David leaned back in the wagon, hands behind his head. "So, Daryl… who is this little punk I'm meeting, and what exactly does he want? Don't tell me he just wants to shake my hand."
Daryl's expression didn't change. "I don't know, Mr. Hawk. All I was told is that he wants to speak with you."
David frowned. "For what though? I don't wanna just meet some kid without knowing what he wants from me first. Is it money? Because I don't got it."
Daryl's eyes narrowed. "…So that's why you refused to pay the driver. Because you lost your money."
He slapped his palm against his forehead so hard it echoed inside the wagon.
"Hey! Not my fault!" David pointed at himself, mock offended. "I wasn't myself."
"And whose fault is that?" Daryl asked dryly.
"The beer's fault," David answered instantly.
Daryl let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "Regardless. Once you meet the Duke's child—"
"Okay, okay!" David threw his hands up. "Can you stop with the 'Duke's child' thing and just say his actual name already?"
"I don't have knowledge of his name," Daryl said flatly.
David's eyes nearly popped out. "WHAT?!"
"Hey! Keep it down back there!" the old driver barked.
David waved apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. My bad." Then he turned back to Daryl. "But how the hell do you not know his name?"
"Because I don't pay attention to certain things," Daryl said coolly. "Especially spoiled higher-up children."
David slumped, shaking his head. "Welp. That's a total boomer move. Anyway, what were you saying before?"
Daryl straightened, voice returning to its usual calm authority. "Before I was rudely interrupted, I was going to tell you to act professional, responsible, respectful, and as though you actually have manners."
David's jaw dropped. "Holy shit—that's, like, four whole things! Things my tiny brain might not be able to handle!"
Daryl's lips twitched. "Precisely."
"Oh, goody goody swordsman," David mocked, raising his pinky like a nobleman. "Shall I sip my invisible tea with class?" He mimed sipping an invisible cup, pinky stuck high in the air.
"Yes," Daryl answered with a straight face.
David blinked. "…Really?"
Daryl coughed into his fist, eyes shifting. "My apologies. Let me try again." He clapped twice in mock celebration. "Good job, Mr. Hawk. I didn't think you could do that, but here we are."
David immediately clapped along. "And good job, Daryl! You finally dug through that locked-up brain of yours and found a little humor. Must've been dusty in there."
Daryl turned his head away, hiding the faintest flicker of a smirk. "I do have humor. Just not your… type of humor."
"Oh really? Then what kind you got?"
"The smart kind."
David squinted. "I don't even know what that means."
WHAM!
The wagon jolted violently and slammed against the ground, throwing both men into the air. David landed face-first in the corner, while Daryl rolled smoothly to his feet.
David spat out dirt. "What the hell was that?!"
Daryl had already unsheathed his saber, his calm demeanor cracking just slightly. He leapt out of the wagon, blade at the ready.
A deep rumble shook the ground. David scrambled out after him, eyes widening as he saw it.
A massive boar stood in the road, its bristling spine covered in jagged black spikes. A thick horn jutted from its forehead, gleaming dangerously. Its red eyes locked onto them, snorting steam.
"Spike hog," Daryl muttered, raising his weapon.
The old driver leaned over the reins, hollering, "Hey, purple-hair! If you beat that thing, I'll give you and your friend a free ride!"
Daryl glanced back sharply. "He's not my friend. But I'll take the offer."
David, crawling out of the wagon with grass in his hair, gasped. "Rude!" He brushed himself off and marched beside Daryl. "And what do you mean not your friend? That hurts, man."
Daryl cut him a sideways glance. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, trying to help you. Duh." David held up his slime-coated stick proudly. "Sticky and I got your back."
Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "You don't know how to fight. And you're going to fight a monster with… that?"
"Sticky saved my life, thank you very much!" David swung the stick around like a sword. "Right, Sticky?"
The slime on the end wobbled and made a wet squelch.
Daryl sighed so deeply it was almost a groan. "You might want to stop kissing your own brainless ideas goodbye… because that beast is about to charge."
The spike hog dug its hind hooves into the dirt, pawing the ground like a raging bull. Its breath steamed out in thick clouds, its body lowering, muscles coiled.
David's grin faltered, sweat trickling down his temple. "…Oh shit."
The boar charged at full speed, its heavy hooves tearing up chunks of dirt. David and Daryl dove in opposite directions—David rolled left, Daryl rolled right. The beast skidded, snorting furiously, before whipping back around for another charge.
Daryl muttered under his breath, gripping his saber, "I need to hit its legs… slow it down first."
David, who barely heard him, scrambled to his feet and raised his sticky slime-covered stick. "I got it!" he shouted heroically.
Before Daryl could yell at him to stand down, David swung—completely the wrong way—and the slime-covered stick smacked Daryl straight in the face with a loud SPLAT!
Daryl stumbled back, goo dripping off his nose. "…You… absolute imbecile."
David winced, eyes wide. "Oops. Uh—my bad?"
Before he could recover, the boar let out a thunderous squeal and rammed its head into David. The horn caught him square in the gut, launching him up into the air like a ragdoll.
"AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" David screamed, flailing like a kite in a storm.
He came crashing down—but by some miracle, he landed belly-first on the boar's back, narrowly missing the jagged spikes.
David blinked, gasping for air, hands trembling as they pressed against the creature's coarse fur. "…Oh, thank the gods I didn't become a kebab."
The boar bucked wildly, thrashing in rage as David clung on for dear life. "Uh… n-nice spiky boy… good spike boar…" He awkwardly patted the beast like it was a pet dog. "Soft fur. Love what you've done with the bristles."
The boar squealed louder, bolting off into the open plains with David bouncing on its back like a sack of potatoes.
Meanwhile, Daryl sat up, wiping at his face with growing frustration. The slime stuck stubbornly to his skin, making his palm cling to his cheek. "That idiot… got slime… on my face." He pulled, but his hand wouldn't budge. "…Perfect. Just perfect."
He tried again, yanking harder, only to nearly topple himself over.
The old man, still perched on his wagon with his donkey, squinted at the chaotic scene. "Uh… buddy… I think your friend might be in trouble." He pointed at the speck that was David, screaming while disappearing over the hills on the back of the furious boar.
"Mmmph!" Daryl muffled through his stuck hand, glaring daggers at the old man.
The old man blinked, then slowly nodded. "Right. I'll just pretend you said he ain't your friend then. Makes things easier." He leaned back casually, scratching his donkey's ear. "But if that purple-haired fella gets himself killed, don't expect me to clean up the mess."
Daryl groaned through clenched teeth, still trying to pry his hand free. "This… is my life now."