( tdm 11 )

[hownkai]

T E S T D R I V E

ABOARD THE MOIRA Whether adjusting to space travel has been difficult or not, there is always something to be done. From working to leisure, the Moira offers a multitude of opportunities to get to know your crewmates a bit better. Exploration of the ship is highly encouraged, but as another planet grows closer to being docked, things start to get a little hectic. You'll notice a slight change in the artificial gravity as the Moira is pulled into a gravitational field; however, more noticeable changes can be found in the overall morale as you prepare to descend. ☄ on your own There are plenty of other communal areas on the ship to explore! Pick a place, and see where it takes you. ( These scenarios can be used as in-game canon. ) H A I S T O S Unlike previously visited locations, the sweltering heat of this planet can be felt long before arrival. The surface of Haistos is not a place for those with a weak constitution. It’s in a constant state of low-level volcanic activity as its land masses are dotted with many volcanoes—all of them spewing black ash into the air. Breathing is difficult without the aid of a respirator due to the potential of breathing in ash, and the plant life is stunted, adapted to living in an environment with little sunlight. The weather is unpredictable, and ash-storms will often blow in fiercely, leaving people trapped for a hours at a time before they blow themselves out. But that same ash which chokes everything on this planet is what also provides its livelihood. Haistos’ volcanic resources are a highly sought-after commodity elsewhere in the universe, and as long as gathering the ash is profitable, people will continue to return. Looking closely, etched into the curling paths of ignimbrite deposits that swirl along the base of the volcanoes is a language that is easily translated by the MID, often resembling Latin. Carved over time by visitors and travelers, it tells a tale of fire and stone and power. Some might even say there are mystic abilities associated with these volcanoes, though the rumors and myths behind it seem to be nothing but a warning to those who think to go looking for it. It’s also hard to tell if the words carry any true meaning since there are no natives to question, and all those who harvest the ash can only tell stories. Still, it’s apparent that people from many different times have all added to the scrolling messages. A word of caution: you cannot build here. Stone, metal, and wood all burn, all crumble. Only what is true can survive, and fire will show its true quality. ☄ breathing sparks Despite the haphazard lay of the land, there are things to do. Or, at least, things to see. The rocky terrain often leads to some inactive volcanoes that are perfect for exploring and harvesting the ash that continues to rain down across Haistos. There are step-like structures built into the sides of the volcanic craters, narrow but sturdy. With each move down, the air gets even thicker, and your respirator takes longer and longer to filter the unbreathable atmosphere the deeper into the planet you travel. Yet, the risk of asphyxiation is worth what awaits at the bottom of the staircase. Still warm, the volcanic rocks that are sunk into the deposits are both smooth and clear as crystal. Most of these gems retain heat permanently and can be used to warm small spaces. Gathering too many together in a single place, however, creates a reaction with the limited air supply and can spark a faux volcanic eruption—yes, these rocks are capable of producing lava at an impossibly quick rate. Is it possible to outrun the flow and reach the steps before it begins filling the bottom of the crater? The only thing worse than a sudden swimming pool of lava would be the respirator finally breaking because of the abrupt, extreme heat, wouldn’t it? ☄ under pressure Despite being unable to actually build any structures of substance on Haistos, walking around the planet itself is surprisingly easy. Due to its unusual composition, the ground itself is a noticeable mixture of dark rock and shining surfaces. More than that, each step around the bases of the volcanoes reveals something both amazing and rather fascinating: the ability to create diamonds without much pressure at all. It only takes a single step or even a hand print. Take a break and sit to rest? Diamonds. Wrestling over what pile of ash is yours to claim? Diamonds. Tripping and falling and refusing to get up so that no one sees your embarrassment? Diamonds. Suddenly, moving around on Haistos has taken a whole new turn. Especially when it’s completely possible to keep what you make with your very own body weight. ☄ if you break it, you buy it Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet. At the base of one of the smaller volcanoes, this message is carved into the rock in large, curling script. The volcano is currently inactive and is dotted with openings large enough for visitors to enter through. Stranger than the message is the faint tinkling sound - almost like glass clinking against glass - that grows louder the deeper into the volcano you go. The intricate honeycomb of paths all lead in the same direction—towards the sound and a mellow blue glow. At the center, the sound is loud and the light illuminates a large space. Thousands of crystalline creatures swirl and bump against one another, the source of both the sound and light. They appear to be a cross between a lightning bug and bee, glowing and noisy and harmless. The beautiful sight may, or may not, be dampened by the fact that the cavern is littered with glass honeycombs that have been built up within the bodies of fallen travelers. It’s clear that the organisms didn’t harm them, perhaps the result of too much ash or broken respirators, and the honey they’ve produced is light blue and clear. It’s sweet if eaten, bright and citrus-y, and carries an earthy undertone, making the skin glow temporarily after ingesting. If careful, visitors may harvest the honey, but do not disturb the creatures. Their wings are sharp, and when agitated, they swarm out of fear. OUT OF CHARACTER INFO FAQ | LOCATIONS | RESERVES | APPLICATIONS | NAVIGATION For mature or graphic content, please label. For questions, please direct them to the FAQ. As always, be kind and have fun!

Comments

[dum_spiro]

That he seems uncomfortable hugging her seems to cement her thought that he's fresh from home, or at least doesn't remember Teleios. Maybe part of her thought that if she reached for him then somehow there'd be a full-blown moment of realization for them both, but they're not in some corny movie. Pretty dumb, really, to even think of it. She'll excuse herself on the basis of being plucked out of a world where she finally managed to find happiness and into another where she has to start from scratch. It's not the worst thing she's been through, after all. And it's not fair to this Daryl for her to be disappointed in him for something that he didn't have any say in.

It hurts more than it should, but she can deal with hurt. Logically, too, she's been given one hell of a lot. She has those two years; all the quiet, and not-so-quiet, and ridiculous and sweet and wonderful moments she thought she was giving up when they made the choice to leave, she gets to keep them. And she has some version of him right here and healthy and safe, that's not nothing. She still gets to love him, just in a different way. Knowing firsthand how much worse things could get, maybe will get, she has no right to complain.

The thought of their people here drags her back to reality, and the very genuine anxiety that comes along with the thought of facing others from home. (Not her real home, that's a magically locked penthouse in a Temple that may as well not exist for all she knows. But she'll have to get to calling Earth "home" again, which turns her stomach.) Depending on what those people remember, they might not think it's so great that Carol's here. But, on the bright side, Teleios gave her a lot of perspective on this, mostly reinforcing her belief that family is family and she shouldn't write off anyone without trying her damnedest to make things as right as she can make them. It's sad, looking back, how caught up in her own head she was. Technically, she's supposed to still be that person, but at least she has the advantage of knowing that after Terminus, in whatever sense, she joined up with everyone again, and she can claim to be from that time instead, so she won't have to act like the selfish idiot she was those first months in Teleios.

"Who's that?"

[worn_wings]

Right now, the two of them are making the same, entirely understandable mistake: assuming don't be careful is something they've left behind. The risk is too high, right now, and besides that, there's plenty else to worry about here. (Maybe it'd be an easier adjustment if they were honest, if they could talk about their travels, if they could lean on each other the way they've gotten used to doing.)

(They'll be fine.)

(Gotta be.)

"Saw Carl," he says, hardly believing himself. And-- shit, how does he even explain it? "Rick's here, he said. Just--"

And now he stops, takes a long moment to try to figure out where she's from. When she's from. (She looks... the way she's meant to look, in his mind, and it twists something deep in him, makes him want to set his hand on her side, splay his fingers over the pale white and blue blossoms inked there.)

"What's the last thing you saw?"

[dum_spiro]

Rick, Carl, but no mention of Judith. Carol releases a breath, careful to be unreadable and hating that she has to lie. But she can't cope with what she's certain she'd see on his face if she tells the truth, and there's no way she could explain about Teleios without him knowing. He'd ask what happened there, she'd try to dance around how some other version of himself fit in, and he'd know because she couldn't hide that. She's just not that good a liar anymore, especially not when she's talking to, or about, Daryl. Too many months spent training herself out of the lies and brush-offs and fits of selfishness masked in martyrdom.

And so here goes nothing. Hopefully the subject matter will be reason enough for her reluctance to discuss it.

"It was... a little after Tyreese..." Carol cuts herself off, looking away, dearly hoping that is good enough, that he'll take her reaction as grief (which is genuine, even if she doesn't remember it happening she knows it did and that is enough to hurt) instead of deception. He'll know she's holding back, but that's how she was about everything before Teleios. (Right? She thinks this is how. It's hard to try and act like a version of herself she doesn't want to be anymore.)

"You?" It's a deflection, yeah, which again could be easily explained by a number of things aside from not wanting to elaborate on her own situation. She hopes.

[worn_wings]

It doesn't quite sit right, her reaction, but it's easy enough to attribute it to grief-- just like she wants.

And even now, after all the time spent-- well, they don't talk a lot about the people they've lost. You can't, because grief drags you back when you've got to keep walking. So he's not gonna dig, even if-- if, if what?

She'd say something, wouldn't she? If she knew. (He should say something. For a moment he entertains the thought, trying to come up with something-- some word or reference that wouldn't need explanation if it went overhead-- it's so ridiculous that he cuts that line of thought off before he comes up with anything at all.)

"After that," he says quietly, low and gravelly. He doesn't much want to share the details.

[dum_spiro]

None of this feels right at all to her either, but then it shouldn't. Right? Being ripped from the place you've come to think of as home and having the person you're closest to suddenly be a lot less close, and not to mention suddenly being on a spaceship with no idea of the threats and only a few simple things to defend herself... that's not supposed to be comfortable. And so whatever doubt she might have about Daryl's recent experiences is dismissed as hopeful naivete. Whatever (probably slight) chance there might be that he'd not think she was off her rocker if she brought up Teleios isn't much in the face of what he'd think about the much larger chance that she'd have to tell him about things they just didn't discuss and that he had no say in. She's telling herself it's all about sparing him from feeling weird, but really it's another way of protecting herself. Selfish, just like old times. Maybe she hasn't changed so much, after all.

To Daryl's mercifully brief explanation, she nods, unsurprised (grateful?) that he doesn't delve into specifics. It can't be good news, because it never is.

"Food any good?" she asks in a pinched voice, half-grinning, he'll probably recognize that she's trying hard not to get emotional. Later on, she'll find a dark corner and get it out however seems quickest, for now it's trying her best to be casual and trusting him to follow along. That's what they do, and at least that hasn't changed. She hopes.

[worn_wings]

Anything she doesn't know, he figures, she won't want to know. She never did want to in Teleios; and even if she doesn't remember the place, it stands to reason her logic would run the same way, that she wouldn't want to hear a thing about her own future here, either.

And if it comes up... well, then they'll deal with it.

"Funny lookin', but 's alright."

If he could he'd make a joke about what they're used to, but that doesn't feel right, considering where he's been.

"Hungry?"

Maybe it'll distract them both from questions he doesn't want to ask or answer.

[dum_spiro]

She laughs softly, hollow but not disingenuous, the way most of their laughter sounded back on Earth. At least she's got that piece of the part down.

"I'll do you one better. There a real kitchen in there?" This part she's less steady in, she just came from a beautiful kitchen in Teleios, the one gifted to her. But she's not supposed to have that but, disturbingly, it's not at all difficult to remember that she shouldn't know about that place. It feels wrong, but easy to slip into the role, a blatant lie right to the face of someone she swore never to lie to ever again. A pie or two is hardly going to square things.

It is, however, all she thinks she can offer. Falling right into the old trap of selfishness wrapped in platitudes and the greater good, not wanting others to hurt because she's not whole enough to accept their pain on top of her own. She never wanted to be this person again. But she is, so easily. So maybe she never stopped.

[worn_wings]

“Hell if I know.” All he’d done was pick up some food, sit with it and make sure everyone else who took was eating, too-- inspecting the preparation area would make him feel a little better, but it would’ve stood out more than he likes. This isn’t Teleios, which had been strange and impossible but eventually became familiar; he feels out of place again, conscious of how mismatched he is with these surroundings. For all that it was luxurious, Teleios was a little rough around the edges, enough that he found a way to fit himself in, do what he did best.

Here, he can’t get by hunting rabbits til he finds his footing.

“‘M alright,” he says, because he’s not sure the act can survive thinking too hard on the cozy home they all made there, safe with a stocked pantry and a wide array of weapons behind a magicked door. He can’t have that strange domesticity, he doesn’t want the reminders of it.

"C'mon."

[dum_spiro]

"Ah -- okay," she says, a little thrown by his refusal of food, especially if she's volunteering to cook. She can't remember a time he did that... but then, she wasn't there when he first got to Teleios. He mentioned how paranoid he was, not drinking what the Temple provided and probably going out in the pitch-black Winter to hunt his own food. When she thinks about it, it's kind of a miracle that he ate anything here. Probably the fact that he had no other option contributed. Not for the first time, she's incredibly in awe of Rick and feels a strange sense of guilt for not being there with him when he first arrived. That had to have been hell.

Either way, she's not going to argue the point if he's uncomfortable, whether for the reasons she surmises or different ones. That's the kind of stuff they don't talk about, and why she's all but abandoned the idea of mentioning that she has two-plus years of memories from another place entirely. At the very least, maybe she can use those memories to help Daryl through whatever it is he's going through, if she does it subtly.

"Any idea where we're going?" she asks, somewhat tentative but still with an air of cheekiness. They're not in the woods, and so she's wondering if his impeccable sense of direction holds. (Being slightly sarcastic hides her nerves, okay?)

[worn_wings]

If he hadn't already eaten maybe he'd be willing to take her up on it, face the uncanny sight of her in the kitchen here, familiar acts in an unfamiliar place, stripped of the easy way they were around one another. No grilled cheese in the middle of the night. No freezer full of labeled parcels, an oddly gruesome pantry. Laceration, gunshot, fever.

"We can get you fed if you want," he offers. Last thing he's going to do is let her not take care of herself, after all.

"If not..."

He shrugs. If not, then they explore.

[dum_spiro]

"Not that hungry." To say the least. His reactions are making her think too much, wondering whether it's something at home that has him so on edge, whether she was wrong and she left anyway and her Daryl just didn't know about it yet -- and, dammit, she's gonna have to curb that thinking right now. Daryl is right here and he deserves better than for her to pine over some version of him that he doesn't even know. And there could be a million reasons he's like this, starting with getting tugged out of the only world he's ever known and thrown into a place where his skills aren't worth a whole lot. Feeling useless, maybe. He does even worse with that then she does, which is saying something.

"Maybe there's a view somewhere. If we're really in space, might as well get a peek at it." The sentence ends rather abruptly, as she cuts of an automatic segue about Beverly, that shared dream where Beverly showed her all around her ship, which was in orbit around Earth. Carol hadn't thought it would be so touching, seeing a version of the world that doesn't end up dead and gone. That's another memory she'll have to stow.

Normally she'd have suggested finding weapons first, but she seems to be pretty well set in that department, and she can imagine he is too, else he wouldn't be eating. She's thankful, because honestly, after the nonsense with Loki, she's ready to hang it up awhile.

[worn_wings]

Fleetingly, he wonders at that-- she must be half starved, coming from when she did. He's well-fed and healthy enough, but straight out of their world, if he trusted the food at all he would've cleaned the place out. But Carol, well, maybe it's just she's not in the mood to take care of herself, or maybe she doesn't buy that it's safe. Hard to say.

A little too slow, he nods at the clipped-off almost-question, wonders what else she might have held back on. He's been through the observation deck, and he's pretty sure he can get back there. It won't be like it would if he could pull her close and the two of them could feel tiny but not alone, looking out on a field of unfamiliar stars stretching on forever, but it might be nice all the same.

"We can. 'N maybe get you fed after."

If he plays his cards right and she sees he isn't gonna keel over poisoned, maybe she'll let him make sure she takes care of herself.

[dum_spiro]

A joke about the vast difference in their appetites is all but out before she remembers she's supposed to be starving (probably. She doesn't exactly know how things are right after Tyreese, only that it seems safe to assume 'not good'). It's not only her feelings about him that have to be kept quiet, it's everything, and she's not used to that anymore. Lying to him feels all the worse because she knows,now, how it hurts him when she does. Every word out of her mouth feels like that falling tree.

In the end, she doesn't say a thing about the prospect of eating. Lying is just too hard and she's out of practice, and this whole thing reminds her of why it was so frighteningly easy to convince herself that letting nothing in was preferable to being genuine. At least she's learned enough to put off making that decision right now, because she's not exactly thinking straight, and thankfully she got enough in the habit of second-guessing herself whenever she wants to run and hide.

Thankfully, almost everything she passes is a jumping off point for a subject change. In this case, a panel on one of the walls.

"Dare you to go press five of those buttons and see what happens." She offers a sidelong grin, obviously a little forced but it's not as if that should be anything new.

[worn_wings]

"Oughta give 'em a couple days before I start breakin' things," he argues, faintly amused.

It's hard to let his spirits get too high, not with everything that's weighing on him. Strange galaxies, familiar faces, memories he can't get to line up with what should be.

And-- well, and Carol jokes like that when she's trying to cover, often, and he can't quite sort out what she's covering for.

Fortunately the hall ahead opens up, and in lieu of having to say anything he just points. It is, he has to admit, a hell of a view.

[dum_spiro]

"Chicken," she parries, all fondness. Too late it occurs to her that maybe that's a bridge too far, it's difficult to remember how far those boundaries moved over the years in Teleios. Not that far, she thinks. But it's telling indeed that she's bothering to second guess.

She happens to still be glancing at him when he points (was she looking for too long?) and that diverts her attention ahead. Even having seen a similar sight before, it's still pretty incredible, and she jogs forward to get a better look. Given the empty husk of a world they left behind, it's really something to see the sheer possibilities that a space view like this brings to mind. Life going on somewhere, somehow, even if not for all of them. Not quite as touching as the view of Earth, but still impressive, and still choking her up a little.

...Though, in fairness, she could be nearly crying for any number of reasons. Hopefully Daryl will assume the less suspicious ones, to which there's more than a grain of truth.

[worn_wings]

It feels natural enough, not too casual, not strange enough to draw his attention on its own. But he's keeping it in mind, a slow count of things he can't piece together just yet. In time, whatever it is will come to light-- or it'll turn out that it's just him being out of step. Either way.

Her steps quicken but he hangs back just a little, letting her have that lead. Already he's spent a fair amount of time standing there staring out into space, thinking of everything left behind. It's beautiful, no doubt about that-- meaningless, in another way. The distance is beyond his ability to comprehend.

Coming up behind her to look out, he sets a hand on the small of her back-- a gesture that would have been familiar and safe at home, he thinks, and he wants that sense of connection.

It's just habit that his fingertips fall perfectly over the leaves inked there.

[dum_spiro]

There have been moments, still are though they're fewer and farther between, when being touched would make her jump. She likely would have now, except that for a beat she's convinced it's her imagination. By the time she's certain that it's real, there's no abrupt flinching, only stillness. The last thing she would want is for him to move, and she can't even manage to care that she's using his offered comfort as some twisted recompense for the hurt she's feeling.

One thing about growing up in a family of Southern church-goers, you learn to judge people. Carol spent far too much of her life doing that, and it's part of why she's still so hard on herself. There was always gossip around the tables at potlucks, women in their big hats chattering about who was running around on his wife or who the real father of Mrs. Wilkins' baby is. She always found it astounding that people would make those sort of impulsive decisions and wreck their lives and reputations, especially when she was always so careful, always planning, keeping Ed's punishments at the fore so she could calculate how far to push. Just plain lack of honor and willpower, those people who can't manage to follow a few simple rules, she'd thought.

But right now, with Daryl's hand on her back in exactly the right place, she gets it. How someone could let an impulse, a silly and selfish want, ruin everything. She never wanted anything more in her life than to pivot into his arms and yank him close, knowing he'd give whatever she asked and not caring what taking that kind of advantage would make her.

Instead, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and looks over at him. "I'm okay," she says quietly, knowing he can clearly see that she's lying, and not even very well. Fumbling for an excuse and settling on not wanting him to think he did anything wrong, she tucks herself against his side, her head ducking to rest on his shoulder, arms slipping around him for one gentle squeeze before hanging loose around his waist. Not the right thing to do, but not as wrong as what she really wants. It feels good, so damn good that she'd throw everything away for another few moments before he shrugs her off in embarrassment.

[worn_wings]

It is, he thinks, not as uncomfortable as he'd expected, to stand here like this. He hadn't thought to reach for her until he did it; half expected, as he did, that she might pull away. But of course, whatever he's lost in losing her this time, it's not everything. He thinks of their clasped hands going off the overpass, the way she'd let him bully her into taking care of herself, into letting anyone else take care of her. That doesn't mean it's easy to predict when she'll draw back, when she won't be able to let herself feel it.

There's no way she's okay, not really, no more than he is-- no more than anyone could be in a situation like this-- but he lets it lie. Okay enough. Gotta be. What takes him by surprise, for a moment at least, is that she leans in against him instead of pulling away-- offering comfort, which makes sense, but accepting it, which is always the harder thing for Carol. Or so it seems.

It can't be fair of him to do this. Not this-- leaning against each other, offering and taking some solace in everything they have shared-- but keeping the secret. Puzzling through it is just a long knot of doubt. If she doesn't remember, it doesn't change the fact that he does, and if she'd feel unfairly violated by him knowing, wouldn't it be doubly a betrayal to hide that from her? Ignorance is bliss, though-- and she's worked, for the most part, to avoid learning too much about her own future. Whether that's different when it's in the past... And what if she's just carefully avoiding asking, the same way he is?

There's got to be something-- some idle old joke that won't demand too much explanation if it passes her by, or something. If she's expecting him to pull away, she's got a surprise in store. The thought doesn't even cross his mind. He doesn't think he would have, before Teleios. Not after everything, after Atlanta. In Alexandria it'd be her keeping her distance.

Hell, he should've let her snoop around the kitchen. At least he'd have probably managed to talk her into eating at least a little of whatever she made, and if she'd stumbled after cooking it, he might have some answers.

"Might could let you make me a grilled cheese," he murmurs at length, with all the warmth he can muster-- an obvious joke, perfectly casual, hopefully sufficient to lighten the mood if that's all it does (because the truth is he isn't even hungry), but he's thinking of a particular moment that maybe she'll recall.

(And if she does, well, maybe she'll be bold enough to say so.)

[dum_spiro]

Probably, it should pique her something's not right reflex that he's okay with so much contact when they've tended to be more sparing about it, according to her (somewhat trauma-fuzzied, admittedly) memories of before Teleios, which she'll have to remember to call "home" now. This feels... like it should feel, like a real home, and that's not how it should be at all. And then, in the midst of arguing with herself about how much less comfortable she should feel, he drops that.

Her first thought, oddly, is yet another wave of panic, which maybe he can ascertain given that she tenses up. Because no way he's not going to notice when he eats whatever she decides to cook that he feels a small but certainly evident surge of energy. She never figured out how to keep things entirely neutral, only how to enhance it. And, while she's busy getting frantic about that, it dawns on her the joke he just made. It certainly could be nothing, and she's quite sure that it's her own wishful thinking reading into it a callback to that night she beckoned him from his rabbit traps back to the farmhouse on the strange psychic bracelets Teleios used (she even misses those, how utterly crazy). It really could be just an innocent comment, albeit one that's coincidentally cutting damn close to the quick.

But... what if...?

"Those are best at three in the morning," she says, just enough humor in her clogged voice to pass it off as something that people just say. (She's being stupid, frankly, to let herself hope, knowing it couldn't ever be that simple. If, on the other hand, he hits another point that's far too close to home, she could duck her head just a little more -- she knows exactly how much, of course -- and someone who was looking for it would see a flash of black on the nape of her neck. But, of course, that's ridiculous, and really she should have let go already...)

[worn_wings]

There's no reason at all for her to panic. No reason he can account for, unless it's that she's trying to account for something she can't say, and there's very little he can imagine would fit that bill other than a few years' memories in another world. Carol, like anyone, is entitled to her privacy-- more than most, maybe, given she was denied it for so long-- but if there's a chance of this then damn right he wants to dig a little deeper.

He answers that with an affirmative hum. Maybe not as clear a confirmation as she'd hoped, if she's hoping. Her idle comment isn't exactly a declaration either, and for a moment he almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is if they really are avoiding the same thing, oblivious to the collateral damage of sparing each other's feelings.

He racks his brain for a better answer, something more sure, something she couldn't mistake, but short of blurting out the whole truth he hasn't got many food ideas. Instead he shifts his hand all too casually-- she has to feel it, the intent stillness of his stance, the way his attention is wholly focused on her-- and settles it on her shoulder. Not so abnormal. She shouldn't find it too unusual; they're close, of course, at home they're close, especially after Terminus, after Atlanta.

(And if he's right, then she doesn't know that.)

His fingers fall idly on her shirt, his thumb falls deliberately along the line of her spine, and he tries to figure out a way to look without seeming like he's looking.

[dum_spiro]

When his touch, yet again, is uncannily accurate, her thoughts go from confusion to flat-out reeling, not that it's outwardly evident as practiced as she is at appearing controlled when she's anything but. Part of her wants to leap away for reasons both noble and selfish, but that would lead to its own questions that she isn't prepared to answer. How did this get so out of hand so quickly? (Her only explanation, of course, is to blame herself, that Daryl's just trying to respond to her pressuring him to stay this physically close and doesn't have a clue about the loss he's innocently dredging up.)

Rather than startle away, she releases her hold and slowly moves to step out from his, because if she stays like this there's no way she won't cry and that impression is not the one she wants to leave him with. Her hand immediately moves to rest against the back of her neck, then moved just as quickly when she becomes aware she's doing it -- which may be telling, but only in the sense that she's not usually fidgety unless someone knew what she was hiding there. Far more telling is that she's quickly getting red in the face because she knows exactly how unhinged she must seem.

"-- Sorry. It's not..." Why is she talking? She knows better than to talk when she doesn't know what she's about to say. But she owes him an explanation for why she's acting like a lunatic, he has to know it's not a rejection because if she has to see that hurt look on his face again because of something she did she's really gonna lose it. And here she thought being suddenly on a spaceship was the most complicated thing she'd have to do today.

"I know I look crazy, but..." But what? Come on, think! In the end all she can do is murmur under her breath, "God, I don't know where to start."

Those moments when you're watching yourself be an idiot and can't manage to shut up despite how loudly your rational self is screaming for you to just stop? Yeah. But if she's going down in flames at least she won't be a liar to boot.

[worn_wings]

If he didn't know, the way she's acting would look crazy as hell. If he didn't know, he wouldn't have been able to do that, though-- to trace the unseen line of ink unerringly. She's not thinking that through-- of course she isn't, because she's not letting herself believe she could be so lucky, he thinks. It's reasonable enough. He's only half sure himself, even with the evidence mounting. It makes perfect sense-- even better, it makes the rest of everything that doesn't make sense make perfect sense.

And he should be dealing with this more gently, but with the rush of relief and the disorientation of where they are and the sudden lifting of the burden of inexplicable grief he couldn't share?

Yeah, rationality can take a hike. He laughs, warm and short and breathy, takes half a step closer. Fuck it-- at this point if he's wrong, things are muddled enough that it won't matter.

"C'mon, lemme see," he says encouragingly, a low rumble of amusement. And then-- Heaven help him if he's wrong--

"You gonna make me take my shirt off here?"

[dum_spiro]

To say his reaction isn't what she was expecting doesn't begin to cover it, and by the time he offers to take his shirt off her mouth is working silently as she struggles to follow, and she's half convinced that space makes people go utterly mad... until, at last, it sinks in. Her momentary confusion gives way to a shock of understanding, and then giddy, free-floating relief.

Placing a hand on her hip, she levels him with a look that would be frighteningly stern if she weren't so obviously holding back a stupid grin. Yeah, he got one over her this time, for a second, and honestly she could not possibly care less. But she's never going to roll over that easily, especially not when, as it turns out, she doesn't have to explain something incredibly strange and complicated in a time and place that has enough of both without her help.

"Exactly how long were you going to let me think I was going nuts?" she demands, looking for all the world like she's going to give him a good thumping for scaring her like that. But, of course, he'll know she's screwing with him.

He'll know. God damn she's never been more relieved to have just been acting like a loon, if that's what finally tipped him off.

[worn_wings]

Acting like a loon certainly didn't hurt-- it was enough to prove he wasn't imagining everything. If it'd been in his head, she might have reacted oddly, but not like that-- not so unsure, like she couldn't trust herself around him. Looking at it that way, he has a much better sense of what she must have thought-- which is something to chew on another day (because there's never been a time, not since they left the quarry almost, when she couldn't have leaned on him if she needed it, and she oughta know that). For the moment he doesn't care about a goddamn thing.

"Dunno," he answers, not bothering to hide his own grin. Because she remembers, she knows, neither of them are crazy and there's nothing to hide. "Bout as long as I felt like I was, I guess."

And if she's got no reason to keep stepping back, well, there's no reason not to reach for her now, right?

[dum_spiro]

If they're crazy, then it's like she always told herself when Teleios seemed too good to be true: it's the good kind. They both know enough about life and how hard and exhausting it can be, how it piles weight after weight on your back until you think you can't go on anymore and then, somehow, you can't seem to stop putting one foot in front of the other. Something like this, like they built in Teleios, their home, if that kind of relative happiness is crazy then sanity can take a flying Goddamn leap.

Huffing, she shakes her head in mock disappointment. "You're just the worst," she says, and then practically jumps into his arms. There'd be a kiss here, and a good one too, but she's actually crying a little now as she clings to him with a desperation that would be embarrassing if she weren't sure his feelings on the matter echo hers. Not tears of grief, of course, but the way she'll cry when he runs to embrace her outside Terminus, if she ever goes back, not that she knows that yet. Crying because her relief and joy and gratitude is so immense that something had to give, and with Daryl here and whole and with at least the important memories intact she's sure as hell not going to sacrifice her hold on him.

"I thought..." Well, it's obvious what she thought. They'd both been ready for that, to leave Teleios and have those two years-and-change vanish utterly. She couldn't decide which would be worse: going back to the shell of a person she was after Lizzy and Terminus, or having to pretend to. But she doesn't have to do either, and it's the closest she's come to thanking any God that might be out there for anything in so, so long. Maybe there will be awkward explanations to make at some point to someone or another about it, but at least she won't be facing it alone. In so many ways nothing has really changed for them in this strange new place where they don't know the rules or have any alliances to help them out, their family isn't whole. But now, for her, what felt insurmountable a few moments ago is suddenly a piece of cake by comparison, because if this can happen, if life or fate or whatever decided to grant them the space and chance to find each other yet again in spite of the astronomical odds, then by God anything is possible.

Burrowing her face into the crook of his neck, she lets out a puff of laughter that's almost a sob. It feels stupid, selfish, to be so relieved about this when having him here and safe would already be more than she deserves, and how many times did she tell herself that it didn't matter as long as they had each other somehow? No denying it anymore, which feels oddly freeing in itself.