And Cupid Has A Hangover: Moonshine is not your friend (but it might be theirs)
I requested an AU where Carol was an English teacher and Daryl the lovable janitor. Since no one else picked it up, my muses finally grabbed the ball.
"You gunna snitch?"
Those three words, more a guttural growl than any vocalization resembling English, were the most she'd ever heard the janitor say to anyone. A plaintive mewling, followed by a wretched cough, and ending with the sounds of obvious regurgitation echoed his statement from some place deeper in the shed. If she hadn't seen him leading some slip of a student in here, she would be half convinced he was getting ready to put some sick animal out of its misery.
She didn't answer, trying to peer past him; to see further into the gloom. The windows of the old shed looked like the last person to clean them has skipped work to go watch Ole George Wallace make an ass of himself in Alabama. The bare bulbs flickering above them didn't do much to help illuminate the situation. Somewhere back in the near darkness the retching started again.
"Well?" He asked. She noted his stance had gotten wider, a thing her ex-husband had done every time he was trying to intimidate her into backing away from the questions she was asking him. It was an insidious move, almost damning.
It certainly didn't help that the place stank of moonshine and bile. The kind of smell no amount of grease and cleanser could quite hide. Her family had lived in Georgia long enough for her to have encountered the scent on multiple occasions. Her father's hunting cabin had always smelled like this near the end of the season if neither he nor her uncle had managed to bag any venison. She'd always begged her mother to send her cousin with the rations when that had happened, the smell being enough to turn her stomach.
She bit back the tang in the back of her throat as a fresh wave of the aroma filled the shed.
"I don't know, Mr. Dixon. I'd like to know exactly what's going on here before I snitch." She finally sighed. "This place smells like a still. You're trying to hide an obviously drunk student. It doesn't look very good, does it? How long has she been like this?"
"Been more then a minute, but not long enough for anyone but you to come lookin." He shrugged. "Think whatcha want, ma'am, but this's the third time I found her under those bleachers this month."
"Why didn't you notify Principal Herriot?"
"Ole Brian boy don't care fer the students past the funding he gets fer their asses being in the seats. Figured I'd let her get it outta her system back here an then send her home after this place let out." He was relaxing, the hard angles of his stance softening. Oh, the coil was still there. She had no doubt he was still capable of lashing out if he felt she was a threat to his sanctuary, or the charge he had taken upon himself. He pushed the unruly bangs out of his eyes. The better to stand you down with, my dear.
Her eyes were adjusting to the light, and she could make out more of the student. Expensive white top, designer jeans, a mop of blonde hair that slithered like she'd been cursed by Athena every time the girl heaved into the bucket in front of her; it had to be Beth from her third period class. The Greene girl had been such a good student, but she had been acting out more and more after her family's car crash. She shifted slightly, trying not to make it too noticeable that her convictions were wavering. Even though it probably screamed how unsure she still was to a man like him.
"I dun know how much she had. But I think it's about all out. I was waitin fer her to stop an then I was gunna flush her with water." He volunteered.
"That's a good idea, but it would be better if it were done where she feels comfortable. This is my break period..." She let it hang, trying to suss his intentions out farther.
"Mish Mashon, I'd really like to go hoome," the bundle in the back mumbled. Beth tried to rise, unsteady as a baby deer. Carol Mason pushed forward, helping to keep her student upright as the gangley bundle threatened to pitch over. Carol Mason gagged at the fresh assualt on her senses, but kept it down. The janitor was close on the teacher's heels, supporting the other side of their human weeble. "Jush don tell Magagie. She's be sho pished."
"Looks like you're the one who's pissed, lil girl," the janitor grumbled, a hint of fond teasing in his voice. He eyed the teacher over the teenager's shoulder. "You serious? Are ya really gunna take her home, or are ya feeding her to the wolf in the head office?"
"I didn't say I-" Carol was cut off by the mewlings of her charge, a pathetic grumble that mixed fear of an older sister with the impending migraine caused by too much libation. "Yes. Yes, I'll take her home. But we're having a talk about this when I get back, Mr. Dixon."
Beth Greene chose that moment to redecorate both of their shoes.