Reid blinks, looking stumped. It's an abrupt, though interesting reminder that he knows very little about the man sitting across from him. Daryl is easy to read emotionally: he's withdrawn and comes off as distant, says little because he prefers to observe rather than babble, though he's honest and upfront with what he chooses to say. He's obviously devoted to his people, and is willing to put himself through a lot of hardship to ensure their safety. Despite his gruff-set expression and ragged looks, he's gentle, too, his hand careful on Judith's back.
Reid just has no idea what he used to do. He's usually really good at guessing that, but since broader civilization fell, it's hard to tell with a lot of people. Reid's seen former lab geeks dressed like the Terminator, and former serial killers dressed like they're at the office. He'd assume that Daryl was maybe part of a motorcycle gang, given the kutte and the symbolic insignia even without a specific gang marker, but beyond that, he's stumped. Why was Daryl at the CDC? Was he a doctor? A researcher? A diplomat?
It's... frustrating. He likes knowing everything. It makes him feel secure.
But. He does love a puzzle.
"Oh, no, I'm not a medical doctor, but I did study genetic disorders as a hobby," he admits. "And when the outbreak began-- I started reading every academic text I could get my hands on and thought might be useful. How-to guides for civil engineering. Medical texts. Geographical surveys. I read fast." Kind of an understatement. "And whenever I go out, I scavenge what books I can. There's a few other medical doctors and scientists here too, though we don't have a lot of time to work on studying genetics -- work in the Forty-Eight takes precedence."
He leans forward, eyes bright. "So, is it okay if I take a sample of your DNA? Like the consent form says, I won't share your data with anyone other than the medical staff here."
no subject
Reid blinks, looking stumped. It's an abrupt, though interesting reminder that he knows very little about the man sitting across from him. Daryl is easy to read emotionally: he's withdrawn and comes off as distant, says little because he prefers to observe rather than babble, though he's honest and upfront with what he chooses to say. He's obviously devoted to his people, and is willing to put himself through a lot of hardship to ensure their safety. Despite his gruff-set expression and ragged looks, he's gentle, too, his hand careful on Judith's back.
Reid just has no idea what he used to do. He's usually really good at guessing that, but since broader civilization fell, it's hard to tell with a lot of people. Reid's seen former lab geeks dressed like the Terminator, and former serial killers dressed like they're at the office. He'd assume that Daryl was maybe part of a motorcycle gang, given the kutte and the symbolic insignia even without a specific gang marker, but beyond that, he's stumped. Why was Daryl at the CDC? Was he a doctor? A researcher? A diplomat?
It's... frustrating. He likes knowing everything. It makes him feel secure.
But. He does love a puzzle.
"Oh, no, I'm not a medical doctor, but I did study genetic disorders as a hobby," he admits. "And when the outbreak began-- I started reading every academic text I could get my hands on and thought might be useful. How-to guides for civil engineering. Medical texts. Geographical surveys. I read fast." Kind of an understatement. "And whenever I go out, I scavenge what books I can. There's a few other medical doctors and scientists here too, though we don't have a lot of time to work on studying genetics -- work in the Forty-Eight takes precedence."
He leans forward, eyes bright. "So, is it okay if I take a sample of your DNA? Like the consent form says, I won't share your data with anyone other than the medical staff here."