iesus | open rp post

It seemed Merle was in a good mood after the brawling, so that response from Jesus? Just had him laughing even more after, amused more than anything.

"Well would'ja look at the brass set on this guy!" Killing the last of his own drink before he thumped the glass back onto the bar, jerking a thumb towards the door as more of the bikers were filtering out. "C'mon bro, we're heading back to the club."

"M'good." Daryl grumbled, fingers curling around his half-empty bottle of beer, scowl deepening. "Gonna finish my drink."

"Suit yerself." Merle shrugged, dropping a couple bills by his empty glass in a light flick before sauntering towards the door. "You know where I'll be."

And the unspoken 'find your own damn ride' that accompanied the comments as the door slammed behind the man as he left. They'd been picking up supplies which meant they'd been in the pickup, which meant that Daryl got the lovely option of walking later. Not that it bothered him much now, one brow lifting slightly at the apology. Offering a small, uncaring shrug.

"Shit happens in a fight, ain't anyone's fault but the fucker throwin' the punch." But there was a small nod at the offer of a beer, Daryl could understand feeling bad a situation went to shit.

It was better than getting punched in the face, so really Jesus just rolled his eyes at Merle, completely unruffled, though he was glad when he left. Club. Of course. It was only then that Jesus got really settled again, shoulders relaxing minutely under his coat. Mostly he was tired.

Sitting next to Daryl was fine, though. As was the... kind? absolution for getting him punched. "Still. You good?" He nursed his whiskey instead of pounding it down, staring into the glass.

Eventually though, he sighed and flexed his fingers, working the joints idly. "He always like that?"

Merle, he meant. There was no judgement in his tone in any case - at least, not for Daryl.

Daryl shrugged, plucking up the napkins that the bartender left for him, mopping up the blood from his mouth and chin. Probing his nose lightly but finding nothing actually wrong other than it being sore and bloody, he seemed to settle.

"Been hit worse.No real damage." Pausing to take a drink. He'd bruise up probably, but that was nothing new or anything to worry about in his opinion.

The question about his brother- and he knew it was about him, something about the tone just was so familiar with others when they brought up Merle. Taking a longer drink before setting the bottle down again, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"S'just Merle." Aka, yes, he was always like that.

Jesus settled too, once it was certain his nose wasn't broken, at least. Being hit worse didn't make being hit this time all right, but he didn't comment on it, just frowned a little as he took another drink.

Of course the question was about Merle. He nodded though, glancing over. He'd figured as much, but asking at least confirmed it. "Seems like a real treat to be around, in my opinion." Tipping the glass in his hand to swirl the whiskey slightly, his lips twisted a little. "His name's Merle, huh? Mind if I ask you yours?"

Just making conversation, of course.

"Dunno. Just how he is, could be worse." Clearly Daryl had been around some really shit people; his 'decent person' meter was all fucked up.

But honestly he wasn't sure how to respond to actual conversation, his tone a bit... uncertain because this was new, how did people do this stuff?

"Daryl. M' Daryl." That was a good start right? "How about you?"

"Could always be worse. Doesn't make what you got good." A beat. "Sorry, I'm not talking shit on your brother. Too much."

His smile was a little wry - but he was still in conversation, and that was good enough for him. And he got a name.

"Nice to meet you, Daryl. I'm Jesus." Another beat, this one a little embarrassed. "Or, well. Paul. All my friends call me Jesus, though."

"Well, you did just get stuck in the middle of one of his little dustups, can't blame you for bein' kinda pissed." Daryl just shrugged, taking the new bottle the bartender set in front of him, popping the cap to take a long swig.

"Paul was an asshole. Stick with Jesus." Giving him a bit of a hard time? Just a little, it was how he did things after all.

"If this is a little one, I don't want to see a big one." He set his glass down, still partially full, but he wasn't going anywhere. "Man, I just wanted to have a nice drink. Besides, it looked to me like you were stuck too."

And then he was letting out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "See, most people give me crap for the Jesus part, but I like the way you play it."

"Involves more weapons usually." Not commenting on the 'stuck too' part though that was probably just as telling as anything he might say in response.

"Ain't the weirdest nickname I've heard, or the dumbest." A small shrug, but the scowl that seemed to be almost eternal was slightly softened at the amusement he heard from Jesus at the commentary. Dude was odd, but he was turning out to be alright.

The silence about it was definitely more telling. "Can't say I'm fond of those, no." It was true enough - he really rather preferred dealing with hands and feet. Just. In general. Way worse to worry about escalation.

It wasn't a smile but Jesus was still happy enough with something as small as a softening around the edges. Sometimes, that was all you got. "Have heard some real shitty ones in the past. I try not to judge, but sometimes..."

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