maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

[The accent reminded Ronan of where he came from; not exactly, because the Henrietta that stamps Blue and Adam's voices is more Appalachian than southern, but it's still strange and familiar, and it actually eases Ronan a bit too. He just sounds like a local boy, as if Ronan isn't one.

He just gestures around them, as if to say well, we're both here.]

You could have stopped that fight anytime you wanted.

[He had weapons, Ronan didn't.]

[He could have stopped the fight? What, did the kid expect him to just give up and say uncle or-

Or wait. Did he mean by pulling a knife?

Daryl looked over at Ronan like the kid was maybe just a little unhinged. Because either of the options sounded stupid to him.]

What are you talking about?

[He evened his gaze. There was nothing judgmental about this, there was nothing unhinged in the way he looked at Daryl, but there was something appraising. Here was a guy who had the ability to stop a fight with a knife but didn't. That was saying something.]

They're going to be filling out paperwork on your armory for the next year.

[Those were a lot of weapons.]

[So it was the knives. Daryl eyed Ronan for another long second before snorting and dropping his eyes. He started to drag the nail of one thumb under the nails of his other hand, cleaning them out as best he could. Give himself something to do, something to look at other than his cellmate.]

Wasn't gonna kill you, kid.

[He said after another long moment, voice gone just a little softer, more quiet. Because his knives were for killing. Or gutting. For promises, not threats. Couldn't really blame Ronan for the assumption, though.]

Isn't that a relief.

[He says it with a snarl, but it's not precisely sarcasm, either. Ronan doesn't do soft very well, but anyone fluent in his mannerisms would notice that the venom isn't riding high.

Ronan kicks out with his boot. He's not going to apologize. He's not built for apologies to random people he fights with, and he's not going to lie - he's not sorry he got into that fight in the first place.]

[Daryl recognized that mix of emotions. The unapologetic frustration being masked as anger. The cruel twist of words that aren't quiet as sarcastic as they were meant to sound. The feeling of being completely justified in his actions but still not satisfied with them. Daryl had lived with that mix in his blood for most of his life.

It actually did get some sympathy from him, but not enough to stop his own lip from curling as he bit out words of his own.]

I got no problems correcting that mistake if you really want me to, Sunshine. Keep talking like that and it won't be my fists you gotta worry about.

[His shoulders hunched and he patted his pockets for his cigarettes before remembering the cops had confiscated his lighter. Bunch of pricks.]

[He looks over then, and there's a laugh that almost sounds like a caw; a bird more than a boy. It's singular, and Ronan isn't smiling.]

As long as we know where we fucking stand. But I wouldn't want you to dull the knives you use to skin squirrels.

[The words are so casual that it almost isn't an insult. It's almost like Ronan is pressing the edges of where he can take this conversation.]

Don't you worry your head about that. It wouldn't be my skinning knife I used.

[He looked over and met Ronan's gaze, held it. Because, yes. He did actually skin squirrels.]

Might not even be a knife. They didn't take my shoelaces away.

[Or the laces he used to tie the ends of his jeans close to his boots so they wouldn't hang too low or get caught in the gears of his bike. There was a slight lifting of his chin on that last bit, though, like he, too, was testing the waters.]

Edited 2016-05-07 18:31 (UTC)

[He leans his head back against the wall of the cell, and shrugs. All right.

This guy is fine.]

Whatever does it for you, man.

[Ronan did start this fight. They may not be friends - they might never be friends - but Ronan isn't going to pick another one.]

Edited 2016-05-07 18:38 (UTC)

[Another snort from Daryl, and this one with actual humor to it. Kid had basically waved a white flag with that. Called a truce. And Daryl had no reason to push it.

So he did something else, because that caw-not-laugh a few moments ago had caught his attention, even if he hadn't said anything immediately.

Instead of asking about it, though, Daryl tipped his head back, opened his mouth, and let out a quick series of semi-caws that made his adam's apple bob and throat strain with the effort of getting the sound right. Most would describe it as a raven or a crow 'laughing'.

Then he rubbed his throat and tilted his head.]

That's harder to do than I remembered. You didn't have no trouble with it, though.

[Granted the kid had only let out a single caw, but still...]

Blackbird's easier. More whistling, not as throaty.

[He looks over, then.

That's interesting. That's a lot more interesting than fighting, really. Ronan has been said to be more raven than the other raven boys, but that's metaphor, not literal. But part of it is because Ronan genuinely likes birds. The huge raven that is, at this very moment, making a fuss outside of the police station is proof of that.]

I have practice.

[He considers it, and lets out a whistle.

It's a chickadee.]

[One of Daryl's brows lifted, looking a little impressed. He wet his lips with his tongue, then flexed his throat and let out a few puffs of high-pitched air.

Osprey. Hunting bird.]

[Here they are, these two relatively dangerous looking men (well, one is arguably somewhere between boy and man) making bird calls.

And yet.

Ronan considers this, purses his lips, and makes a noise like a blackbird. Because why not? And tilts back, looking over.]

How long have you been in this shithole?

[It's not the Barns, so it's a shithole, no questions.]

'Bout a week now.

[Daryl gave his own answering blackbird whistle. A little longer, different pattern. Like he was answering the one given him.

He cut himself off as the sound of footsteps came down the hall. Dropped his head like he was looking at his hands while he watched the path of the uniformed officer head right past their holding cell, clearly looking for something.

Daryl leaned forward, trying to follow the cop for a second before leaning back again and smirking at Ronan.]

Know what'd really drive 'em crazy? Woodpecker.

[Ronan decides that yes.

Yes, this is something they're doing.

It takes him a second - the last time he made a woodpecker call he was something like seven and he was doing it to harass Matthew and Declan - but one doesn't forget how to annoy that easily, and Ronan has a good ear for not only music.

But then there it is, not perfect but pretty decent.]

[The cop that had moved past their cell returned, looking around in confusion before moving back down to the office.

Daryl waited until a count of five had passed before letting out what he knew to be a territory claim call. Loud and obnoxious and repetitive. The kind that would have other woodpeckers chiming in with their own calls, arguing over who the tree actually belonged to.]

[The cop comes back a minute later, looking around. Did you hear that? he asks, and Ronan, who doesn't lie, just looks at him like yes, what are you, a fucking moron, which is a look he probably mastered in the cradle.

When the cop walks away again, Ronan lets out another woodpecker call, the kind the ones back home used to do when destroying one of the barns and driving the farm cats insane.]

[It was a shame they couldn't imitate the actual pecking without moving their hands. That hard knocking sound was possible, but only with some modulation from fists to their mouths.

This time the cop comes running down the hall, metal bits jangling on his uniform as he flies past the cell, head turned up, trying to spot the noisemaker near the ceiling. Maybe clinging to a vent. No dice.

Darl got himself a little more comfortable, elbow up on a knee so he could drop his thumb into his mouth and give his lips a little cover. His next call was slower to build up. A couple chirps with long pauses in between that got faster and faster until it end in a shrill almost-scream. The kind of call that echoed really nicely, making it hard to tell where it was coming from.

The confused cop couldn't even zero in on their cell as he walked past. Daryl watching him with wide eyes and seemingly just chewing on his thumb.

This was definitely a game he could enjoy.]

[Ronan just keeps looking at the cop, pacing from side to side, and he felt himself getting smug, pleased. This was a boyish side of Ronan, coming out more and more.

Which is why this is the moment that one of the guards came up and pointed at Ronan, stating his ride was here.

He looked over at Daryl, and unfolded from where he was sitting. The other guard, still frantically looking looks over at Daryl, and Ronan takes the opportunity to make the same infuriating noise from the hallway, sending the guard heading in another direction, thinking maybe the (imaginary) bird got away.]

See you around.

Daryl.

[He said it with a nod, snorting again before covering his mouth to make that pecking sound. Earning them both a panicked Oh god I think it's found a door! from the other side of the station.]

Lynch.

[Last name, but he responds to that as readily as Ronan, so it's fine.

And then he's gone.]