[ Caveman logic, wondering at the immediate use for something, and if it might actually be real, instead of indulging in the fantastical potential. He still can't shake the instinct that the blood offering in the motel that first day was something just to fuck with them, and that there was somebody watching. Literally, through pinpoint camera lenses he can't find, not from on high.

Rusty gears in his brain turn. Hrm.

(Daryl's favorite genre is drama. He won't tell, though.) ]

... It's all weird.

[ Understatement of the century. ]

Reckon we should be ready for anything, though. Trying to argue about whether or not the thing trying to kill you can be real or not just means you're gonna be dead, right?