Daryl snorts. "'Course you are." Of course that psycho would name her that.
He trudges through the house, careful to avoid broken floorboards. Seeing a swath of broken glass between him and the cupboards, he leans toward Angel, arms out. He'll sweep her up if he gets permission, carry her over the glass. "'M Daryl," he says, and then, "You'll wanna hand over thisall."
She wants to ask just what that means - but he's carrying on and offering to... carry her?
Puzzled, she steps forward, arms up out of his way for however it is he's going to pick her up. "Sure, if that's alright, that would be nice." Always pleasant, the way she was taught to be.
The second that she is though - she squeaks, in surprise more than anything else, grabbing onto him as hard as she can, worried that she'll fall or just that she's terrified of almost everything occurring around her, to her. Or maybe he's just there to hang onto and she's got now idea how to do anything else at this point but hang on tightly.
Christ, she's little. He can almost hold her one-armed, but he keeps her in a bridal carry, just to be safe. He doesn't look at her while she moves through the house, stepping over cracked glass and rotting carpet. Eventually, he finds what looks like a woman's bedroom, all draped in purple and florals. The floor is mostly clean, but Daryl sets the girl on the fluffy bed to be safe.
Then he begins casting around for shoes. He finds them slowly, tossed around the room as they are, and begins throwing them up onto the bed with Angel.
"Anything else you need?" He asks. "Once we get it all, I'm taking you to my people. We been living out a bus for the last few days."
Nisha's taste in clothing is nothing Jack would approve of for his little girl - but then Jack was full of double standards. Eventually, in his digging, he'd pulled out things that would be useful: an expensive set of high top cowboy boots, a little big for her, but sturdy.
"Why don't you bring them here? It's got to be better than a bus for a little while, right?" She fiddles with a shirt he's heaped onto the bed - purple. It had been Nisha's favourite colour, Jack had told her once.
Whilst he digs around in the room, she tugs on a set of jeans off the top of a pile under the dress. They fit, at least, so there's that. Then she starts looking for a shirt she likes. "I mean, Jack was greedy, he stockpiled... a lot. Any time there was someone he didn't like.... he'd just kill them and take it from himself."
The boots are too big, sure, but the group's long since learned to deal with that. Shoes are fitted, and scavenging them can be rough; no one's too picky anymore. Daryl takes out a roll of duct tape from the pack slung over his shoulder, and tosses it Angel's way. "Strap yourself in if it don't fit right. Won't be taking 'em off for a while."
It's a good way to get athlete's foot, Carol had once joked, back at the beginning of all this. She was probably right, but that was the least of their goddamn worries.
"That's how everybody is," Daryl grumbles. He keeps rooting through the room, looking for things not just for Angel, but for all his people. Maggie could wear this, Sasha might like this, this could be a blanket for the baby-- it all goes in his pack. "We don't lock kids in basements. Guess that makes us the strange ones, these days." There's disgust in his voice.
The next bit she waits until his back is turned and it's done as quickly as she can. Snatching up a shirt, and yanking the dress over her head, and pulling the shirt over instead and quickly as she can. It would be easier to maybe go out of the room, or ask him to leave whilst she gets changed.
But she can't bear it, too afraid.
Not that there is something waiting for her, to devour her. No, what grips terrible with fear is that he will disappear the second she takes her eyes off him. A vapour of blood and dust and fairytales that she's dreamt up.
Which whenever he looks back she looks - well, different now at least. "I should be okay, I think, Nisha wasn't that much taller than me, or older, really." Said with a shrug. Maybe it didn't fit right, but if she was going out there, she wasn't going to go dressed like someone's precious little darling. So that had to count for something, right?
"Jack said something like that, that it's all:" she mimics, an arrogant, deep voice, mocking teenagers drag. "'It's kill or be killed now, pumpkin, so don't cry about it. They deserve what they get.'" her eyes roll as she sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Her legs swinging back and forth where she's not tall enough to have them reach the ground.
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He trudges through the house, careful to avoid broken floorboards. Seeing a swath of broken glass between him and the cupboards, he leans toward Angel, arms out. He'll sweep her up if he gets permission, carry her over the glass. "'M Daryl," he says, and then, "You'll wanna hand over thisall."
no subject
Puzzled, she steps forward, arms up out of his way for however it is he's going to pick her up. "Sure, if that's alright, that would be nice." Always pleasant, the way she was taught to be.
The second that she is though - she squeaks, in surprise more than anything else, grabbing onto him as hard as she can, worried that she'll fall or just that she's terrified of almost everything occurring around her, to her. Or maybe he's just there to hang onto and she's got now idea how to do anything else at this point but hang on tightly.
no subject
Then he begins casting around for shoes. He finds them slowly, tossed around the room as they are, and begins throwing them up onto the bed with Angel.
"Anything else you need?" He asks. "Once we get it all, I'm taking you to my people. We been living out a bus for the last few days."
no subject
"Why don't you bring them here? It's got to be better than a bus for a little while, right?" She fiddles with a shirt he's heaped onto the bed - purple. It had been Nisha's favourite colour, Jack had told her once.
Whilst he digs around in the room, she tugs on a set of jeans off the top of a pile under the dress. They fit, at least, so there's that. Then she starts looking for a shirt she likes. "I mean, Jack was greedy, he stockpiled... a lot. Any time there was someone he didn't like.... he'd just kill them and take it from himself."
no subject
It's a good way to get athlete's foot, Carol had once joked, back at the beginning of all this. She was probably right, but that was the least of their goddamn worries.
"That's how everybody is," Daryl grumbles. He keeps rooting through the room, looking for things not just for Angel, but for all his people. Maggie could wear this, Sasha might like this, this could be a blanket for the baby-- it all goes in his pack. "We don't lock kids in basements. Guess that makes us the strange ones, these days." There's disgust in his voice.
no subject
But she can't bear it, too afraid.
Not that there is something waiting for her, to devour her. No, what grips terrible with fear is that he will disappear the second she takes her eyes off him. A vapour of blood and dust and fairytales that she's dreamt up.
Which whenever he looks back she looks - well, different now at least. "I should be okay, I think, Nisha wasn't that much taller than me, or older, really." Said with a shrug. Maybe it didn't fit right, but if she was going out there, she wasn't going to go dressed like someone's precious little darling. So that had to count for something, right?
"Jack said something like that, that it's all:" she mimics, an arrogant, deep voice, mocking teenagers drag. "'It's kill or be killed now, pumpkin, so don't cry about it. They deserve what they get.'" her eyes roll as she sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Her legs swinging back and forth where she's not tall enough to have them reach the ground.