driftfleet | Bloodsport Mingle

Arrival
It was a 'blink and you miss it' moment. One second he was in the middle of shredding the sweatsuit he'd arrived in (by hand cause he hadn't sussed out a knife), and the next he was standing on the ...bridge? of some other ship with a cupcake in his hand and confetti exploding around him and was that a party noise blaster? He hadn't heard one of them in years... Shit.

He didn't move, save to glace around, mouth slightly open, looking just as confused as he felt.

Getting Comfortable?
One of the hatches in the long hallway had his name on it. Which, yeah, was weird, but not as weird as going down it and finding a half-way decent bedroom with three small fishbowls and glowing fish inside them to illuminate the space. Clothes in his size hid inside the closet and on the bed? The damn sweatsuit, still torn in the places he'd managed to get rips going.

Well, time to fix that.

Daryl moseyed his way into the kitchen, ugly sweatsuit balled up in one hand while the other searched through the cabinets and drawers for a proper knife. He made a lot of noise while he did it, banging everything that could be banged.

Exploring
Over the next few days, Daryl found his way into every part of the ship like he was searching it for a secret exit. He was light on his feet and didn't make a lot of noise so it was easy for him to come up on people unexpectedly, though it largely wasn't his intent. Sometimes he'd stop and watch someone at their workstation or while they were doing something he hadn't been given the knowledge and skills to use via his augment and after a while, he'd even ask in a gravelly voice, "What're ya doin'?"

Sam is one of those people at the work station — communications department, sitting with his hand to his chin, focused in his work. Since their time during the heist, he'd been more adamant about scanning the world beyond for any signs of life. Signals, secret feeds set up by the interceptor fleet, anything at all. So far he's gotten nothing much, little blips here and there that are likely more waystations in the distance delivering interference.

Sam stands and stretches all 6'4" of himself when Daryl arrives, and he turns to the voice with curiosity. Truth be told, Daryl looked like he'd been a bit on guard, ready to bite anything that tried to bite him first, so to speak. He knew the look, being around this place for well over a year now, so he'd been fine with giving the new recruit some space. He motions to the communications station.

"Looking for ships out there, I guess. Radio frequencies, messages, anything. I guess I'm just a little eager to figure out what might be out there next."

Depending on how good Daryl's eye is for the type, Sam's an odd creature — he clearly is a really hygienic guy, seems kind of soft around the edges, like he'd spent a lot of his life behind a computer screen. And his rather relaxed and lanky disposition leaves him seemingly social and open to conversation. But he's got faint scars, shiny in the light, tracing here and there; some along his arms, self-inflicted but not quite in the way people might assume. His hands are calloused, and there's a gun on a holster under all that plaid.

"Nothing worse than a surprise around here."

Daryl notices it all and says nothing. Doesn't let his eyes drift to any of it, either. He'd done all that before he spoke up. He only stands at 5'10, so Sam's got a good half foot on him, but he doesn't really look it. Something about the way he holds himself makes him feel like he's taking up more space than he really should. He definitely didn't look like he'd ever lived a 'soft' life. Though he was much cleaner than he was used to being simply because of the lack of dirt and forest to go tromping through.

"Find anything?" He asked, because while he definitely knew how to use the station - for some reason the ship apparently needed two people with those skills or something? hell if he knew - he hadn't actually gone out to touch it yet or test it out. He always felt like he was being watched and so far his curiosity hadn't won out over his stubbornness to not give in and do what someone he hated wanted him to. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

[ Sure, he and Maggie had had a thorough conversation about leaving Daryl alone for a while so he can settle into the fleet-- but Carl has other ideas. Isn't it better to see someone familiar ( even if that someone threatened very believably to kill him) than being surrounded with unfamiliar faces like they had been for days? It was easy because they had each other. Daryl not so much. Not that he can't take care of his own.

Seeking him out probably isn't the best course of action given recent events, but he's tired of waiting and that wrong feeling in the pit of his stomach has only been growing. Seeing that weird girl hadn't really helped, either..

Which is how he finds himself on the Bloodsport a few days later with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Nothing for him, really, but maybe things that might help Daryl. There's a medkit he swiped from the medical bay, an extra blanket, about a dozen of those weirdly-flavored cups of pudding he'd gotten last month (seriously, black licorice?), and some homemade bread he brought from the Iskaulit.

He's never been on the Bloodsport before, but the layout is pretty similar to his own ship. He'll wander around until he spots who he's looking for. ]

Edited (coding, smh) 2017-05-31 03:32 (UTC)

Definitely a different breed. Though Daryl does remind Sam of a hunter -- not quite the same kind of hunter he's familiar with, but certainly someone who might be in that sort of dangerous, winding life. Maybe he would fit in best with the Dean and Cas who had been here before; the alternate timeline, where everything was fucked. He smiles, a friendly sort of exasperated one, and shakes his head.

"Nothing yet. But then, they know I'm looking."

He waves a finger at the ceiling.

"Cameras and microphones, somehow always on the watch. At least that's the idea."

Literally everything about this situation Sucks, capital S, but the loud clattering in the kitchen is doing literally nothing to help so Cloud sticks his head in the door, expression irritable as he scowls at whoever this dirty hobo is riffling through the cabinets. "Hey do you think you could loot this place more quietly? The hell are you looking for?"

Edited 2017-06-03 05:57 (UTC)

[Don't mind this short, J-pop haired nerdlord with dayglo eyeballs creeping around the ship and looking like he hates every utilitarian inch of it (because he does, it looks like the inside of a reactor). There isn't much exploring to do, considering there's basically just the one hallway and then all the rooms connected to it, and he keeps picking at the augment site with his fingernails like he's considering ripping it out.

He's also fiddling with the shit in the kitchen, trying to find something edible, but feel free to stop him since he's just kind of pushing buttons and stuff.

Once he reaches the pilot's chair he sits down, spins a little bit in the chair, glances up at the windows and turns quickly away, a hand over his mouth. Oh god, that's even worse than the Highwind. He'd thought it would be better but it's worse with no horizon.

If he happens to come across a crewmate, he'll be giving them the first degree, Strife-style.] Hey- excuse me. What the hell is going on?

Daryl's eyes moved toward the ceiling and the corners. If there were cameras around, he couldn't see them. He did so slowly, as if he didn't really care, but they returned to Sam soon enough.

"No way around it, then? No other ships you can take from anywhere else that ain't linked up to this stupid convoy into nothin'? Just stuck with them watchin' ev'rytime ya take a piss?"

"No," Daryl answered, only bothering to glance behind him long enough to give the kid a once over, then snort and go back to what he was doing. "Need a knife. You know where one is?"

[There's a door in the hallway where the crew quarters are with Daryl's name on it. After some wandering and not finding Daryl anywhere else, it was as good a place as any to check, right?

Right.

So after pushing the door open, does Carl climb down or call out for his Apocalypse Uncle?]

Nami misses Daryl's arrival on account of her hours at the Space Bar, but she knows he's arrived; she checks the rosters like clockwork every Saturday, looking for new people, looking for friends leaving. So she goes straight back to the Bloodsport after her shift, stows her gear in her quarters, and tracks him down. More often than not, people are embarrassed by arriving in a shower of confetti anyway, so the fact she missed that part isn't going to bother her too much.

She follows the sound of clatter to the kitchen-- Sam's too quiet in his movements, and nobody else much goes in there, so. Fair bet, really.

"Is there something specific you're looking for?"

It's said from the doorway, smile friendly, but-- well, the last time Nami surprised a new crew member in here, he was going for a knife for entirely creepy purposes, so her eyes are watchful.

"Knife," Daryl answered tersely. He glanced behind him to see who was talking, but that was all the attention he paid her while he sorted through the drawers and cabinets with one hand. The other was still at his side with bunched up cloth something of some sort balled into it.

[ Of course he's going to go in, but before he does, Carl drops the backpack to the bottom of the ladder. Not a big enough drop that anything will crush or break. ]

Daryl? I'm coming down. [ Even if he's not in there, he can leave the backpack with a note and leave, right? ]

[The door opening had Daryl suspicious and he had his hand on the small knife he'd been working on making. Ok, so it was a shank made of cloth and a piece of metal he'd managed to twist off from one of the walls. Only half done, but it'd get the job done if he had to shove it into someone's neck.

The voice that came next had him freezing in place, eyes narrowing, getting ready to jump. The only light in the room at the moment came from the three fishbowls and the fish inside. Enough to see by, but not so bright it'd be easy to see him right away.

He'd been hoping to get a chance to take out the fucker pretending to be Carl. And now here he was coming right down the ladder to meet him. Throwing that fake voice around. Turning to show that fake face with two goddamned eyes...

Daryl had the kid pressed back against the ladder as soon as his feet hit the floor and he'd turned around. One arm up against his neck, the other holding the shank at eye level.]

Who the fuck are you?

[ However Carl had been expecting their interaction to go, all of that goes out the window in an instant. He beats himself up mentally for not just sticking his head in, first. His back hits the ladder, one of the rungs digging into his shoulders. He yelps in surprise, his hands coming up to defend his face. He really isn't ready to lose an eye.

Carl can feel his heart threatening to slam its way out of his chest, and even though he's been learning some self defense over the past month, all of it is forgotten right now. The threat is there, but it's Daryl. He's got to see that this isn't a trick, right? ]

Whoa, whoa!! Daryl, it's me, I promise!

[ God, he doesn't even know what to say that could convince him of it, either- but Carl needs him to see. They're all stuck in this hell hole together for who knows how long. ]

The last time I saw you was after the church-- we were all on the road together. [ Technically still, since they'd only managed to find a barn that looked like it had seen better decades. ]

SHUDDUP!

[Daryl shouted it right into the kids face. He looked so much like Carl. Every little detail right except the eyes. And the memory he was trying to invoke.

He huffed out heavy breaths, whole body shaking with the anger he was trying not to let get the better of him.]

You ain't him. Don't know how you made yerself look like 'im, but you ain't. So stop pretendin' and take off his face.

[So he could gut the shit on a clear conscience.[

[ He can't help the flinch that follows being screamed at, and his brain scrambles to come up with something else. Something believable. ]

Why would somebody go through this much trouble to fuck with you?

[ Oh, if only he knew. His hands come down from in front of his face, though it feels more like baiting a tiger than trying to reason with him. ]

Ask me something only I would know?? [ Please let that work. Please let Daryl see. Please just let this go right.. ]

CAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE FUCKING DOES! THAT'S ALL HE FUCKING DID!

[Daryl pushed hard against Carl's throat, choking him for a moment before he used the force to push himself back a few steps where he could get some room. Get some air. He kept his eyes on Carl, but he paced in what little space he had to do it. The shank in his hand just loose enough to adjust his grip in an agitated fashion.]

You can't prove shit with words. Yer nothin' but another mind game.

[ His hands move immediately to the arm pressing against his throat, fingers digging in, fighting to get air back. Carl coughs when he's released, hand going to his neck. Staying where he is, those eyes watch Daryl pace like a caged animal in the small space. The silence lingers before his brow furrows, the confusion written plainly on his face. ]

Who? I don't know who you're talking about..

[He snorted a laugh. Dry and unamused. His pacing continuing and his grip on the shank getting tighter. But despite the attempt to hold himself in check, he couldn't stop how his body started to shake just a little at the thought that this was all something Negan was doing to him. It made sense. Not the spaceships or crap, just... he was seein' things cause of whatever Negan was doing to him right then. Trying to break him.

That's why his bedroom was so small. It wasn't much bigger than that damn closet he'd been put in for who knows how long. Locked up with no light. Just enough from under the door to illuminate the picture of Glenn they'd left him with. About the same amount of light the fish gave off...

He sucked in a shuddering breath and looked Carl dead in the eye.]

The hell you don't.

[ The worry increases, though not for his own sake. Daryl's not adjusted to this place, but it's already playing head games with him? His mind goes to the planet a few months back when Maggie kept seeing Beth. The Atroma have the power, but they wouldn't use it so soon, would they?

This doesn't seem like that's what it is, though. He looks right back at Daryl, his chin jutted forward and that Grimes determined expression on his face. ]

Won't know until you tell me.

YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I'M TALKING ABOUT!

[Daryl roared, stepping forward in on one large stride to push chest up against Carl - Carl who was nearly as tall as him now. Carl who he could almost look at eye to eye.

Two eyes.

Why was it so difficult to hold that eye contact? He forced himself to try, but within seconds he was shaking so hard, nearly tearing up that he had to pull away again and start pacing once more. Something to get the energy out.

Why did the kid have to feel so real? Look so much like him?

With a shaky voice, one so soft and almost like he was scared of what would happen to him for his words, he said:]

Ain't gonna say his name. You cain't trick me into it. Ain't doin' it.

I'm telling you I don't!

[ Daryl isn't the only one that has had trouble looking him in the eye, lately. That girl's words hit him again, and he passes a brief, worried glance at the makeshift shiv still gripped tightly in Daryl's hand.

His tone changes to match and he frowns. ]

Look-- tell me or don't. I'll stop asking. [ Slowly and being sure to telegraph his movements, he gets the toe of his boot behind the forgotten backpack and nudges it into the empty space between them. ]

Brought some stuff. Thought it might help, take it.

Edited 2017-06-04 04:51 (UTC)

[At the offer of 'stuff' Daryl went stock still. Was he supposed to take it? Was he going to be allowed to have it? Or was it going to be one of those tricks where if he took it, he'd be punished for trying? He'd gotten some of that in Alexandria. Dwight had flaunted his bike in front of him. All he had to do was say one word and he'd be given it back. Was this the same?

He was trembling when he answered, voice small, almost inaudible, looking more scared than he'd ever let anyone see him look.]

Didn't ask for it.

Edited 2017-06-04 04:57 (UTC)

Wanted you to have it, anyway. The first few days sucks. I dunno, I thought it would help.

[ Even if he doesn't touch the stuff in the backpack, Carl doesn't intend on taking it back with him. Daryl can put it out the airlock if he wants. ]

Bloodsport Mingle

Daryl!

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wildcarding this

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kitchen (moseyed, you say)

Cloud

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