AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
Thank you for your comments. I'm glad to see that some of you are enjoying this. It's a little new to me as I've never quite written anything like this story. I'm looking forward to it, though. I think it could be interesting.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
Once the meal was passed in a somewhat awkward manner—small talk had always been difficult for Daryl, but it seemed especially difficult now—and trays had been put away, they were all free to roam the yard if they wanted. Outside, and in an early recess, Daryl discovered that there were certain activities they could partake in. There were boxes of books brought out, apparently where some of his bunkmates had acquired the copies they were reading the night before, and Carol informed him that they were free for the taking but it was always appreciated if they were returned since there might not be more coming into the prison. There were also some boxes brought out that contained simple things: decks of cards, puzzles, a few assorted balls.
Everything there was something that might be used to entertain kids. It was something that might be used to keep them quiet and occupied. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon, of course, unless someone were to get very, very creative with their time.
"We didn't have this kinda thing at my old place," Daryl said, once he was walking around with Carol and had left behind, at least for the moment, the other women from the table. "All these extra things? We didn't have nothing like that."
There are classes too," Carol said. "Supervised. Existence enrichment classes. That's what they call them. You can play with clay. Paint with non-toxic paint. Same kind of thing. Calm the animal within."
Daryl snickered at her tone of voice. She looked at him, at first with a warning look on her face, and then it softened into a smile. She didn't let it linger too long, though.
"You been here a long time?" Daryl asked.
Carol hummed.
"Only been transferred twice," she said. "My first place was my capture facility."
Daryl hummed. That was typical. Every facility was set up to take in new captures, but not every facility was really ready to handle a large load of wilds. How long you stayed at a place depended, from what Daryl could figure, on how big the place was, what it had to offer, and exactly how hard one was to tame.
"You went through taming there?" Daryl asked.
Carol hummed.
"Moved right after," she said. "Second place? Went through taming again."
She looked at him, searching his face for either approval or disapproval. He didn't have any judgment on anyone's taming, so he worked to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Carol gave him something that was barely a nod, sucked in a breath, and continued to speak even as she continued her steps.
"Came here right after," Carol said.
"You go through taming again?" Daryl asked.
He had to look at her to get a response then. She didn't offer a verbal one, just a nod as she continued to walk, head down to look toward the ground like she had to be particularly careful of where she placed her feet. She looked back at him, then, when he didn't say anything to her. Maybe she was checking to see if he'd seen her gesture.
"Twice," she said. "Once—just because, I guess. Once because I flagged out."
Daryl swallowed.
"What'd you flag out for?" He asked.
Her expression changed and she dropped her eyes again.
"Couple of things," she said, not looking at him. "Most of it was because I—most of it was improper conduct."
Daryl didn't press. He recognized, at the moment, that she wasn't going to like being pushed any farther. Like the blonde at the table, Andrea, who had been having a bad day and didn't appreciate questions, Carol didn't seem to want to be pressed.
And Daryl didn't want to lose the first friendly contact he could really remember enjoying in a long time for being too damn nosy.
So he decided to offer her some of his own story.
"I been through—hell, I don't remember. Probably eight places? Been through taming twice. Once was, well, when I got captured. The second time was some bogus shit because a guard had it out for me."
"It's always bogus," Carol said. She looked around, satisfied herself that they weren't being too closely observed at the moment, and then continued to speak. "This whole damn thing is bogus."
Daryl swallowed.
One of the things that got beat into them and got beat into them early was that this? All of this? It was for their own good. It was to help them, never to hurt them. Even if they didn't see it because they were too wild to understand it, it was for them. The number one rule, really, was that they didn't criticize. Different places had different rules, but openly criticizing the government and their choices was one of the things could land you with a strike or stripe or—if Daryl had to guess—a flag quicker than anything else.
It showed that you weren't as docile as you pretended to be. It showed that you didn't have control of everything and you didn't understand the way that society worked. It showed that there was a solid streak in you that was still wild.
It proved that this was the place for you to be. You didn't belong anywhere else. Nowhere out there—wild or civilized—was the right kind of place for you. You were right where you needed to be.
And maybe, just maybe, you needed a little more taming and a shorter leash.
"I don't know about you," Daryl said, "but what I got in here ain't really that bad next to some of what I seen out there."
"We all saw things," Carol said. "And—there were times I didn't have a place to sleep or food to eat, but I had things out there that I don't have here."
Daryl swallowed.
"You'd rather be out there? Wild?" Daryl asked.
"You'd rather be in here?" Carol asked, cutting her eyes around again to monitor their location in comparison to the guards that were paying closer attention to the inmates that looked like they might cause trouble—or that were actively engaged in something where trouble might accidentally erupt.
"Sometimes?" Daryl responded. He hummed when he had Carol's attention and her eyes were on him. "Mmm...sometimes I think they right. Think—some of us? We went too far. Was too far gone. Had to come back, but couldn't do it on our own."
He thought about it a moment, recalling for himself some of the memories that he mostly tried to tuck down as deep as they'd go—as far down inside of him as he could possibly pack them.
"I done things," he said. He shook his head almost to deny himself even the chance of remembering them. "Things—I couldn'ta come back from."
"But you did," Carol said. "You're here. You're not wild."
"Maybe I am," Daryl said.
"We all did things," Carol said. "Even they did. You didn't make it. You didn't—survive—if you didn't do things."
A sharp, shrill whistle sounded through the air and Daryl turned instinctively toward the sound of the noise. Something had broken out in the yard. It looked to be nothing more than a tussle between three or so men, but the officers were on it and treating it like a riot while one of them walked around and blew the shrill little whistle repeatedly.
Daryl froze his steps and looked at Carol. She, too, had stopped walking and was watching the whole thing with some curiosity. Around the outside of where the officer was walking a large circle, sounding his whistle repeatedly as he did so, inmates were gathering around to watch.
"Should we do something?" Daryl asked.
"Stay still," Carol said. "Until they break it up? Stay still. Otherwise? You might get flagged for trying to start something. You could get flagged for getting involved."
Due to his earlier brush with the officer that wanted to flag him for an honest mistake, Daryl believed Carol entirely. He was sure that even a half step in any direction, especially were it seen by the right person, could land someone in taming. He stayed next to her, watching the dramatics.
It wasn't long before the four men were out of whatever fight there had been, bound, and being escorted out of the yard. The whistle man continued to blow his whistle and slowly everyone started to close in on him a little more. Carol started walking in that direction, but Daryl didn't move until Carol stopped and turned to look back at him.
"You better come on," she said. "Recess is over now. Thanks to them? We'll be inside for the rest of the day. Grab a book as you go by if you can."
Daryl doubled his steps to catch up with her. She was walking with determination, shoulders forward. She wasn't slouching or slumping, she was leaning into her steps. She was speeding them up.
She was angry and annoyed at a recess cut short. It was still more of a recess than he was accustomed to having.
Still, for a moment, Daryl wondered if she might feel—like he did—that it was disappointing that their time to chat had been cut short. He quickly told himself, though, that it wasn't the case. She had friends here. She was established. She knew the law of the land and she had her own people. She was being nice to him, and she was giving him an "in" into her circle, but she didn't have the same kinds of feelings he did that came from having spent so much time practically isolated from friendly human interaction.
It had been long enough that even Daryl, though he'd once thought of himself as someone who didn't need people and really preferred not to be around them—almost cherishing his isolated incarceration at times—was starting to realize how much he was craving interaction.
They hadn't allowed it much at the other places he'd been. They'd said it provoked "pack mentality," though they'd never given a clear definition of what they meant by that. They'd said it was dangerous. They'd suggested it was dangerous to the inmates. Keeping them apart was protecting them. It was caring for them and looking out for their well-being. The government was an ever present parent watching out for all of them. Maybe it was because they thought the so-called socialization, or pack mentality, would lead to scuffles—because it often did—but Daryl wondered if there may be more to it.
Isolated, they were all easier to control. Isolated, it was easier to believe what you heard. It was easier to believe that if you questioned anything that was told to you by those in power, it was because you were still clinging to your old ways and you were misled by a damaged way of thinking.
They were all misled because of the changes that had happened to them when they'd gone wild. It wasn't their fault, of course, but they couldn't undo the damage on their own.
Alone they could believe that easier. Alone, it all started to make sense.
But together?
Even as Daryl found his line, watched somewhat mournfully as Carol found hers and fell in with the very same women that Daryl had shared breakfast with, he remembered what she'd said. When she was wild? Life hadn't been great. If it was at all like Daryl's experiences? It certainly hadn't been easy. But she'd had something out there that she didn't have here.
Was it freedom?
Could something that was nothing more than some kind of construction built on fear be something she missed so much? Or was it something deeper than that?
Daryl remembered the blonde, bitter and angry about something, chewing through her food with all the charm of the starved half-animal they believed her to be. She believed they should be treated as whole-humans, despite her table manners. She believed they should have rights—if rights weren't just as much a construction as the freedom.
Together—their thoughts and feelings were validated. Together? Their thoughts and feelings existed. They had them. They recognized them in themselves and in each other. Right or wrong—a point which might be truly up for debate—they had opinions on things.
Opinions and thoughts? Especially those driven by feelings?
Maybe they'd been right. Maybe they were dangerous.
But dangerous how? To whom?
Daryl jumped a little, his thoughts interrupted by the another shrill blast from a whistle, this time close to his ear as the officer passed near him. He fell in line with the others, when they started to move slowly forward, and focused his attention, at least for the time being, on not stepping on the heels of the man in front of him. After all, he didn't want to start another scuffle—and he certainly didn't want to risk being sent to taming for an accidental stumble.
