Okay. Yeah, obviously the root. I don't really like ginger. It reminds me of sick people. Like those nasty ginger chewies they give you for anti-nausea? Gross day after day.
[ Snicker, snicker, snicker. That's funny. Daryl's pretty funny. Meg thinks he's pretty funny and she feels like shit. Not everything in the fog tastes awful. Somethings taste faintly like real things. The cake sort of tasted like cake and iron, but that was ok until โ
She feels terrible. She's going to vom. Her stomach is in her throat. Her skin is on backwards. She'd probably be freaking out about it more if she hadn't been texting Daryl, if he hadn't had a weird salt-of-the-earth fix. The problem is, she's in the dim of the forest, not quite next to the campfire โ she'd needed to stop and orient so she wouldn't barf on her sneakers.
And she expects Daryl to take 15 minutes. Not to pop up out of nowhere, like he's fucking GHOST FACE or Pig come to snort around like a bitch. Or Trapper or that CLOWN, but if it were Ghost Face, he'd pop up, stab her in the side, grab her by the braid and force her down, but they aren't in a trial, so Meg can โ
Daryl's moving to a log, his arm is outstretched, it's ginger. The cake makes her feel lightheaded, so does the unseemly spike of fear. To her, he's moving toward her. She doesn't see him. ]
Donot fucking touch me!
[ She snarls. To Ghost Face. Or Pig, or Trapper, or Clown. The arm is probably coming toward her, but she's faster, moving and shoving, grabbing at Daryl's arm. And the Killer's are always stronger. You have to Decisively Strike โ Laurie taught her that. Her heart is pounding in her ears when she bites down on his forearm.
[All told, there are very few things that spook him anymore. Genuinely get all the way under his skin, right to panic. Most of the things wrong in the world just make him angry. Hurt kids, people mistreated, pointless cruelty, torture, starvation, wrongs.]
[Biting is walkers. Biting is the lost of his arm. Biting is the end of his utility. What little luck he's ever had will run out when something sinks their human teeth into his skin.]
[He does not scream, but his voice pitches into a high yell, and on instinct, he pushes the girl away. It's not quite a slap-- his hand doesn't connect-- but he uses the force of his forearm to drive her entirely back. He doesn't have a weapon. His arms are up in fighting stance, knuckles level with his eyes.]
[The ginger is somewhere on the floor. Daryl keeps his distance, looking for the signs-- milky-white eyes, too-pale flesh, hair hanging in lanky chunks. Does she have it? Did she get it from him?]
[ The world blurs a little, the fog and tree boughs, messy greens and browns colliding when she's pushed. It's as striking as a knife to the side, as a bat to the head, as a machete. Her mouth tastes like iron and she stinks like fear. It's all over here, climbing up her nose too, and she rights herself, arms raised defensively. ]
I said โ don't fucking touch โ
[ She vomits, sick forcing its way up. Maybe Ghost Face or Trapper or Clown will be too grossed out by her offering to Adiris to stab her or eat her fingers. She looks disgusting as sick slides down her chin, she still seems a little feral, a little deranged as the back of her hand comes up to wipe, the other held up in a little fist. ]
[This is not the grossest shit he's seen, but it does put things in perspective. Sick kid, freaking out in a world full of monsters. He lashed out, and that's on him. It's his job to be responsible, for Chrissakes.]
Meg. Meg, c'mon, sit down. Ain't fixing to hurt you.
[ She โ growls? Gurgles, spits? Some sort of additional heave? Do any of them ever feel safe here? Really? There's the warmth of the campfire, the promise that a killer can't stab you from behind, but with the knowledge that you could be whisked away to trial at any point. At any time. It could happen now, with vomit and spittle on her chin, on her shirt.
The cake, like many things here, is fucked and awful, but a bit of time helps her smeared thoughts clear a little. She feels โ embarrassed. It's a bad feeling and her voice rises. She always had a temper. But at least now both hands are covering her mouth, her eyes narrowed and shiny above them. ]
What the hell is wrong with you? [ She saw the fists. All of her feels itchy. ] You came out of NOWHERE, Daryl! [ No he didn't. Not really. ]
[Daryl crouches to the ground, to make himself less of a threat. His hands go up, suing for peace.]
Sorry. Used to movin' around quiet. [Has he told her this, yet? Maybe it'll distract her from her sickness, her fear, her clear embarrassment.] Was a hunter, before. Now, why don't you sit down.
[ She heard about traps made for humanoid forms. It's something she'd like to try on a trapper, a ghost face, a pig, a clown... but she never asked more questions. Or she asked other questions. She's always talking.
She heaves again, but it's less this time, and her heavy footsteps move her so she can aim it behind a tree at least. She spits. Once, twice, thrice. The acid, the iron, the vanilla is all there.
She plops down on a log, knees together, arms akimbo in front of her. He apologized. Part of her knows he didn't need to. A smaller part thinks maybe she needs to. She doesn't. ]
Never people. [Daryl reaches out, careful, careful, to rub her back.] You still feel like you're gonna hurl?
[He's done this before, is the thing. Sick people during that bad flu, and before, when Merle took bad shit. Merle was harder-- wouldn't take any help, but needed it. The people at the Prison mostly let him get along with them, but he was shy, then, afraid to touch. What difference nearly a decade makes.]
[ She doesn't throw him off, but she does twitch and shift, maybe surprising from someone ready to crack a medkit over your head. But she does bend a little bit so her elbows are on her thighs. Prime posture for vomiting all over her running shoes. And wouldn't that just blow? ]
Maybe. Most of it's out.
[ Hrngh. ] No more hurling. I think.
[ Meg didn't have a dad. And who knows how old Daryl is. He's old. Older than some. Maybe like a funky uncle or a weird brother. Meg didn't have any of those, so it's hard to place. Her stomach roils again. She'd like to stop thinking about it, and about the fact she BIT him, like if it had been the Ghost Face like it would have done anything at all. ]
[Daryl takes the rag out of his back pocket, handing it over so she can wipe herself down. He's got a bottle of boiled water (never hurts to be paranoid) that she can use as well. He doesn't keep much on him, but what he has is, in that moment, hers.]
Anything I could catch. Squirrels. Frogs. Deer was my favorite.
[ She takes the rag and rubs roughly at her mouth, then at the cropped top she's wearing. That's going to have to wait until she can roll around the pond, or get lucky and find the hospital laundry rooms while the doctor is mad at work and not listening for prey.
She takes the offered water too, pours some in her palm and rubs it across her face. She's going to be rank, but the offered items are appreciated. She still feels embarrassed. He's older, but she's experienced, isn't she? She shouldn't be jumping, attacking other survivors. ]
[He stops patting her back. She seems to be recovering, and having something to distract her mind with seems to be helping. So he talks about the small sliver of the world he knows.]
Like chicken'n fish at the same time. Legs do, anyway. Guts just taste like guts.
[ ...Screeeeeech. SCREECH. If she could find the photos, she'd rip them up. If she could find the cameras, digital and manual, she'd trash them to pieces. If she could find him alone, quiet and assuming, she'd โ ]
Are all your photos digital? Or does the Entity let you develop them yourself?
I do good work for the Entity, and I'm rewarded in turn.
[ There are pictures around, pictures to be torn up. But as cathartic as that might be, there will always be more. ]
[ And, because he can't help himself, after a couple minutes of silence, Danny sends her a picture of a picture: taken in a trial, Meg's final moments. She's not wearing one of those stupid masks, either, so the expression on her face is unobstructed. There's blood on her chin. ]
[ Maybe she won't respond. She should stop responding. That's what she'd tell another survivor, and what she imagines another survivor would tell her.
She doesn't mean to examine the photo. She should delete it, the entire conversation actually. But she looks at it. Examines it. She's moments from death, Ghost Face pressing her down with his thighs, his hand in her hair, his knife having punctured her chest, her lungs. Blood bubbles up over her lips, down her chin. She looks โ
Afraid, like prey, also โ angry. She looks angry. So angry. It's there, in the gleam of her eye, the set of her brow. ]
Don't you think it lacks originality? You take the same photo every time. Maybe trya nice landscape. Ormond in the snow. Or the Red Forest. Watch out for hatchets.
[ Don't watch out for hatchets. Take one to the mouth. ]
No point in fixing something that isn't broken. They're different every time, in their own way. I have so many of you that illustrate that exact point.
It's different every time for me. Sometimes you really make me work for it.
[ The forest is dense and quiet, and Steve's phone stays dreadfully silent. There's no obvious sign of Meg or a killer or Meg getting strangled by a killer, but since when does that mean anything? Some killers operate so quietly. Who can say who is working on their extracurricular credits?
( for what it is worth, he does bravely enter the unknown fog solo. well, solo, and with a flashlight. so as armed as a survivor can really get since only the resident evils and Laurie seem to get to keep murder weapons in their downtime.
it doesn't do him much good. Meg sounded close, but he doesn't see shit. doesn't hear it, either, until his back pocket chimes and he nearly jumps out of his skin. the text doesn't help much either. HI!!! HE HATES THIS!!!! )
Lo WHAT? You're low? Should I be looking low. If I marco can you polo.
[ You need a throat intact in order to 'polo,' Steve. The forest stays eerily quiet around him as he navigates. No sound, no breathing, no plip-plopping of blood, justโ a chime. Steve's phone goes off one more time: ]
look
[ Dead silence, one beat, two beat, three beat, fourโ ]
โBEHIND YOU.
[ Meg's voice booms behind Steve, and she throws herself at him, arms looping around his neck. She's not particularly short, but she still hangs off him, cackling, braids swinging. ]
( it is very easy to sneak up on him, it turns out, considering Steve texts like a fucking grandpa. both hands are involved. it feels very stupid to text at a time like this, which... could really... be a sign, now couldn't it. he texts anyway, LOOK WHE ?ieqn rgo; #44 probably ends up on Meg's fog phone on accident, because suddenly he's got a brat necklace and god she's so damn fast. he didn't even get time to make sense of her sneakered approach until it was too late, his phone and flashlight flying, a startled shout cutting through the eerie, foggy silence.
which is somewhat embarrassing. even more embarrassing than being snuck up on in the first place. if it was a murderer he would be 100% dead. there's more embarrassing to be had, though, because in the sudden and startling impact he's not quite ready to be standing upright for the both of them. he flags to one side, and it turns out it is a little too far to one side. they're going down, and if there is somebody dangerous stalking along the woods, they will have an all you can eat jock buffet as both of them dramatically bite it on mildew-y, sponge-y damp ground.
Steve is dazed and every last bit of oxygen he was keeping in his lungs, you know, like a normal person, was stunned out of him somewhere between the cry after being tackled and eating shit on the ground. ) What — ( huff puff huff PUFF )What —– ( no he just doesn't have the spare oxygen for this. but he is angry, FOR THE RECORD, as he tries to sit up and catch his breath. did he sort of land on her??? uh, maybe. oops. )
[ When she finds that message later, she'll laugh, probably. Why wouldn't she? It's funny, and this is funny too, even though Steve Harrington turns to jello and they list to the side until he can't hold them up, and her toes aren't able to grip purchase when they scrape against the ground.
They hit the ground and Steve sputters. He doesn't even get a full sentence out, and that makes her laugh more, a loud boisterous guffaw that's quickly cut off by the oomph as he half lands on top of her. Her eyes are closed, and she tips her chin up, mouth open as she laughs and laughs, leaves and twigs tangled up in her braids. ]
( it's not that he CAN'T it is that he got TACKLED by A FULLY GROWN GIRL UNEXPECTEDLY !!! if he wasn't startled out of his skin, he probably could have stayed standing. it's not that there's some truth to the idea Steve can't plant his feet. nobody has told him that before, anyway, surely, so how would he have learned this skill entirely independently? nope, unfortunately these two sporty dummies are going down, Titanic style.
and you know what, Meg, he doesn't need that "you'd be dead" FYI, he did in fact realize that by the time he choked on the weight of girl hanging off his shoulders!!!
Steve huffs, and he barely has enough oxygen for even that. goddamn it. he struggles somewhat to try and get up and ultimately just gives up and flops down next to Meg, legs still half tangled together. and that does not mean he is LESS ANGRY, it just means he maybe doesn't want to be bearing down on top of her if someone by the campfire wants to check in on what all the shouting is about. there's only so much shame a soul can sustain in one sitting. the laughing isn't helping, either, because... well... you know, outside of the panic and surprise and those two seconds he thought he was going to find her corpse because he had the audacity of taking a nap, maybe it's a little funny. maybe with time and distance, Steve can look on this moment more favorably.
as it is, he's definitely not seeing it. he scrubs his hands over his face and flumps into the moss and branches and makes a loud noise of frustration before he spares Meg a direct and dark look. ) What's — what's wrong with you? I thought somebody was out here ... pulling out your intestines. ( Meg is a tomboy, so more rough and tumble than many girls. but there's still a limit, and since she's not another guy Steve cannot shove her, or punch her hard in the arm and then a second for flinching. it is deeply gradeschool, to pull one of her braids, to punctuate his displeasure. but what the hell else is he supposed to do ? ?? ? ? NOT get handsy about his disapproval? that can't be right. )
[ Sorry, Steve, the data currently shows you cannot hold up a reedy redhead. Statistically speaking, more data is needed to determine if you can can plant your feet stand your ground. Right now? It's not looking good! Her laughter is strong and healthy (citation needed), the full belly laughs petering off to wheezing snickers.
Her expression though is bright, electric. Meg is often frowning. Sometimes she's grinning, usually with a sharp edge: mid-trial halfway through a vault, ready for anything. She was grinning earlier, in the dark, waiting to nab Steve at just the right second. Now though, the smile is wide and unguarded. God. It makes her feel like a kid. Or at least, someone real.
He's knocked the air out of her, but she's able to respond when he finally squawks out some real words. ] Just keeping you sharp, grandpa. You should have seen the look on your face! I should have taken a picture.
[ Her eyes roll when he tugs on one of her braids, and her hand comes up to swat at his cheek. ]
( Steve is feeling very conflicted here. he's annoyed, and he thinks quite rightfully so. that whole girl crying wolf thing in the midst of a MURDER DIMENSION shows a severe lack of emotional maturity. there's just some jokes you don't make, and ha ha, remember when I scared the shit of you when you were genuinely scared for my life? seems like it should be one of them. Steve can usually take a joke, he just can't parse the punchline on this one.
still, the genuine laughter is getting to him. he can't see why any of this is funny, though, that might have to do with the leaves in his hair and the fact his jeans are going to have a wet ass when he grumbles back to the campfire. it's not that he's not pissed, because he is. he just ... gets that sometimes you need to feel fucking human around here, and while Meg laughs plenty, usually it isn't that wheezy about-to-cry truly delighted kind. he props himself up on his elbows, oxygen once again properly populating his lungs, and looks down at the giddy grin splitting her face in half. now he's mostly annoyed at himself, for being such a sucker, and letting a smile poke a hole in the wild storm of his righteous indignation. Meg pushes mildly at his face and he refuses to roll back out of her space. she DESERVES a mulch-covered Indiana boy in her personal bubble right now. )
You're a brat, ( Steve declares widely, though his tone is less incensed and more resigned and somewhat accepting. Meg is a brat, and he does accept that about her. he leans closer to pinch determinedly at her side, continuing his playground bully level reprimands streak. ) Next time you come out here to yodel, you're on your own. Let the psycho with a chainsaw have you.
A brat? [ A gasp, high, sharp, fake. ] What are you, my mom?
[ Her cheeks are still a happy, healthy, ruddy red, but her grin twists when he pinches her side. The grin doesn't go away... She is still receiving attention, after all. Which is a positive thing. There wasn't a way to stop Megan from doing what she was going to do once she started, but Steve notably isn't storming away or screaming or stabbing. In this place, what a grand result.
Steve is warm where they're pressed close, and she isn't anything if not competitive. Her own finger comes up, pinches the skin at his side. ] You're just mad I got you. Thanks for coming to look for my body.
( well how can he storm away when she knocked him to the ground! maybe if he was still standing, he might have stormed away. he has lost the drama with which to do so, and now that the surprise has faded and there's air back in his lungs and Meg isn't DEAD, he can let it go. just a little. maybe. )
I'd say, anytime, but how about we don't do this shit again. ( knocking him over is funny, he can see that. if it had happened to, say, Dwight. Jake maybe. he'd have laughed too. that part, sure. pretending some psycho was out here chopping her up for chili ingredients? hmm, he's still not sold on that one. he's had too many people wandering off in the woods never to be seen again, it's not exactly a great to have that discomfort tapdanced all over.
and, because it is quite beyond him to be up front and straight forward about all the reasons this is uncomfortable, he decides to lampoon his own sensible point. the slight smirk set on his face should give away the smarm before he even says anything. ) If you wanted to be all over me, you could have just said so. ( nothing like hitting on a girl to convince her to not emotionally scar you in the future. there's no way that won't work. )
[ Maybe Steve's had people disappear into the woods and not come back, but, good news, Steven! Even if she were chopped up for chili con carne, she would come back. Again and again and again.
It's funny, how he telegraphs himself. Meg isn'tโ Meg hasn't ever been a terribly empathetic person. She was never so good at making friends, real friends. But she's been here a long time, and she knows him, in a way. You can't cycle through trials again and again and not get a good sense of your compatriots. Steve is stiff and annoyed, slightly more than she expected, and then his mouth flattens before it stretches into a smirk.
Oh. ]
Aw. Steven. Did you want to be wined and dined? I don't have any wine, but I do have a packet of salted peanuts.
( hey, Meg! that's NOT good news, you LITTLE ASSHOLE. god, it is like endlessly cycling through murder and death really fucks up a person emotionally. but that can't be right. Steve would still be bothered about Meg getting chopped up for chili even the 100th time. he likes Meg. despite her brattiness and the fact she can definitely beat him in a footrace and she thinks it is kinda funny to make him fear for her life when he really wanted to catch a nap instead of entertaining her gossip about which old man at the campfire was secretly the most racist. Steve does not like anyone getting turned into mystery meat, even assholes. so liking someone makes him even more compromised to getting all hairy and weird about the idea of something happening to them.
explaining the complexities of all these uncomfortable emotions is not really Steve's style. it is much easier to just elbow past all that, instead of ribbing for an apology, or explaining why it sucked. his aggravation and all the pinching and hair pulling surely did the heavy lifting on that one. Meg knows better now. it is more fun to tease her than it is to unpack the uncomfortable churn in his stomach that he might have been too slow to help her when she needed him. or that she had a literal rofl at his panic and surprise. )
Why wouldn't I wanna be wined and dined? ( Steve scoffs, finally making an effort to sit up. ) I'm worth it. I'm the whole package over here. I expect more than pocket peanuts, dick. ( Steve shakes his head like a dog that ran through a sprinkler, and if that results in mulch and dead leaves getting splattered on his present company, well, she deserves it. the whole package includes great hair, he's got a reputation to maintain here, and that means no wildlife disrupting his volume. )
You're playing too hard to get. [ She is whining, groaning when he shakes dead leaves into her face. It's no doubt in her hair now, probably joining the leaves and debris that was already in her hair. ]
All I've got is water with parasites and the peanuts you're too snobby for.
[ She looks pretty comfortable on the ground until she... snaps upward, face just a few inches from Steve's. She's grinning sharply. ] Wait. Wait. I can wine you.
I am hard to get, ( Steve says, like a liar who lies, even as he looks down at the splay of freckles and braids and red hint of flush and that tight breathlessness that kinda makes a boys brain go sideways given the opportunity. it's less embarrassing to lie than admit it's been months or years or jesus how long has he even been here? better than admitting he's so lonely he doesn't even need pocket peanuts, that if Meg seemed even remotely serious about wanting to fool around they'd already be to the his tongue in her mouth stage. no, he's hard to get, calling her a dick is funny, nobody is torn up inside about thinking girls were getting chopped up for chili meat. it's all good here.
Meg sits up abruptly and somehow despite the fact he was bodily on top of her ten seconds ago it just seems so much closer, now, somehow. but she's grinning like she's got something wicked in mind, and not in a roll around in the leaves sort of way. Steve groans, and that's because he hit the ground hard, okay??? not because he's feeling some type of way all of a sudden and somehow even less disposed to a Meg adventure than he was when he just wanted a nap. )
Like... bear traps? ( oh, that bodes poorly. he can guess just fine where wine and bear traps are. )
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timeasmymeasure
แดษชษขsาแดแดแด
Date: 2023-01-07 12:07 am (UTC)Like
THE ROOT?
Or the good pickled kind from sushi restaurants?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 12:18 am (UTC)the root
itll settle your stomach
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 12:41 am (UTC)I don't really like ginger.
It reminds me of sick people.
Like those nasty ginger chewies they give you for anti-nausea?
Gross day after day.
[ Meg, you are currently the 'sick people.' ]
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 12:57 am (UTC)But with the same non-vom effect.
You know, tasting like jolly ranchers
Or those sour straws.
Or
Did you already find some?
[ This man has a gift. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 01:00 am (UTC)remember worms
goes down better than them
yeah claudette had a stash
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 02:12 am (UTC)Yeah, ok. Point taken.
Where are you, old man?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 02:15 am (UTC)But he comes out of the treeline less than a minute later, fresh ginger in hand. He whistles to catch Meg's attention.
"C'mere, take your medicine." He sits on the nearest spare log.
excuse the long
Date: 2023-01-07 03:23 am (UTC)[ Snicker, snicker, snicker. That's funny. Daryl's pretty funny. Meg thinks he's pretty funny and she feels like shit. Not everything in the fog tastes awful. Somethings taste faintly like real things. The cake sort of tasted like cake and iron, but that was ok until โ
She feels terrible. She's going to vom. Her stomach is in her throat. Her skin is on backwards. She'd probably be freaking out about it more if she hadn't been texting Daryl, if he hadn't had a weird salt-of-the-earth fix. The problem is, she's in the dim of the forest, not quite next to the campfire โ she'd needed to stop and orient so she wouldn't barf on her sneakers.
And she expects Daryl to take 15 minutes. Not to pop up out of nowhere, like he's fucking GHOST FACE or Pig come to snort around like a bitch. Or Trapper or that CLOWN, but if it were Ghost Face, he'd pop up, stab her in the side, grab her by the braid and force her down, but they aren't in a trial, so Meg can โ
Daryl's moving to a log, his arm is outstretched, it's ginger. The cake makes her feel lightheaded, so does the unseemly spike of fear. To her, he's moving toward her. She doesn't see him. ]
Do not fucking touch me!
[ She snarls. To Ghost Face. Or Pig, or Trapper, or Clown. The arm is probably coming toward her, but she's faster, moving and shoving, grabbing at Daryl's arm. And the Killer's are always stronger. You have to Decisively Strike โ Laurie taught her that. Her heart is pounding in her ears when she bites down on his forearm.
She was playing it pretty 'cool' over text. ]
um i love it.
Date: 2023-01-07 03:50 am (UTC)[All told, there are very few things that spook him anymore. Genuinely get all the way under his skin, right to panic. Most of the things wrong in the world just make him angry. Hurt kids, people mistreated, pointless cruelty, torture, starvation, wrongs.]
[Biting is walkers. Biting is the lost of his arm. Biting is the end of his utility. What little luck he's ever had will run out when something sinks their human teeth into his skin.]
[He does not scream, but his voice pitches into a high yell, and on instinct, he pushes the girl away. It's not quite a slap-- his hand doesn't connect-- but he uses the force of his forearm to drive her entirely back. He doesn't have a weapon. His arms are up in fighting stance, knuckles level with his eyes.]
[The ginger is somewhere on the floor. Daryl keeps his distance, looking for the signs-- milky-white eyes, too-pale flesh, hair hanging in lanky chunks. Does she have it? Did she get it from him?]
>:') lmk if this is too ick
Date: 2023-01-10 10:41 pm (UTC)I said โ don't fucking touch โ
[ She vomits, sick forcing its way up. Maybe Ghost Face or Trapper or Clown will be too grossed out by her offering to Adiris to stab her or eat her fingers. She looks disgusting as sick slides down her chin, she still seems a little feral, a little deranged as the back of her hand comes up to wipe, the other held up in a little fist. ]
ummmm i love it.
Date: 2023-01-10 11:49 pm (UTC)Meg. Meg, c'mon, sit down. Ain't fixing to hurt you.
[...He says, after he lowers his fists.]
bless u
Date: 2023-01-11 12:34 am (UTC)The cake, like many things here, is fucked and awful, but a bit of time helps her smeared thoughts clear a little. She feels โ embarrassed. It's a bad feeling and her voice rises. She always had a temper. But at least now both hands are covering her mouth, her eyes narrowed and shiny above them. ]
What the hell is wrong with you? [ She saw the fists. All of her feels itchy. ] You came out of NOWHERE, Daryl! [ No he didn't. Not really. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 12:38 am (UTC)Sorry. Used to movin' around quiet. [Has he told her this, yet? Maybe it'll distract her from her sickness, her fear, her clear embarrassment.] Was a hunter, before. Now, why don't you sit down.
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 12:45 am (UTC)She heaves again, but it's less this time, and her heavy footsteps move her so she can aim it behind a tree at least. She spits. Once, twice, thrice. The acid, the iron, the vanilla is all there.
She plops down on a log, knees together, arms akimbo in front of her. He apologized. Part of her knows he didn't need to. A smaller part thinks maybe she needs to. She doesn't. ]
Like, animals? Not peoโ [ Ahem. ] The geeks?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 01:03 am (UTC)[He's done this before, is the thing. Sick people during that bad flu, and before, when Merle took bad shit. Merle was harder-- wouldn't take any help, but needed it. The people at the Prison mostly let him get along with them, but he was shy, then, afraid to touch. What difference nearly a decade makes.]
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 01:44 am (UTC)Maybe. Most of it's out.
[ Hrngh. ] No more hurling. I think.
[ Meg didn't have a dad. And who knows how old Daryl is. He's old. Older than some. Maybe like a funky uncle or a weird brother. Meg didn't have any of those, so it's hard to place. Her stomach roils again. She'd like to stop thinking about it, and about the fact she BIT him, like if it had been the Ghost Face like it would have done anything at all. ]
What'd you hunt?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 02:24 am (UTC)Anything I could catch. Squirrels. Frogs. Deer was my favorite.
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 03:50 am (UTC)She takes the offered water too, pours some in her palm and rubs it across her face. She's going to be rank, but the offered items are appreciated. She still feels embarrassed. He's older, but she's experienced, isn't she? She shouldn't be jumping, attacking other survivors. ]
What's frog taste like?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-11 03:54 am (UTC)Like chicken'n fish at the same time. Legs do, anyway. Guts just taste like guts.
สแดsแดแด ษชสสแด
Date: 2023-01-07 12:29 am (UTC)You really think I'm stupid, don't you?
no subject
Date: 2023-01-07 01:45 pm (UTC)But I'm willing to let you prove me wrong.
no subject
Date: 2023-01-10 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-01-10 11:41 pm (UTC)We'll just have a friendly little conversation. No knives. None of your friends. Sound fair?
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Date: 2023-01-11 12:37 am (UTC)[ Can he fight without a knife? Of course he can, with the Entity involved he can probably do anything he likes. ]
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Date: 2023-01-11 01:46 pm (UTC)None of that, no. And no tricks on your end.
สแดsแดแด ษชสสแด
Date: 2023-01-07 12:51 am (UTC)[ ...Screeeeeech. SCREECH. If she could find the photos, she'd rip them up. If she could find the cameras, digital and manual, she'd trash them to pieces. If she could find him alone, quiet and assuming, she'd โ ]
Are all your photos digital? Or does the Entity let you develop them yourself?
[ Did she give you a printer? ]
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Date: 2023-01-07 01:51 pm (UTC)[ There are pictures around, pictures to be torn up. But as cathartic as that might be, there will always be more. ]
[ And, because he can't help himself, after a couple minutes of silence, Danny sends her a picture of a picture: taken in a trial, Meg's final moments. She's not wearing one of those stupid masks, either, so the expression on her face is unobstructed. There's blood on her chin. ]
What do you think?
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Date: 2023-01-10 11:31 pm (UTC)She doesn't mean to examine the photo. She should delete it, the entire conversation actually. But she looks at it. Examines it. She's moments from death, Ghost Face pressing her down with his thighs, his hand in her hair, his knife having punctured her chest, her lungs. Blood bubbles up over her lips, down her chin. She looks โ
Afraid, like prey, also โ angry. She looks angry. So angry. It's there, in the gleam of her eye, the set of her brow. ]
I think you should take up landscapes.
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Date: 2023-01-10 11:43 pm (UTC)I think you just need an art lesson, Meg. I'd be happy to help.
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Date: 2023-01-11 12:27 am (UTC)You take the same photo every time.
Maybe trya nice landscape. Ormond in the snow.
Or the Red Forest. Watch out for hatchets.
[ Don't watch out for hatchets. Take one to the mouth. ]
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Date: 2023-01-11 01:45 pm (UTC)It's different every time for me. Sometimes you really make me work for it.
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Date: 2023-06-04 06:06 pm (UTC)One measly text comes through: ]
lo
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Date: 2023-06-12 08:20 pm (UTC)it doesn't do him much good. Meg sounded close, but he doesn't see shit. doesn't hear it, either, until his back pocket chimes and he nearly jumps out of his skin. the text doesn't help much either. HI!!! HE HATES THIS!!!! )
Lo WHAT? You're low? Should I be looking low. If I marco can you polo.
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Date: 2023-06-19 03:48 am (UTC)look
[ Dead silence, one beat, two beat, three beat, fourโ ]
โBEHIND YOU.
[ Meg's voice booms behind Steve, and she throws herself at him, arms looping around his neck. She's not particularly short, but she still hangs off him, cackling, braids swinging. ]
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Date: 2023-06-20 02:50 am (UTC)which is somewhat embarrassing. even more embarrassing than being snuck up on in the first place. if it was a murderer he would be 100% dead. there's more embarrassing to be had, though, because in the sudden and startling impact he's not quite ready to be standing upright for the both of them. he flags to one side, and it turns out it is a little too far to one side. they're going down, and if there is somebody dangerous stalking along the woods, they will have an all you can eat jock buffet as both of them dramatically bite it on mildew-y, sponge-y damp ground.
Steve is dazed and every last bit of oxygen he was keeping in his lungs, you know, like a normal person, was stunned out of him somewhere between the cry after being tackled and eating shit on the ground. ) What — ( huff puff huff PUFF ) What —– ( no he just doesn't have the spare oxygen for this. but he is angry, FOR THE RECORD, as he tries to sit up and catch his breath. did he sort of land on her??? uh, maybe. oops. )
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Date: 2023-06-20 03:26 am (UTC)They hit the ground and Steve sputters. He doesn't even get a full sentence out, and that makes her laugh more, a loud boisterous guffaw that's quickly cut off by the oomph as he half lands on top of her. Her eyes are closed, and she tips her chin up, mouth open as she laughs and laughs, leaves and twigs tangled up in her braids. ]
Dude. If I was a murderer, you'd be 100% dead.
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Date: 2023-06-20 04:40 am (UTC)and you know what, Meg, he doesn't need that "you'd be dead" FYI, he did in fact realize that by the time he choked on the weight of girl hanging off his shoulders!!!
Steve huffs, and he barely has enough oxygen for even that. goddamn it. he struggles somewhat to try and get up and ultimately just gives up and flops down next to Meg, legs still half tangled together. and that does not mean he is LESS ANGRY, it just means he maybe doesn't want to be bearing down on top of her if someone by the campfire wants to check in on what all the shouting is about. there's only so much shame a soul can sustain in one sitting. the laughing isn't helping, either, because... well... you know, outside of the panic and surprise and those two seconds he thought he was going to find her corpse because he had the audacity of taking a nap, maybe it's a little funny. maybe with time and distance, Steve can look on this moment more favorably.
as it is, he's definitely not seeing it. he scrubs his hands over his face and flumps into the moss and branches and makes a loud noise of frustration before he spares Meg a direct and dark look. ) What's — what's wrong with you? I thought somebody was out here ... pulling out your intestines. ( Meg is a tomboy, so more rough and tumble than many girls. but there's still a limit, and since she's not another guy Steve cannot shove her, or punch her hard in the arm and then a second for flinching. it is deeply gradeschool, to pull one of her braids, to punctuate his displeasure. but what the hell else is he supposed to do ? ?? ? ? NOT get handsy about his disapproval? that can't be right. )
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Date: 2023-06-23 11:33 pm (UTC)plant your feetstand your ground. Right now? It's not looking good! Her laughter is strong and healthy (citation needed), the full belly laughs petering off to wheezing snickers.Her expression though is bright, electric. Meg is often frowning. Sometimes she's grinning, usually with a sharp edge: mid-trial halfway through a vault, ready for anything. She was grinning earlier, in the dark, waiting to nab Steve at just the right second. Now though, the smile is wide and unguarded. God. It makes her feel like a kid. Or at least, someone real.
He's knocked the air out of her, but she's able to respond when he finally squawks out some real words. ] Just keeping you sharp, grandpa. You should have seen the look on your face! I should have taken a picture.
[ Her eyes roll when he tugs on one of her braids, and her hand comes up to swat at his cheek. ]
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Date: 2023-06-26 07:13 pm (UTC)still, the genuine laughter is getting to him. he can't see why any of this is funny, though, that might have to do with the leaves in his hair and the fact his jeans are going to have a wet ass when he grumbles back to the campfire. it's not that he's not pissed, because he is. he just ... gets that sometimes you need to feel fucking human around here, and while Meg laughs plenty, usually it isn't that wheezy about-to-cry truly delighted kind. he props himself up on his elbows, oxygen once again properly populating his lungs, and looks down at the giddy grin splitting her face in half. now he's mostly annoyed at himself, for being such a sucker, and letting a smile poke a hole in the wild storm of his righteous indignation. Meg pushes mildly at his face and he refuses to roll back out of her space. she DESERVES a mulch-covered Indiana boy in her personal bubble right now. )
You're a brat, ( Steve declares widely, though his tone is less incensed and more resigned and somewhat accepting. Meg is a brat, and he does accept that about her. he leans closer to pinch determinedly at her side, continuing his playground bully level reprimands streak. ) Next time you come out here to yodel, you're on your own. Let the psycho with a chainsaw have you.
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Date: 2023-06-28 09:55 pm (UTC)[ Her cheeks are still a happy, healthy, ruddy red, but her grin twists when he pinches her side. The grin doesn't go away... She is still receiving attention, after all. Which is a positive thing. There wasn't a way to stop Megan from doing what she was going to do once she started, but Steve notably isn't storming away or screaming or stabbing. In this place, what a grand result.
Steve is warm where they're pressed close, and she isn't anything if not competitive. Her own finger comes up, pinches the skin at his side. ] You're just mad I got you. Thanks for coming to look for my body.
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Date: 2023-06-28 10:40 pm (UTC)I'd say, anytime, but how about we don't do this shit again. ( knocking him over is funny, he can see that. if it had happened to, say, Dwight. Jake maybe. he'd have laughed too. that part, sure. pretending some psycho was out here chopping her up for chili ingredients? hmm, he's still not sold on that one. he's had too many people wandering off in the woods never to be seen again, it's not exactly a great to have that discomfort tapdanced all over.
and, because it is quite beyond him to be up front and straight forward about all the reasons this is uncomfortable, he decides to lampoon his own sensible point. the slight smirk set on his face should give away the smarm before he even says anything. ) If you wanted to be all over me, you could have just said so. ( nothing like hitting on a girl to convince her to not emotionally scar you in the future. there's no way that won't work. )
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Date: 2023-07-10 03:20 am (UTC)It's funny, how he telegraphs himself. Meg isn'tโ Meg hasn't ever been a terribly empathetic person. She was never so good at making friends, real friends. But she's been here a long time, and she knows him, in a way. You can't cycle through trials again and again and not get a good sense of your compatriots. Steve is stiff and annoyed, slightly more than she expected, and then his mouth flattens before it stretches into a smirk.
Oh. ]
Aw. Steven. Did you want to be wined and dined? I don't have any wine, but I do have a packet of salted peanuts.
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Date: 2023-07-16 08:40 pm (UTC)explaining the complexities of all these uncomfortable emotions is not really Steve's style. it is much easier to just elbow past all that, instead of ribbing for an apology, or explaining why it sucked. his aggravation and all the pinching and hair pulling surely did the heavy lifting on that one. Meg knows better now. it is more fun to tease her than it is to unpack the uncomfortable churn in his stomach that he might have been too slow to help her when she needed him. or that she had a literal rofl at his panic and surprise. )
Why wouldn't I wanna be wined and dined? ( Steve scoffs, finally making an effort to sit up. ) I'm worth it. I'm the whole package over here. I expect more than pocket peanuts, dick. ( Steve shakes his head like a dog that ran through a sprinkler, and if that results in mulch and dead leaves getting splattered on his present company, well, she deserves it. the whole package includes great hair, he's got a reputation to maintain here, and that means no wildlife disrupting his volume. )
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Date: 2023-09-05 04:04 am (UTC)All I've got is water with parasites and the peanuts you're too snobby for.
[ She looks pretty comfortable on the ground until she... snaps upward, face just a few inches from Steve's. She's grinning sharply. ] Wait. Wait. I can wine you.
How good are you at unsetting traps?
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Date: 2023-10-24 05:32 pm (UTC)Meg sits up abruptly and somehow despite the fact he was bodily on top of her ten seconds ago it just seems so much closer, now, somehow. but she's grinning like she's got something wicked in mind, and not in a roll around in the leaves sort of way. Steve groans, and that's because he hit the ground hard, okay??? not because he's feeling some type of way all of a sudden and somehow even less disposed to a Meg adventure than he was when he just wanted a nap. )
Like... bear traps? ( oh, that bodes poorly. he can guess just fine where wine and bear traps are. )