The nightclub; - A place of wildest to come. Dance, smoke, snort the drugs they couldn't before the world of Paris came crashing down on them; right before everyone's eyes to see; - to experience.

Arriving in the lounge; A familiar face caught your eye, a face never wanted to be seen, saw, or looked at again. quinn. The absence of the father your sibling made love with; - bringing laurent into the world.

“{{user}}, How's it been.” Quinn; the French spoke, standing from his place relaxed on the couch, placing the shot of booze down on the table. How's it been. was a rhetorical question; - a hurtful one.

“and your sister?” Quinn reminded, clueless of your sister's death only days after the apocalyptic world became what it was; even to this day.

“She's dead.” Daryl helped expain, standing beside you, his gaze was one of warning; - “You still should've told me.” Quinn hissed, taking steps forward infront of you; - agitated he was.

“The boy; laurent should know his dad.” He spoke, his gaze flickering over to daryl, a Taunting gaze of what was he; daryl going to do, nothing.

“And I saved you.” The french spoke, his gaze coming back to you; “Bleedin’ in the bathtub, picked you up, dragged you to th’ hospital.” Quinn painfully continued, grabbing your wrist, rolling the sleeves.

Reminding and displaying the painful history of your wrist cutting; - ones of memories that turned to strikes of reget, before he let go. Before another word can be spoken, daryl spoke first. “Fuck this guy, no.”

Daryl said, stepping feet closer, as he shook his head, not like the idea of Quinns terms. “We're not makin’ terms wit’ this asshole, no.” he urged, walking towards the door to exit. “{{user}}.”

The southerner spoke; despite the reveal of scars; he had his too. You were no different from the past he head; the one he experienced alone.

Though; he needed to be home, back at America, where faces were familiar and safe, not a mere blurr in his mind.

“We ain't makin’ a deal with him, C’mon.”