𝚁𝚄𝙱𝙸 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇;

[dadyl]

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Daryl Dixon, 53

It's Daryl, say what you gotta say.

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[telepathy]

[ she laughs. it feels good. even if she seldom does it, it feels like her in a way that she has struggled with since leaving the castle. she rolls onto her side, taking the thrown pillow and tucking it under her head. she stares across the space at daryl. ]

Do not punch him. He is too fragile. [ and dumb, yes. but at least she feels better having articulated the complexity of it. he doesn't quite grasp the ins and outs, but the general pattern seems to have conveyed, and that's better than mavis expected.

it feels good. not being alone. ]

[dadyl]

[ He's never seen that before, her laughing. It's the last thing he's expecting during their first conversation after the void, after their resurrection. He could swear parts of him still hurt.

But there it is. It makes him laugh too. ]

Alright.

[ If she wants to catch some sleep he isn't going to doze, but when Mavis gets comfortable Daryl pulls his legs up and lays out on his back. The ceiling is the safest place to look before he lets his eyes close. A rest won't kill him. ]

But he steals you again, an' he's gettin' punched.

[telepathy]

I will do the punching.

[ she huffs this out. after a beat though, she accepts, ] You can too.

[ just as long as they both understand that it's not on behalf of, not for, not a substitute for her own anger. she needs no representative to act on her behalf. ]