❝she was the night, and i, but a child afraid of the dark; a keg of gunpowder in love with a spark❞
Maevelyn fell, quite literally, into Daryl Dxion's arms. After being taken to the prison, she quickly realises who she can and cannot trust. There ar...
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fake it by bastille
"between my skin, ripping from my grasp..."
Daybreak came, the morning was quiet. The usual buzz was absent from the prison. Folks would shuffle by, nosey when it came to what exactly was going on. An hour or so till noon, the archer awoke to the gate to his bedroom creaking open, and then the sound of soft footsteps. His eyes fluttered, lids heavy from sleep, his head rolling to the side to look upon who entered. Carol's silver hair caught the golden light that filtered in through the curtains of Hershel's cell. As she looked upon the archer, whose dusty slate gaze showered her with curiosity, her lips became a flat line. Glancing over her shoulder so as to make sure those still in their cells didn't try and peer in, she confirmed that they were (hopefully) alone. Daryl sat up stiffly, grunting as he did so. "Sonova--" The older woman set down the plate of food in her delicate hand and then went to his side, easing him down against the pillow and adjusting it behind his back.
"You shouldn't be so eager to move just yet. You have a concussion and a bullet wound..." chided the older woman. Her stormy green eyes met his with nerve, and thus he knew that he was in no place to argue. Still, it pissed him off, being contained. He felt like a trapped animal. "How long was I out?" he asked, his gravelly voice thin and breathy. Carol knelt and looked up at his drowsy gaze. She replied, "You were off and on throughout the evening. Seems you just need some rest now..." This didn't bode well. Daryl began to look around the dimly-lit cell. "Is everyone alright? Was anyone shot? Are you alright?" Carol, ignoring his flurry of questions, rose and crossed the small room. She pulled one of the long white curtains open, allowing more light to come in, to which he flinched and hissed at.
"Rick took a bullet to the leg, that's all..." she lied, neglecting to add the bit about Mae. She didn't want him getting too riled up. Not with his head the way it was...
Carol leaned against the archway, looking upon him as he shifted. "He's been treated and is taking it easy-- just as you should! Now stop squirming and complaining." After a moment of giving the wiry-haired woman a look of pure brine, he averted his eyes. He couldn't win this. Carol approached once again and settled at his bed-side. She began to check him over, her hand feathering to brush his tangled hair back. They skimmed his forehead, and for a moment she seemed to draw away, as if he had burnt her. A look of question took on his features, but soon she cleared her throat and stood up.
"If you want to try walking around, you've got to be with someone," she confirmed. Turning, she offered him a hand. "Come on..." The archer glanced at her delicate outstretched extremity, unsure of himself in the moment. Then he shuffled, hoisted himself out of his covers, making sure to keep himself steady. At first he swayed, but then he focused on the unbuttoned shirts he wore. Daryl puzzled at the bandages swathed around his bared chest, but then brushed that off. The archer was reluctant to take Carol's hand, but as he suddenly swayed, his heart palpitated, and he grasped her slender hand firmly.
