piscesnebula | just take my hand and be brave [ reid + daryl ]

Still as hot as Georgia, still as humid as Georgia— so far, Virginia offers no tangible difference from six hundred miles ago, at least not to someone who hasn't showered in weeks. (Longer? When had they crossed that last stream? Does rain count?) How long were they out there— not a question Daryl can answer, despite his affinity for nature and finding his way without a roof. Somewhere between the last grave they dug and here, it began to blend, like a melted painting.

But because it's not so different from Georgia, he finds the foliage easy and familiar, no matter that he's still reeling from the shock of spending half a day inside a house, inside walls. An easy trail to follow, made by someone whose footsteps read skinny bulldozer. Tall, probably. Taller than Daryl, but not as heavy. No experience with trying not to scare away game, but probably thinks he's being quiet. They all do. He marks two undead walkers, swaying grey glimpses through the trees, but they're too far away to trouble him.

When he spots the guy, he pauses and raises his hands. Of course it's going to seem like he's sneaking up on him, that's just his luck. Mm. On second thought, he fishes the sandwich bag with batteries in it out of his pocket, so he doesn't have to do any dramatic reaching if he gets drawn on. Special Agent, the woman in charge had described him, proud. Which means fancy cop, which means could just blast me, so: maintaining a surrender pose with his peace offering, he gives a whistle, sharp and loud.

"Hey. You're Reid?"

A suitably enigmatic person might evade that question, but Spencer just grimaces, giving the answer away before he even says anything. Yes, like any small society, the Forty-Eight has problems, and he sees no real need to keep them hidden. If Daryl's group are joining them, they're ultimately doing the Forty-Eight a big favor.

"The head of security, Roscoe? He's kind of judgemental," Spencer admits. "Charlie normally keeps him in line, but he'll be watching all of you pretty carefully for the next few months. Unless you bribe him with alcohol, then he'll be your best friend."

Hmm. Feuds within the Forty-Eight. There's a lot of small ones, obviously. The people three doors down from Spencer have just recently broken up and hate each other over it. There's arguments over workload, and people cheating on their relationships, and their resident imam is continually being harassed by a guy that's bitter over losing his faith. There's some people that have taken issue with Spencer, thinking he's not suitable to be second in command.

"There's a doomsday prepper in the red barn in the south that you'll probably want to avoid," he continues thoughtfully. "There's also some people who aren't happy with us letting in new people, so you might get some suspicious stares for a while -- nobody that's really gotten really mad about it, but just to be safe, I'd stick close to each other for now. This is a relatively safe community, but you can never tell what might set some people off."

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