Paul nods, grabbing a kitchen knife out of a drawer and holding it, testing the weight of it, slowly moving it in a sideways arc like he's seeing how good of a weapon it would make. He is. "Decent," he confirms, putting it back and nodding to the drawer it belongs in. Back up supply. "Find a few places later to stow some more," he says quietly, thoughtfully. "Just in case. People seem nice enough but you never know."

Maybe it's funny to hear from always-mild Paul (except when he'd appeared like a ghost in the night, killing plenty of men, and silently left again) but this is how places like this affect people.

"A good spread. Enough in there to eat for a while while we get our bearings so no problems there." He pauses before nodding. "Better to investigate than ask."

The pause this time is a little longer before Paul reaches out to touch Daryl's elbow briefly, thoughtfully, trying to figure out what he wants to say. He licks his lips before he finally speaks. "I know we haven't gotten along in the past," an understatement, "and I'm sorry were here at all, but I'm glad to not be here alone." That said he takes a step back with an awkward cough, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the counter - he'll fix it later. He rolls up his sleeves so that the cuff covers the ugly scar the bite mark left - he shudders once when he looks at it, just a little, before he recovers - and looks to Daryl again.

"Better get going before it gets any later."