Summary: RP between me and feral-dary-dixon on Tumblr. I thought it was pretty good. It's called The Stray, and takes place a year after The Governor attacked the prison.
Over a year had passed since The Governor attacked and all hell had broken loose. He couldn't be sure exactly how long, he stopped counting the days. The summer sun was hot on his neck and he found himself missing the chill of winter even if that meant the hunger that usually went along with it.
A lone stranger with a long shadow wandered with an almost inhuman silence, plastic tube in one hand, empty gas can in the other. His dark, dirty hair had grown past his ears, and his scruff was a bit more untamed than he usually kept it. The stray was caked in dirt and sweat, something he didn't mind, as it protected him from the burn of the sun.
A crossbow could be seen strapped to one shoulder as he walked from car to car on the long abandoned road. He had finally managed to make it out of Georgia, hell bent on getting North, to the mountains. It be harder for walkers to maneuver in the dips and valleys and peaks of the Appalachian range. And the higher you went, the colder it got.
He stooped next to each car in turn, opening the gas cap and slipping the tube in, sucking for a moment and waiting, praying a spurt of the acidic and bitter liquid would burst forth, but so far he had had no such luck. Finally after the fifth car down, his luck returned, he spit the gas from his mouth and quickly worked on filling up the empty can, not wasting time for any sort of celebration.
She yawned and stretched out in the backseat of the car she had spent the night in. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, sitting up. She listened hearing unusual sounds coming from outside the car. She turned, getting on her knees and looked out the window, seeing the man crouched down siphoning gas. She grabbed the handle of her knife, just in case, and pushed the door open. "What are you doing?"
Daryl froze at the sound of a voice above him. He swore at himself inwardly, how could he have been so careless not to check the car? The archer didn't move his hands, not wanting to spill the precious fluid. "Was gettin' some gas fer my bike." the man muttered softly, his voice rough from nearly a year of no use. "Didn' realize it was already taken." He willed the gas to finish pouring so he could reach for his weapon, the redneck was beginning to feel very vulnerable in this position.
She bit her bottom lip, chewing on it while she looked him over. He didn't look too threatening. "It ain't…taken. It won't start." She planted her feet on the ground and stood, getting out of the car. She stretched again, her arms up over her head and tilted her head from side to side. She shut the door and leaned against it, "You on your own too?"
The gas finished pouring finally and replaced the gas cap, relaxing when the stranger didn't seem hostile. "Probably overheated. Nothin' you can really do about that without coolant." He screwed the top onto the gas can. "Besides this road is cluttered with cars and debris, a mile up you wouldn' be able to drive any farther." The man rose and glanced at the girl, nodding at her question. "Yeah, fer about a year now."
"Same here, I was startin to think I'd never see a livin' human again." She paused for a moment, looking him over again now that he was standing. He wasn't too much taller than her, and he seemed strong, "Where ya headed?"
Daryl smirked and nodded. It had been a long while since he'd seen a living human, granted he avoided them as much as he could. He let out a slow sigh before lamely gesturing up the road. "North, hopin' to hit the Appalachian mountains soon. Yerself?"
She shrugged, "Nowhere in particular." She shifted her weight to one foot, "Especially now that the car's useless."
He shrugged as well. "Cars are too bulky if you aren't traveling in a group that needs them. Should stick to foot or smaller vehicles, can get around debris better." The archer muttered, jerking his thumb to his bike.
She pursed her lips and looked at the bike, then back to him. "Well, at least in a car you can sleep without worrying about something tryin to eat your face." She bit her lip, realizing that sounded rude. "I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice low. She reached up and scratched the back of her neck, she didn't really know this guy that well, but she figured it was worth a shot, "I don't suppose there's any room on that bike for me too?" She chewed on her lip, nervous about his response.
He chuckled, the girl had a point but he was never too concerned with finding a place to sleep. "I make do. Easier to drive till you find a good place to rest, or make one. Sleepin' in the air ducts is pretty safe, you can clean them out easy, usually not a lot of walkers in there. Out of reach of the undead, and if you close it up behind you most living won't look there." Admittedly it could be a hard squeeze, but he'd slept in a number of them pretty comfortably. The archer let out a slow sigh, weighing his options; eventually deciding he couldn't just leave morally leave the girl, and the company might do him some good.
"I never thought about that. We had always avoided towns so air ducts never seemed like an option. I guess it doesn't really matter where you are, those things can't be avoided anywhere." After a long sigh she smiled, "Anyways, I'm Lila."
Daryl nodded slowly. "They're everywhere. With herds and shit, population size hardly matters anymore." He wandered over to his bike and pulled out a funnel, filling it up with the gas he had siphoned. "Daryl Dixon."
Lila opened her car door and pulled out her bag while he filled his tank. She didn't have much, a handful of clothes, a gun with no ammo, and a lighter with barely any fluid left, as well as her knife. She turned back to face him, shutting the door behind her, "It's nice to finally meet another human that isn't going to try to eat me." She smiled, then joking, added, "Or have you resorted to cannibalism?"
Daryl nodded at her,throwing his leg over the side of the bike and straddling it. "Yeah, this world does bad shit to people. And no, I hunt. People probably taste like shit anyway." He nodded his head to the bitch seat. "Think you can hold that while you ride?"
"I hear they taste like chicken," she joked again, grinning. She slung the bag crossways over her shoulder, "It won't be a problem." She walked over and threw her leg over the bike behind him, gripping his waist with her hands.