"Okay, okay, Rick! I'm sorry, but you gotta admit you're so Southern!"
"Am nawt."
"Oh c'mon, lighten up!"
Rick was a good ol' boy from King County, Georgia. Been there all his life and never left much, never felt the need to really. He'd taken Lori and Carl to California on a trip to Disney Land once, that was fun, but other than that, he'd never been much out of the South. Being that the county was quite rural and quite small, he inherited an accent and Southern drawl not surpassed by many. His voice was raspy and kind, hearing it was like drinking iced tea in the hot Georgia summer. It made all of his orders as leader of the group honey covered, and a little easier to do.
His way of saying thangs, however, easily became Michonne's favorite way to tease him. Ever since she got a good listen at how he calls his son's name, Carl (or CORRAL if you're asking him), she couldn't resist giving him a go about it. She, living in Texas until she moved to the heart of metropolitan Atlanta at 9 years old, was somehow able to escape any sort of deep Southern twang. Beneath her teasing, she loved it, and loved getting a rise out of him to talk more - to hear him more.
It never really bothered Rick as much as he said it did, which they had a quiet understanding that that was the case, or else Michonne wouldn't prod. He just loved the chance at playful banter, and a little flirting with Michonne. He'd overheard her talking a while back with Maggie about how much she loved a man with a southern accent, Rick's especially. As she put it, it was to her "Like having a voice that wore a well-tailored uniform." Ever since he heard that, her picking with him was a secretive stroke to his ego. Her way of talking charmed him as well; the lovely patter of her speech, ever curious, clear, and direct and the lovely words that her speech was made of, Rick enjoyed very much.
Since they've been in Alexandria, they've had more chances to talk about trivial matters. Things like accents, and where people grew up, and how they grew up. They noticed that there wasn't as much of a sting there when the survivors talked of their younger years than if they talked about the immediate past. Not talking or speaking about life right before the walkers came was unwritten rule. Now the both of them were sitting around the kitchen table in their home, just getting back from their rounds as constables.
"So, I'm going to guess," She holds up a Pepsi that she'd just pulled out of the fridge "that you call this can….?" Her words have inclination that invites his answer.
"Coke. It doesn't matter what it is. It could be a strawberry soda in your hand. Don't matter, it's just Coke." His eyes playfully roll, a deadpan tone barely passing his teeth.
Michonne's head rolls back onto the chair and she bears hard against it, letting out a shrill laugh she exhales " Wow, I knew it! I'll admit, it's kinda cute." She opens the can and begins to sip.
Rick is a little speechless as he soaks in her laugh, looking defeated, but really trying to soak in Michonne enjoying herself. It's been one of his prime delights as of late. An idea rolls into his head and he turns a little closer to her.
"Lemme try some words on you for a change." He challenged with a smirk.
Collecting herself, she obliges. She's had a couple of shots tonight, she'll let him have his fun, "Go on ahead."
He thought about some of the words that sounded so much more different coming out of her mouth, sighing he listed:
"Tawht."
"Taught." She repeated with an impish smile, leaning in on the table.
"layuf."
"Laugh…" focusing in on his eyes. Repeating as she's in a spelling bee but the letters never come out.
Slyly he suggests the next word, thumb to his mouth, "Rick."
Her eyes are wide as he scans her face, he wonders if that was a weird and abrupt pass he just made. It was. Rick was always trying to gauge where he was with Michonne. Maybe since they were seemingly safer behind these walls, she'd be willing to try with him.
"What?" Michonne looks a little embarrassed and she's unsure where to look to not reveal it to him.
Catching her hesitation, Rick's voice, which at first was gracious and honeyed, turned smoky and racy as he reiterated "Say my name..." ocean blue eyes never leaving those mahogany ones. "Nothin' particularly different in the way you say it, but there's just something else about it."
They both snicker a bit, both experiencing a little warmth at where the conversation was. Ricks eyes open expectantly, like a teacher asking a question the student knows they answer to.
Tongue to teeth, Michonne flirtily grins, head tilted and mimics, "Rick." Landing very hard on the 'K.'
Rick leans back on the chair arms crossed, tipping his head he says, "Cute." There's some red on his cheeks, his voice is like biting into a ripe peach again. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were sweet on me."
There is more silence and Michonne rises up from the table and leans in, whispering into his ear a jokingly. "You know, I've always been into a man with a Southern Drawl." Lightly patting his shoulder.
Sipping her soda, she saunters away to begin preparations for the next day, relishing in the static an tension created by their exchange. Rick, jaw unhinging in amusement, before her door closes, in the most hyperbolic Southern twang he chimes, "Well I'll be blessed."
This was so fun to write! I'm always interested in accents and speech and thinking about their differences in speech was a really cool exercise. I like writing slice of life type stories that Alexandria safe house makes room for. Thank you for reading and if you can please review. 3