A thoughtful noise as Daryl considers the prospect of Jesus looking twelve. (It's not that he dislikes the long hair or anything, he just likes giving him shit.)
"Fair. Leave it."
Daryl hasn't really considered the merits of sitting down and sorting out things like: where are you from, how old are you, is smoking a dealbreaker, etc. It doesn't fucking matter these days. All the same, he's aware that Jesus is younger than he is, and probably not by just two or three years. The last time he made a guess at his own age (using the admittedly uneven scale of how much has Carl and/or the baby grown that weirdly doesn't seem to match up, but what does Daryl know about kids), he was 45 or 46. Nearly 50, at any rate. What if Paul tells him he's twenty, or something. Christ. That's weird, isn't it.
"You're not like nineteen or some shit, are you?" he asks suddenly, lifting his head up.
no subject
"Fair. Leave it."
Daryl hasn't really considered the merits of sitting down and sorting out things like: where are you from, how old are you, is smoking a dealbreaker, etc. It doesn't fucking matter these days. All the same, he's aware that Jesus is younger than he is, and probably not by just two or three years. The last time he made a guess at his own age (using the admittedly uneven scale of how much has Carl and/or the baby grown that weirdly doesn't seem to match up, but what does Daryl know about kids), he was 45 or 46. Nearly 50, at any rate. What if Paul tells him he's twenty, or something. Christ. That's weird, isn't it.
"You're not like nineteen or some shit, are you?" he asks suddenly, lifting his head up.