debating what to do about Micah and the wormhole device. They could either try to rescue Micah to their side…or leave them in Cetagandan hands and hope to make contact via one of their informants.

This makes cultivating informants on the Cetagandan side an even higher priority, and if anyone has any ties to outsiders on the other side, personal or otherwise, Piotr wants to hear about it. Any intelligence about the Star Gate Project is vital.

plague
The ill in the camp and Riverfall are recovering, slowly, but the flu is still spreading, reaching its apex, and people are still getting sick. Even as the weather clears up, it's still damp, and many of the sick are falling to pneumonia, a near-certain death without antibiotics. They've already exhausted the medical supplies Xav and Ezar brought with them, and the medical raids went poorly -- only resulting in enough antibiotics for about 20% of the village and camp's combined population.

By the end of the month, though, the Barrayarans are finally beginning to pull through. The camp and village start to recover, with the mortalities over the month total to 58 influenza-related deaths. It's time to bury the death, burn a death offering, and keep on moving on.

camp
Both Olivia and Sonia have recovered from their bouts with the flu, more or less intact despite Olivia's very touch-and-go health for a while. Now Sonia's repaying everyone's visits to her by tending to the sick and helping out where she can. And as the weather warms up and people start to recover, the line for the bath tent starts getting longer…it's still pretty cold, but after lying around in the sickbay tent for a while, few people are going to complain for the chance to wash.

Morale is still buckling, so amidst all the doom and gloom, Sonia decides to try and bring a little levity to the camp by hosting a makeshift little art show on the 19th. The Princess can often be seen with her old antique camera, taking candids or scenic pictures in the mountains, although she rarely shows her work to anyone else. Tonight, though, she has hung up a variety of her black-and-white photos around the camp for the art fair -- some of the candids are even of outsiders, and Sonia's aim seems to be catching everyone in their warmest, happiest moment. There's no sense of tragedy or despair in her work.

She's encouraged as many of the soldiers and outsiders to contribute anything in the way of art -- stories, songs, performance, or craft, she invites it all. A few soldiers make a surprisingly harmonic little chorus, and some visiting villagers give engaging tellings of Barrayaran legends. Lakshmi shows off some of her embroidery, and Beth and Tucker both bring a little singing to the table, although the majority of Barrayarans probably aren't going to appreciate a cappella Queen. Daryl shoots a mouse and either fails to understand art entirely or transcends to a brand new plane of artistic enlightenment. Also, please don't let Tucker pose nude for you.

It winds up doing some good for morale -- giving the soldiers some other context to focus on besides the war, something of an escape, or a reminder of what they're fighting for and what they long to live to see again. And for the first time, Sonia doesn't feel quite so useless.

missions
The medical assistance provided by the outsiders doesn't go unappreciated, nor without effect. Not every day is a success, but at least they manage to keep the mortality rate from climbing too high.

The medical raids are a near-unmitigated disaster, with every single raiding party running afoul of Cetagandan guards and losing some of their bounty on the way out. They only manage to make away with supplies/topicals/OTC analgesics for 40% of the population, vaccine for 20% of the population, and antibiotics for 35% of the population.

The race to Micah's location in Vorkosigan Vashnoi is a frantic one, but despite the outsiders' efforts as well as Natasha, Byerly and Kaidan's efforts to slow down the Cetagandans, the Cetagandans get to Doctor Micah Niadem first.

Here are the unabridged mission results.

cetaganda
Piotr's attempt at psychological warfare was a total success: Zahal is furious over the severed body parts of his own soldiers discovered around the camp, and even more so over the wholly unintentional but devastating biowarfare that comes with it. That part has Piotr rather tickled.

With full intel on Micah's location in hand, Zahal sends as many able-bodied squads to Vorkosigan Vashnoi as he can, including several exotics. Natasha, Kaidan and Byerly work covertly to try and slow the operation down, but ultimately, the Cetagandans still reach Micah first and bring them back to base -- taking proper precaution to vaccinate them before bringing them in, of course. It wouldn't do for their newest and very valuable asset to suddenly die of some backwater plague.

The Cetagandan base is still pretty thin on the personnel front, but they're managing to continue operations as normal. The announcement of the visit from the Handmaiden of the Star Crèche has every able-bodied person on base in a frenzy as they try to prepare and make the base suitable for receiving her. This is clearly an occasion of great honor as well as face -- if she were improperly received, ghem-General Zahal and Lady Diya would surely suffer for it.

plague
The plague reaches its apex in the Cetagandan base, but with Ratchet and Natasha's help, they were able to synthesize a vaccine for the flu. The quarantine isn't airtight, so there's still risk of infection, and they have to make sure those distributing the vaccine aren't at risk of spreading the infection. Overall, they're able to inoculate about 80% of the uninfected population.

Amai makes a full recovery, despite being dramatically (albeit not entirely unrealistically) convinced she was on death's door every second.

By the end of the month, the Barrayaran flu has about a 30% mortality rate on the Cetagandan base, resulting in about 3000 influenza-related deaths.

base
The quarantine remains in effect until nearly the end of the month, but finally, once the epidemic has died down and the Handmaiden has been vaccinated, Haut Sei Navarr arrives. The base hurriedly puts together a formal reception for her on the 30th, and rather than another party, it is just that -- a clearly ritualized receiving of her presence, so rarely seen beyond Eta Ceta, let alone the rest of the Empire.

The reception for Haut Sei is exceedingly formal, and unlike the relatively lighter air of the party last month, inappropriate behavior is going to be much less generously tolerated here. The exotics are not required to attend, but if they do, it'll be about a four-hour reception with a clear ritual protocol that will nonetheless seem very obtuse to outside viewers. Diya is prominent in the reception, being the only other haut on base, and is in fact the only one truly suited to receive her -- although, unlike Diya, Haut Sei does not appear in public unmasked. As is the custom of haut ladies still in their constellations, Haut Sei travels in a float chair encased in an opaque force bubble -- she can see out, but no one can see in. She brings with her a small entourage of servitors known as the ba, who serve not only as testing grounds for new genetic combinations, but are also genetically engineered for loyalty and service. Ba are not clones -- each ba is a work of art unto itself, each carefully created, and while they are not quite so fey in their beauty, the aesthetic effort is undeniable. All of the ba with Haut Sei are curiously hairless, which seems to be a popular trend in their design among the haut these days.

Meanwhile on the scientific end, the Cetagandans are delving deeper into what is officially referred to as the Star Gate Project. They're working with Satya to build a hard-light mapping device, but in the meantime, they have laid out the most crucial parts needed to build it: high-precision electromagnetic bearings to hold up the Necklin rods and spin them by a magnetic field for reduced friction; high-quality seals and pumps to create the necessary vacuum required for precise jump-plotting; something generating EM shielding to prevent interference, a problem unique to creating a Necklin field of this size and in this environment; and high-precision controls and controls software based on those used in existing jump ships, modifications for which are underway. And, of course, the Necklin rods themselves, which they have yet to figure out a way to fabricate.

And now that Micah is on base, the Cetagandans can finally put them to work in the wormhole lab on some of those elusive five-space math problems.

They're still developing their theory of neural netting and how a Necklin field might directly interact with the human brain without a jump implant. Based on their research so far, this may not actually be much of a problem, but there's another factor they have yet to work out: how to key the Star Gate to an exotics' own home universe. The Cetagandan neurologists have a few theories that they're working with Deanna and Natasha on.

missions
With help from the exotics, they're able to vaccinate 80% of the base's uninfected population. Satya and Pearl, despite their hard efforts, have yet to finish the hard-light mapping device by the end of the month.

A few exotics learn a bit more about Sei and Diya's history, as well as Diya and Amai's plans for covering up their less than authorized experiments. It also comes to light that the haut are planning to open gene therapy trials for any exotics who experienced power loss.

The race to Micah's location in Vorkosigan Vashnoi is a frantic one, but despite the outsiders' efforts as well as Natasha, Byerly and Kaidan's efforts to slow down the Cetagandans, the Cetagandans get to Doctor Micah Niadem first.

Here are the unabridged mission results.

Note: Negri, Amai, Zahal, and Olivia are available for threads by request only. Please hit up Madi (Negri & Amai) or Ammay (Zahal & Olivia) respectively for you want threads with either of those NPCs. You can also request a thread with Village Speaker Yakiv Gura if you want, in which case hit up Madi.

Comments

daryl dixon | barrayar mostly ota.

[pigsfeet]

a. QUEEN AMONG THE HEATHER | locked to lakshmi.

Daryl hasn't bathed in months, months before he showed up in Barrayar, even. Not since the prison, and even then, he was careful about it. Private bathing is a thing of the distant past, and Daryl is a man who appreciates his privacy. He sees the long line to the bath tent, and waits it out.

At four in the morning, no one is awake to stop him. It's not warm, but it's not frigid, either. Daryl has survived worse.

He wanders into the tent in the cover of night, and finally, finally begins to wash.

b. NOTHING TO IT | archery range, ota.

To get any kind of respect and trust in this place, you have to prove yourself. That's how it works anywhere, but it still chafes at Daryl's pride. He knows he'd be better with a bow if he switched to the crossbows they have, but they have more longbows, and he shouldn't be so dependent on them. He's been practicing before he got sick, and when he recovers, he's right back at it.

When he thinks he's ready, he asks the quartermaster for someone to train him. They lead him onto the field and one of the better bowmen shows him the ropes, how to draw, how to aim. Daryl's been bringing back rabbits and fat rats for weeks now, and they really ought to know better, but it seems a fair segment of the soldiers think an outsider can't really shoot, not for combat.

Daryl knocks his first arrow, and it's not a bullseye, but it's damn close. The next is closer. By the fourth, he's hit bullseye, and he goes from there, shooting each with a keen eye and a calm demeanor.

That said, this is about the closest Daryl's gotten to smiling in months. The instructor takes the bow back, surly, and Daryl folds his arms triumphantly.

c. WHEN I WRITE THE BOOK | art show, ota.

Daryl was nagged into attending, which is the entire reason he's here. He doesn't have much of an appreciation for art, so he just nods and shrugs along as people present their pieces. If asked to comment, he'll shrug, or shake his head. It's all he can really do.

Staring out into the space between the camp and the trees, he sees a mouse scurrying nearby. Daryl draws an arrow and shoots, managing to nail the little thing on the second attempt. It ran right into the art show.

He leaves it there. "Yeah," he says, and there's something like humor in his voice, "that's my piece."

d. SAWDUST MAN | campfire, ota.

Daryl is, at the end of the day, a provider. He keeps to himself, sure, but he can't resist an opportunity to help or pitch in. He doesn't come often to the late night campfires that spring up and draw people to them like moths, but when he does, it's for a reason.

Tonight, he has a dead rabbit and two dead squirrels strung up and hanging off his shoulder. Daryl finds a spare stump and throws the rabbit down on it. He takes out a knife, and begins to cut it open, occasionally pulling bits out of it to eat raw.

If you stare, he'll stare back. Hell, if you don't, he'll still look over at you. "You hungry?" He keeps cutting away the rabbit skin, separating it from the meat inside. "Dinner's on."

e. WILDCARD.

[Daryl will be around, checking on traps, hunting, and generally keeping to himself. He'll try to stay away from the sick tent, though he may be easily convinced to help out there since he now has an immunity. In general, though, Florence Nightingale he ain't. Feel free to come up with whatever suits you, ask if you have any questions, I'm at wehwalt or pel#5780@discord.]

d

[protocol]

Wash's not spoken to Daryl all that much even after making the escape with him, not because he really has anything in particular against him ( he quite likes him, really, seemed practical, reliable, ignoring the whole ear thing ) but just because Daryl had seemed like the kind of guy who'd rather be left alone, who kept to himself, and Wash isn't really the type to go out of his way to approach people much anyway. He's settled by one of the late night campfires, awake as always, and he's a little surprised when Daryl wanders over, says nothing but watches as he starts to skin the rabbit, his eyes occasionally flicking up to the two squirrels over his shoulder. He's even more surprised when Daryl says something to him.

"Guess I won't mind some," he answers. He might've skipped out on dinner, today, was busy training, helping out in the med tent. Daryl's comfortable in the wilds, he'd learned that from their escape together, and Beth had told him that Daryl was a hunter, a trapper. "Just checked your traps?"

[pigsfeet]

It's faintly amusing to Daryl, that he's getting a reputation as a trapper, not a hunter or a bowman. It's not a terrible thing, certainly, but it's new. Different. So he shrugs at Wash's suggestion, and doesn't point out that the rabbit has an arrowpoint hole in its back, and not sign of laceration. He faintly remembers that the man is some kind of astronaut. What would he know of living off the land.

Daryl pops one of the arrowheads off an arrow in his hand, and begins skewering the newly skinned rabbit. "You could use it," he says, looking Wash over. "Gettin' skinny."

[protocol]

Astronaut isn't. Entirely wrong. Wash knows how to survive out there well enough, but he'd still mostly be relying on his equipment, on things he'd never be anywhere without -- anywhere except here, apparently. He lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

"If I'm too skinny, then so're you." Holding out his hand, an offer for him to take the rabbit Daryl's already skewered off his hands and start that on the fire while Daryl could go on to work on one of his other kills. "Thanks, though. You've been helping out a lot food, huh?"

[pigsfeet]

Daryl takes another pit of raw rabbit in his mouth, and licks the blood off his fingers in a pointed gesture. He could probably stand to put on some weight, he knows, so he's eating.

Sometimes, everything ends up a competition with Daryl. Not often, but it happens. It's the safest way to express care.

"Did that back home," he says with a shrug. He hands Wash the rest of the rabbit, and sets about skinning one of the squirrels. "Hunted, trapped." Fought, killed. But he doesn't say it.

[protocol]

He can guess it, even if Daryl doesn't say it. Beth hasn't told him much about her world, and it's suited Wash just fine enough not to press her on it, but he's been able to put some pieces together. Makeshift weapons, scavenging for scraps, counting ammo, fighting to survive. Not the Earth that Wash has always been told about, but an Earth he can certainly imagine. Wash nods his thanks when Daryl hands him the rabbit, though he's. Not going to do that raw. He'll turn to start it on the fire.

"Useful skills to have out here." This place certainly suits Daryl much better than the Cetagandan base did. "Guess it's a good thing we managed to get out when we did, huh?"

[pigsfeet]

"Wouldn't'a lasted much longer," Daryl admits, not looking up from his squirrel. Maybe Wash would have, being an Alien and all, but Daryl... he would have died, or found a way to get himself killed. He's far away from it enough now that he can recognize that for what he was doing.

"Why'd you leave?" No one does anything out of the kindness of their heart, and he wants to think Wash isn't dumb enough to jump into it for the idealism. Not that the queen's dumb, but that's... a different kind of choice. One only she can make and not seem like a naive teenager.

[protocol]

Wash still remembers the first time he'd met Daryl, or the first time he'd seen him, rather, carted in on a stretcher to the barracks, apparently knocked out, from what Daryl had told him later. He evidently was struggling there, one way or another.

"I knew I had friends here -- and I wouldn't have lasted that long either," he answers honestly, turning the rabbit on the fire. It was a little less obvious and he didn't have any major altercations with the Cetagandans before the breakout, but it was still true. "Hated everything about them. Made my skin crawl."

[pigsfeet]

That surprises Daryl, and he looks up, one brow pointed upward. His expression is flat, but not quite blank. He's looking over Wash in a new light, more curious than before.

"Huh," he says, and goes back to skinning his squirrel. "Thought you was an astronaut." As though that matters. He'll leave Wash to make up the difference, the words unsaid.

[protocol]

"More of a space marine," he corrects, but it's good-natured, friendly. He doesn't really mind being called an astronaut. It's kind of amusing, puts to mind old stories and holovids about old Earth pre-FTL. That makes sense, of course, given where Daryl's from. "Just because I'm an astronaut doesn't mean I like everyone from space. And the marine part doesn't mean I like everyone military, either."

A shrug, turning back to the fire and his still slowly cooking meat. "They were kind of the exact type of both that I don't like."

[pigsfeet]

Space Marine. Daryl snorts. It brings to mind, of all things, his brother, and his dishonorable discharge. Daryl knows as well as any, military experience doesn't mean shit. They'll take anybody. Hell, they took Merle.

So he thinks he knows what Wash means. "Had a way of lookin' at you," he says, not looking up from his squirrel, "like you weren't even a person. Just a thing they could use."

ok but this song is literally them but reversed how gross I am so mad

[shri]

She's coming off her own shift, around then. Exhausted, and with much the same idea, truth be told. Now that it is warm enough, she desperately wants to remove the dirt from her because there's an option to do it here. Kinder than the slums in England where having a bath turned out to be a weekly activity, not the once a day she used to prefer at minimum. But since she could -

well, she gathered her clothes to change into, and made her way to the bathing time. There's something at this time, that she thinks she too will have something like privacy. Less hung up on it than most, but she'd never had it like they all seemed to go on about as either queen or pauper. But she did like having a few minutes to gather her own mind, make her plans, ponder her wars, and collect herself for another day.

Half in those thoughts enough that she doesn't hear him, when he arrived before she had. She can be shockingly single minded, sometimes, when she's got herself set on something. Doesn't see him, or just think he's some other person electing to take a bath at this time. She wasn't the only one on duty, after all.

Sinks down to her waist, raking her hair out the comb of her fingers so she can pile it up and out of her way. Didn't feel like waiting the hours it would need to dry. Rather she just lets the water rush over her and luxuriates in that before she opens her eyes. Blinking and - whoever was in here with her was... his back looked a mess. But not. Not battle wounds. No fighter worth his salt, no matter if they came from this planet, her home or a thousand stars away, left their back open to get those kinds of marks.

No, that looked closer to the whippings criminals received. Something that was forced to be taken. Forced to be endured to be like that. Her mouth opens, wondering, a soldier perhaps?

And then she catches the side of his face - "Dixon?"

all according to plan.

[pigsfeet]

Daryl is shuffling out of the tent as soon as he realizes someone is around. This is his stupid fault. He let himself relax, even luxuriate into the simple comfort of the bath, and then- of course somebody shows up. Damn fool he is, he doesn't move fast enough. He's tightening his belt when he hears her voice.

At least it's the queen, and not some fool he doesn't know. Is that better, though? Daryl isn't sure.

He pulls a shirt on as quickly as he can, the stinking sleeveless rag he wore in Georgia. It still has Dawn's blood on it.

"What." His voice is harsh; anger lurks behind the word.

how dare

[shri]

The question on the tip of her tongue is bitterly there, who did that to you so I may return the favour? But that question has not purpose, right now. Too often, he's a curled in animal, and if there is anything like friendship between them it's in that she has never pressed and he never digs. Her mouth parts on the question, like she might still do it anyway because for certain that was more concerning than privacy as she shifts in the water.

It is loud, she supposes, lets him know her movements as she shifts from where she had been sunk back up to her neck. Tilting herself forward, but still covering her enough to preserve... whoever is more concerned about modesty, at the moment.



"... I cannot be sure, but I believe you still have soap in your hair."

[pigsfeet]

Daryl swears, maybe more loudly than he means. Maybe she's teasing. Maybe she's not. Maybe she didn't see them-- it's all too much to hope for. No, she's probably mocking him. They both know why he's scurrying off to leave so quickly.

He dunks his head in the water, and scratches at his scalp like a mad dog. With more heat than he intends, Daryl snaps-- "Y'happy now?"

[shri]

If she thought this was how her evening was going to go - she would have had a drink before hand. As it stands, there's nothing much for it, as he shoves his head under the water. Happy now. Like it has a damn thing to do with her, except that she's here, that she had seen. Her eyebrows raise briefly, before she shakes her head.

She shifts to get her feet under her in the water. Her arm crosses under and up over her chest to bare him from - oh, she doesn't know, something immodest where she's not wearing anything otherwise. It's not like there is much to hide in the water. But it is about purpose and doing it all with such. Pushes up and her free hand catches on the edge of the tub to hold her steady. Eye for an eye. Skin for skin. His scars for hers. On the fabric of her own body, they are white ugly lines of embroidery. Bullet holes and claw marks. Sword slashes and the teeth of beasts. More than one should have been the death of her. "Come back into the water, Dixon, you deserve to be clean at least."

She turns back, and the choice is his, really, she won't push. They never had much with each other. Rather, she turns her back so he can make his choices in peace. Sinking into the water, hooking her arms over the edge of the bath. Leave him to whatever he decided, to slink out or not.

[pigsfeet]

"I am," Daryl grumbles. "Ain't sitting 'round waiting for you."

He's being unfair. He knows it. He's angry about that, too, and it builds in his throat, blocking him from saying anything more. He knows he wouldn't apologize, anyway, so it's probably a good thing.

But he doesn't leave. He just waits for the anger to boil over. (Waits, jealous, curious, to see what she'll do.)

[shri]

"As you wish."

But she is apparently here, to goad him from time to time. She stretches on in the water, her head settling, against her folded arms with a sigh. Maybe it is just the she enjoys being clean. Or that she's making a point that she's not interested until he wants her to be.

"Pass me that, would you?" She gestures with a flick of her fingers to the soap that is just out of her reach. Would force her to get out of the water.

[pigsfeet]

Daryl has been pointedly looking away from her nakedness the whole while. He pulls his motorcycle jacket back on, displaying the wings for all to see. For her to see. It's a move that, luckily for him, remains subconscious. It's power, identity, a marker of who he is and what he stands for.

He gets her the damn soap.

"There," he says, placing it in her hands. And then, because he can't resist-- "How much'd you see?"

[shri]

The wings seem - right, some how. Like he'd always had them. She remembered very well she had been told of Angels. Common enough stories from her Muslim soldiers. Some good, some bad. Some impossible sort of absolutes. She blinks slow, watching him. The sound of his footsteps, the cool lull of water that splashes as she shifts to hold her hand up for the soap.

"All of it." Her fingers curl lightly around the soap and she pushes herself straight to lift the soap and out stretches and arm, running it over herself in slow gestures. "Was it in battle?"

[pigsfeet]

Daryl doesn't answer. He tsks, derisive, but no words come from him.

He doesn't know what to do. There's nothing for yelling at a naked woman bathing, and he can't leave. Not until he knows what she'll do with this new information.

"Who you gone tell?"

b-esque??

[purgata]

He doesn't trust his own perceptions, initially, when he thinks he sees Daryl. He seems to just be leaving the archery range, which would make perfect sense if Morgan's mind was going to conjure a deceptive bit of familiarity. After all, it would be far from the first time his mind had betrayed him.

So Morgan stares for a long, silent moment, brow furrowing in confusion and something close to suspicion. At last, he sets his hesitation aside enough to step forward. There's still a cautious uncertainty evident in his voice when he speaks.

"Daryl?"

if it aint baroque dont fix it.

[pigsfeet]

Someone says his name, and that isn't completely out of the ordinary, these days. It's almost like the Prison in some ways-- people know him, want things from him, know the things he can do. At least, they're starting to.

He looks up from the arrow he was fiddling with, and the guy who's talking to him is nobody Daryl knows, but that doesn't mean shit. The way Beth was going on about him, this guy probably wanted hunting tips. Daryl stops walking, though he keeps the arrow dancing between his fingers. He grunts, noncommittal.

"Yeah?"

[purgata]

It's not an encouraging response - it is Daryl, he's responded, but there's no recognition there. His brow furrows a bit deeper, he frowns lightly, and speaks softly, somewhat distant.

"You don't know me..."

He speaks it in a hollow, quiet tone, mostly to himself rather than questioning. There's a hint of confusion, almost a subtle incredulity, to his tone - and then, he lowers his gaze for a moment, shaking his head lightly, taking a deep breath as he works internally steadying himself. He looks up and speaks again, softly but with a measured steadiness. "I know you."

But that clearly isn't reciprocated, and he doesn't understand, doesn't know how this place can work, why Daryl wouldn't know him. He hangs on, grasping for another connection. "I know Rick."

[pigsfeet]

Daryl snaps to attention, his posture straightening, his shoulders unhunching. This guy couldn't have said a more perfect thing to get Daryl's attention squared on him completely.

His eyes narrow, studying the other man. He's not bad news. Not hankering for a fight, that's for sure. He's hanging back, being careful. He's not out for revenge.

Still, it's worth asking-- "How?"