Yeah, he's definitely not intimidating. Even the guy he's got a gun pointed at doesn't look even remotely concerned about it, but then again... this guy kind of looks like he might be used to having guns pointed at him. Is that a crossbow? He counts at least three knives, too.
Reid's honestly not sure whether to be kind of scared, or kind of fascinated. Maybe both?
"Oh. That group. Right. Sorry." Mollified, (and a little sheepish), Reid tucks his gun back into its holster at his hip, and the borrowed knife back into its sheath on his other hip. Forty-Eight had come to the conclusion a few months ago that they needed to start accepting new people inside their walls, and they'd gotten in touch via radio with a few different roaming groups. Some had already arrived, but only one was due, so Daryl must be with that group from Georgia.
He clicks the side button of his walkie a few times, and ah, yeah, it's dead. Whoops. He'd just assumed he'd gotten a few minutes of blissful silence.
"I'm Spencer Reid. Doctor. Although the colleges that gave me those doctorates are probably rotting right now," he muses wryly. "Welcome to the Forty-Eight. I hope your arrival was okay, the head of security can be a bit, uh. Stern."
Reid glances back at the tree he'd been halfway through stripping, down at the bag he'd been collecting the bark in, and grimaces apologetically. "Do you mind waiting? I've just got to finish this, and then we can head back, if that's okay." He takes a step closer, holding a hand out for the batteries, not wanting to just grab them off Daryl. "Thanks for the batteries."
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Reid's honestly not sure whether to be kind of scared, or kind of fascinated. Maybe both?
"Oh. That group. Right. Sorry." Mollified, (and a little sheepish), Reid tucks his gun back into its holster at his hip, and the borrowed knife back into its sheath on his other hip. Forty-Eight had come to the conclusion a few months ago that they needed to start accepting new people inside their walls, and they'd gotten in touch via radio with a few different roaming groups. Some had already arrived, but only one was due, so Daryl must be with that group from Georgia.
He clicks the side button of his walkie a few times, and ah, yeah, it's dead. Whoops. He'd just assumed he'd gotten a few minutes of blissful silence.
"I'm Spencer Reid. Doctor. Although the colleges that gave me those doctorates are probably rotting right now," he muses wryly. "Welcome to the Forty-Eight. I hope your arrival was okay, the head of security can be a bit, uh. Stern."
Reid glances back at the tree he'd been halfway through stripping, down at the bag he'd been collecting the bark in, and grimaces apologetically. "Do you mind waiting? I've just got to finish this, and then we can head back, if that's okay." He takes a step closer, holding a hand out for the batteries, not wanting to just grab them off Daryl. "Thanks for the batteries."