So, I was a bitch. I wanna ap- I'm sorry. I was real fucked up and I took it out on you. You- [She's pretty sure it's not totally her fault, but today? She is fucking tired of fighting. She tamps down on her battered ego and moves on.] You were just trying to be nice. And your jacket was pretty cool.
[ He's quiet for a while before answering, just to make sure she's actually finished. ]
You ain't gotta be sorry. [ He doesn't sound annoyed, which would be enough for someone who knew Daryl well to tell that he's just a little bit amused. ] You just ain't foolin' anyone.
[ Like deer that got their antlers tangled. Why would he...? There's a gruff, exasperated sound over the connection. ]
Come get it. [ It wasn't a good enough apology to turn him into a delivery boy. ] Carpenter's workshop. Not the guy with the lumber yard, one that does furniture.
[ He's parked in the outdoor work yard with grease up to his forearms, working on his bike that Billy just had to mess around with. ]
Daryl, Joan reasons, is from the south. She can think of few better olive branches that aren't actively offensive than the bullshit she's been brewing in her kitchen-- it's nothing magical, just sweet tea, brewed hot with sugar, chilled and poured into a large glass jug. (Joan has no clue the tea house she's been getting the shit from puts aphrodisiacs in their mixes; why would she ask, and why would the shop girl tell her?)
So it's with this under her arm that Joan approaches the carpenter's shop. She smells something that unlocks almost three decades of sense memory, and wanders toward engine grease and sweat. Joan looks over Daryl and his fucking bike the same way a gambler looks over a winning hand: with the kind of practiced disinterest that begs not to be noticed.
[ He looks up when she comes in, just long enough to confirm it's the company he thought and then go back to work. If their last interaction had told Daryl anything about Joan, it's that she doesn't stand on manners. ]
Yeah. That freak that comes through, he traded me the parts for it. Runs fine most days.
[ He sets the wrench down, stands and wipes his hands on a rag that absolutely does not clean them. ]
[Right now, something far more interesting is happening than a jacket. Joan puts her jug of tea down and watches Daryl's hands, smells the familiar scent of engine grease.] Runs on what? You got a secret Shell station out back?
Ethanol? [Joan whistles the way wolves do in cartoons.] That's fuckin' smart. Jesus. I used to be a mechanic, back home. Never worked on bikes, but- [Joan bends her head a little, walks around to Daryl's side so she can see what he's doing-] looks fucking nice, man.
[ He lets the flattery roll of him like it wasn't really meant for him, but he manages not to actually hunch his shoulders a little against it. A mechanic though, that's interesting. ]
Thanks. Didn't realize how much I'd miss all this 'til I didn't have it. Saves me miles.
[Joan smiles, eyes wide, and if she had any natural beauty it'd shine through in the summer light. She doesn't, though, so her smile's just too sharp and her hair's too red.]
Yeah. Damn. Got all nostalgic for a second, there.
[But her mood's significantly improved. Almost bouncing on her heels, she goes to get the jug.] I been making tea. Fuckin'- apology drink, I guess.
[ Nostalgic. Yeah, he knows that ache. The bike is helpful but every day it reminds him acutely of where he isn't. ]
Alright. This is closer.
[ To a real apology, that is. He looks at the tea, then at Joan. When he takes it, he's essentially hoping for the best that she can be trusted. That smile she'd just shown him had done a lot of the work for her on that account. ]
You didn't have to. Wasn't like I was waitin' out there for folks to be nice to me. [ He pops the cork and takes a swig, not bothering with a glass. ]
[Daryl will find the jug is filled with sweet tea and lemon slices-- not the best, even Joan will admit that, but she thinks it's about as good as they can get without Lipton packets.]
Yeah, I kinda assume you're not trying to emotionally entrap me. [It's gentle ribbing. It probably comes on too strong. She always does.] Reckon it's the least I can do... considering. Always put my fucking foot in my mouth with you.
[It's not really always, but it feels like it to Joan, someone whose guilt is as overactive as her rage.]
[ She gets a flat look for what Daryl is assuming is her sense of humor but it's hot enough out that the drink is nice. Nothing like the soup Georgia turned into in the summers, but it isn't like he remembers to take care of himself any better here than he did back home. ]
You weren't that bad. Weren't the only one that that threw up, either.
[ But he isn't going to narc on Nikolai like that, so he leaves it there. ]
[She looks at him with his greasy hair and grey beard, the sweat on his neck and the motor oil on his hands. She wants to touch him. She wonders if he fucks hard.]
[(The aphrodisiacs she doesn't know are in the tea and starting to kick in.)]
Nah. Didn't wanna go back in. Hey, d'you wanna, uh. Go out some time?
[ For a moment he doesn't understand what she's asking. He squints at her until it clicks, then he has to turn away to hide how he's immediately worrying his lip between his teeth. He drops the wrench in the tool box and it's noisier than it needed to be. Awkward. ]
I don't 'go out'.
[ But for once Daryl hears how that sounds when he says it. Normal people do what she's doing, even though he has no idea why she'd ask him. He feels a hot prickle start up on the back of his neck and he takes another swig of the tea to buy time, to stop his throat from getting any tighter. ]
[As much as Joan enjoys assertive, commanding presences, Rubilykskoye has opened her eyes to the appeal of shy bashfulness. She wonders how shy he'd be while she was touching him. She's sure, in this moment, that she could give him a good time. It would be a kindness. (A selfish kindness. It would be incredibly erotic, she is also sure.)]
[So she gives him space. Lets him take his time.] I'm not great, either. Shocker, I know. [She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.] But I like you, and you're very fucking nice to look at.
[And very much in her league, and kind, empathetic, knows his way around an engine, and-] I wouldn't mind giving you a good time. However you wanna do it.
[ She's watching him and Daryl feels like something on a butcher's counter, something that looks good. Something for sale. ]
Don't-- [ A wall goes up with the word, ] Talk about it like that. Like it's a favor.
[ A party gift. He's never going to get used to how sex is just offered here, bartered, traded. Sometimes taken. He gives her a long look, trying to read her while simultaneously trying to lock himself away. Become a surly mask instead of an obviously confused old man. ]
[If Joan were pretty, she's sure this wouldn't happen. It's not that Daryl thinks she's ugly, exactly, but it wouldn't be so easy to reject her if she looked like a model, like everybody else here does. At this point, it's absurd to take it personally. It doesn't mean anything. It's just how life is.]
Yeah, well, I'm pretty cheap.
[That was pure bitterness, entirely unworthy of the kindness Daryl has shown her, unrelentingly if stubbornly applied. She shakes her head.]
Look, it's whatever. Just an offer, you know. [She looks away, frowning.] All I'm saying is-... thanks. For checking on me. That's all.
[She takes a step back, clearly preparing to turn tail and leave.]
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[A significant, but not exhaustive, pause.]
So, I was a bitch. I wanna ap- I'm sorry. I was real fucked up and I took it out on you. You- [She's pretty sure it's not totally her fault, but today? She is fucking tired of fighting. She tamps down on her battered ego and moves on.] You were just trying to be nice. And your jacket was pretty cool.
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You ain't gotta be sorry. [ He doesn't sound annoyed, which would be enough for someone who knew Daryl well to tell that he's just a little bit amused. ] You just ain't foolin' anyone.
[ Well, maybe someone. But not him. ]
You can have the jacket if you want.
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Look, I said my shit. I'm sorry for screaming at you. You were just trying to help. You wanna get on my shit for being tall, whatever.
I do want the jacket, though.
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[ Like deer that got their antlers tangled. Why would he...? There's a gruff, exasperated sound over the connection. ]
Come get it. [ It wasn't a good enough apology to turn him into a delivery boy. ] Carpenter's workshop. Not the guy with the lumber yard, one that does furniture.
[ He's parked in the outdoor work yard with grease up to his forearms, working on his bike that Billy just had to mess around with. ]
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So it's with this under her arm that Joan approaches the carpenter's shop. She smells something that unlocks almost three decades of sense memory, and wanders toward engine grease and sweat. Joan looks over Daryl and his fucking bike the same way a gambler looks over a winning hand: with the kind of practiced disinterest that begs not to be noticed.
"That yours?"
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Yeah. That freak that comes through, he traded me the parts for it. Runs fine most days.
[ He sets the wrench down, stands and wipes his hands on a rag that absolutely does not clean them. ]
Jacket's upstairs.
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Nah. Learned how to convert 'em to run on ethanol a while back.
[ Back home, that is. Here, it was just remembering the finer details and then bartering for the space to ferment the damn corn. ]
Dunno how the hell House kept his golf cart runnin'.
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[ He lets the flattery roll of him like it wasn't really meant for him, but he manages not to actually hunch his shoulders a little against it. A mechanic though, that's interesting. ]
Thanks. Didn't realize how much I'd miss all this 'til I didn't have it. Saves me miles.
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Yeah. Damn. Got all nostalgic for a second, there.
[But her mood's significantly improved. Almost bouncing on her heels, she goes to get the jug.] I been making tea. Fuckin'- apology drink, I guess.
[She still can't make herself say sorry.]
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Alright. This is closer.
[ To a real apology, that is. He looks at the tea, then at Joan. When he takes it, he's essentially hoping for the best that she can be trusted. That smile she'd just shown him had done a lot of the work for her on that account. ]
You didn't have to. Wasn't like I was waitin' out there for folks to be nice to me. [ He pops the cork and takes a swig, not bothering with a glass. ]
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Yeah, I kinda assume you're not trying to emotionally entrap me. [It's gentle ribbing. It probably comes on too strong. She always does.] Reckon it's the least I can do... considering. Always put my fucking foot in my mouth with you.
[It's not really always, but it feels like it to Joan, someone whose guilt is as overactive as her rage.]
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You weren't that bad. Weren't the only one that that threw up, either.
[ But he isn't going to narc on Nikolai like that, so he leaves it there. ]
You end up gettin' your stuff back?
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[(The aphrodisiacs she doesn't know are in the tea and starting to kick in.)]
Nah. Didn't wanna go back in. Hey, d'you wanna, uh. Go out some time?
[She is trying to be gentle.]
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I don't 'go out'.
[ But for once Daryl hears how that sounds when he says it. Normal people do what she's doing, even though he has no idea why she'd ask him. He feels a hot prickle start up on the back of his neck and he takes another swig of the tea to buy time, to stop his throat from getting any tighter. ]
I'm a lousy date.
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[So she gives him space. Lets him take his time.] I'm not great, either. Shocker, I know. [She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.] But I like you, and you're very fucking nice to look at.
[And very much in her league, and kind, empathetic, knows his way around an engine, and-] I wouldn't mind giving you a good time. However you wanna do it.
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Don't-- [ A wall goes up with the word, ] Talk about it like that. Like it's a favor.
[ A party gift. He's never going to get used to how sex is just offered here, bartered, traded. Sometimes taken. He gives her a long look, trying to read her while simultaneously trying to lock himself away. Become a surly mask instead of an obviously confused old man. ]
I ain't lookin' for cheap shit.
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Yeah, well, I'm pretty cheap.
[That was pure bitterness, entirely unworthy of the kindness Daryl has shown her, unrelentingly if stubbornly applied. She shakes her head.]
Look, it's whatever. Just an offer, you know. [She looks away, frowning.] All I'm saying is-... thanks. For checking on me. That's all.
[She takes a step back, clearly preparing to turn tail and leave.]
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