COUNTERFEIT CAFTANS AND MIXED-UP MISCREANTS: THE NIXING OF NICHOLAS
By Quillon42
(NB: In this version of events, taken place shortly after the "Spend" episode just now, Carol doesn't find out about Sam's home situation till she's out in the wilderness with him in this story; just wanted to clarify here and such).
"I can't wait to see all the cookie trees out there, Miss Peletier!"
Slyly Carol smiled, she looking askance to the setting sun as Jessie's son Sam continued to gush enthusiastically. The two SafeZonians strolled several steps from the surrounding town wall now, the boy's hand linked with that of the badassette. Eagerly that most obnoxious of the Alexandria surgeon's sons scanned the grounds immediately outside his community, he frowning a bit at failing to espy what Miss Peletier had promised him these past few hours.
Alongside, his guide in these outskirts anticipated an orgastic retribution which she savored far more than the child did the prospect of harvesting oatmeal raisin. In spite of Carol's fervent warnings, the mofo of a middle schooler had snitched on her, squealed to Jessie and all those other jagoffs in town about the fact that that ebullient, elder-caring lady had been grabbing at those guns and other ordnance in the storerooms where Olivia had set them aside.
It wasn't just out of preemptive paranoia, either, that the middle-aged renegade that was Miss Peletier had taken such aggressive initiative. In this reality, anyway, she could feel a premonition, a presence of a certain someone whom she left to die—back in a slaughterhouse going under the guise of a sanctuary—but the slate-haired survivor had devised the most divine method of eliminating both of these most prominent bothers in her life at present.
Yes, that malevolent matron Mary…it turned out that she had survived the wave of passed-away pedestrians whom Carol had sicced upon her person, back in that candlelit chamber. Having absconded from that exigency, and regrouped cautiously with other cannibals more gaga about her than Gareth, Madam Terminus sought now to make tracks—tracks that would lead right up to the front gate of the Safe Zone.
What motivated Mary more than anything was the idea in her addled mind that she deserved the Alexandrian oasis more than Carol and the crude cuisine that vicious old bag considered her companions. Compared to that prickly porcupine Peletier, Mary was a loving, caring woman. Sure, she may have had interesting gastronomical inclinations, as well as clever double entendres to express them (such as when she pointed to a portion of a grill and commented "There's a place for you here," or when she told the railroad-routed survivors, "Pull on up and we'll make you a plate," or that one time when she remarked, "I just adore masticating juicy barbecued human behinds sprinkled with oregano and turmeric")…but deep down, Mary knew she was still human. Much more so than that bitch barbarian who had abandoned her to be dinner for those decomposers. Who could be so diabolical as to allow that?
Back near the postapocaylptic Avalon that was Alexandria, in any case, that timberwolf-tressed tough lady led on the naïve little noob who might have spelled at least her expulsion from the Safe Zone, if not her death warrant. Had Carol allowed the kid to reach his elders and tell on her, it would have been goodbye forever to ridiculous cardigans and hello again to revenant cadavers for sure.
As such, Carol came up with the perfect method to ensure the youngen's silence—as well as that most malevolent meat-eating matron's destruction, out in the distance.
"So you have it all set up for me out there? The Cookie Cat Fan?"
The venerable, cougarly vixen (at least to Daryl, perhaps, in some fandoms) nodded readily at her chatty charge, she snickering a bit at his innocent, unintentional malapropism.
"The Cookie Caftan…yes…yes I do, Sam my boy." The most perfidious of Peletiers smiled a trifle insidiously indeed at the metal construct glinting in the distance, about a hundred yards away now.
Almost evilly she glanced at the troublesome tyke nearby. "Can't have our cookies without the correct costume for it, now can we?"
"Nope! I'm so starved that I could eat up all of Buttons in one sitting!"
Ohhhhh, that was the last straw. (To be fair, Sam at least in this iteration of gory Georgia didn't know of the beloved steed's quite-fragmented fate.)
So now the diametrically-aged duo had reached their destination. The wily whippersnapper's eyes seemed to pulse out of his skull as he gaped at the snarl of steel that stood ahead.
"Wh…what is it?"
"That's your Caftan, honey! All…cleaned up and shiny, and ready for ya, just to jump on in!"
Not a solitary iota of eerie had effervesced from this middle-aged biddy of a badass. She was just itching to strap the stripling on in, to this seeming suit of armor that was actually a jet-powered booster to blast an unsuspecting individual well into the air and far away from Alexandria Safe. Peletier stood alongside Sam almost twitchingly now, she impatient to set off the most banging firecracker she had done since that rocket she railed on into the ground near the gas tank at Terminus.
And with the device, the woman would also destroy the dame out to do her in—as Carol'd had help in high places, who would signal to her when the enemy was near.
(Carol'd put together the propulsion device, you see, from all those several spare parts out of Eric and Aaron's garage, well after Daryl drove out with his souped-up cycle.)
"Yep, Sammy! Now all you really have to do is just…shimmy on in, just…get in real good and comfy, and Auntie Carol'll secure ya real tight."
In the watchtower a bit of a distance off, Tyreese's stolid sister stood with sniper rifle in hand, she glancing through the scope time and again, readying to give the signal if things manifested as such, she raring to see whether the premonition regarding the Termite resurgence was going to check out. If that were the case, then in addition to the S.A.M. (surface-to-air-missile) that would be Sam in fact… Sasha would be sure to score a slew of shots against those foulest of foodie fuckers, all before they could even begin to ken what was coming down upon them.
Hell, if they by chance had anything along the lines of a portable version of that fuel tank, Sash would right as rain release more aggression today than she'd ever dreamed.
Out near the aforementioned metal monstrosity, a keen little Jessieling jerked his head up, just before relenting into the trap set for him. Looked out at the horizon and pondered.
"Wh…what is it, little Sam? You don't like the Cookie Caftan?"
"No…it's not that."
Carol could see the fringes of the boy's brow start to waver.
"It's just that…I'm lookin' at this here…all this heavy stuff I'm about to put on…
"…and I think about how it all might have…
"…how it could have…"
The lady then saw tears tumble down the tender terraces of the boy's cheeks, saw him wipe away the onset of his cry with convulsions of grief.
Then before Carol could do anything more, the kid clarified matters even further, all when he wiped his face with his shirt, showing the buckle scars on his stomach.
"I don't…" Sam said, between sniffing sighs, "I don't know if I'm really hungry for cookies anymore, Miss Peletier."
As it was, Miss's own mien was drastically different now as well. "No…I understand," she said, holding the boy to her tightly, solemnly of a sudden, as she last did with a child who was so much closer to her, and whom she last encountered in front of a barn much larger and more lurid than the one at which she'd met the Alexandrite Aaron.
Seeing that other child for a second in Sam, Carol'd realized how incredibly cruel she'd been, to youth who was ever so innocent. She smiled, without guile at the little guy, she dropping her defenses for an instant…
But then immediately donned them once again at the sight of a sprinting-in shithead, who was headed directly her way.
Carol could swear she saw the young man before. He was unbearably ugly, she thought, and had nastily-kept facial follicles, so much unlike that wild, irresistibly unkempt mane that her Dream…er, that Daryl had had.
…
…That Daryl had had, she repeated in her mind, getting herself totally together.
"I'm…huh…huh…
"…HhhhhIiii'm…
"…HhIii'm Nicholas," he began blearily, the negligible nincompoop managed, in his fucked-out fatigue. "I…I managed to make it back here on my own…after barely making it out alive…
"The others…the others all…huh…
"The others all were…overtaken…"
Carol looked to Sam incredulously, and vice versa, as they processed the one who was an untidy intruder unto their warm moment. In this reality, at least, Nicholas opted to run out on his own, after abandoning a fellow Alexandrian to die in a revolving door…rather than face the rest of his team right then and there.
In all honesty, no matter which of the parallel universes one occupied…when it came to courage, Nicholas was quite, erm…dicholas in all of them.
Glancing wild-eyed at the other two present, the exhausted asswipe attempted to go on.
"…Huh…huh…
"…I'll just keep…keep on…"
[OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH OONCH]
Then the unliving ether was incised by a marauding melody, a drearily dreadful dirge that went by the name of dubstep.
And driving said dubmobile was one of the individuals whom Nicholas had said had slipped from this sorrowful life. With a mullet muffed up by miff, Eugene continued to drive, he bearing down ever so slowly, ever so surely on the position on the tract that this traitor stood.
And it was then, in those ensuing seconds, just as
[OONCH OONCH OONCH]
as Professor Porter endeavored to drive over the double crosser,
[OONCH OONCH OONCH]
grind the git between the gears of the vehicle…
[OONCH OONCH OONCH]
"STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!"
[OONCH OONCH]
[ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT]
…
[OONCH]
…
It was the persistent Peletier who had her hands spread out now, she blocking the way, putting herself between the dub and the dick.
"…I've a better idea."
[SLLLLLUUUNNNNNCHHHHH]
With razor-sharp reflexes, the old cootie released a side kick that crashed into the chest of the suckiest Nicholas, driving him back and hard against the iron entity in the center of the field. The yob of a youth immediately sought to regain his stance, when
[SHHHCHKKK CHKKK]
"You're not going anywhere, fucker."
The douchebag's deputy saw Sam, of all people, leveling two custom-made miniature Uzis right in his immediate field of vision.
"Strap him on in, Miss Peletier!" the child cried, his gaze and gunpoint upon Nicholas unwavering. "I done known what y'all were up to all this time…just wanted to bring my family's situation to light all dramatic-like, getcher attention right well.
"And as you kin see, I'm not needin' any guns from the town arsenal or nothin'. You don't know how many owl statues I melted down to make these bitchin' babies."
Not a mile away, a famished, merciless Mary was making pretty good time, by her estimation. Soon, she would reach her destination, and get into some good grub, the first satisfying supper in so long. For certain, not unlike the most mature and adult of Atari experts…she would take that entire Grimes crew, and once and for all, she would beat them and eat them.
Once more in the watchtower, meanwhile, Sasha stared warily out at the Hunter leftovers, she ready to give the signal to Carol but then…noting not a tank of fuel being lugged behind them, but…was that…
…Was that an oversized blender just now, that they'd been bringing out on the road all along?
…And why was there a heaping helping of the dead droning on, all inside the giant glass container atop the mobile eyesore?
"It's good to know I could cajole someone into this modern-day iron maiden," Carol crowed, as she fastened the last of the snaps to trap Nicholas inside the steel conveyance. By the grace of gun coverage by the child, the lady was able to force the teenage fuckface into the propulsion pod without so much as the slightest struggle.
Eugene and Glenn gleefully looked on from their van, even Tara coming to her senses just in time to watch the
[WHOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH]
As Miss Peletier once again mustered her inner MacGyver and, calculating the trajectory carefully and appropriately, she launched the lug, with lad in tow, well into the atmosphere.
The yuck-youth ululated in agony and fright as he flew over the wilderness, then well into the path of the plodding, fellow-man-eating enemy still alive.
Yea, just as December 6th was the Feast of Saint Nicholas for Christians, with but a day's breadth between that and the December 8th Immaculate Conception celebration for Mary…here the divide between same-named entities was all the more intimate, as this Nicholas was but seconds from intersection with this Mary.
Verily, just as Dee Snider led the chorus for a cacophonous crew, right before Paul Reubens ran across them with his beloved bike on his Big Adventure…so too did, here, a most twisted sister lead her people along a path…directly into the path of a pee-wee torpedoing headlong right toward them…
…the rocket onrushing and the latter lady's features freezing in shock…cannonball on collision course with cannibal…
[SSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH]
[BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]
Indeed, the lady who lusted for sustenance most sapien was slammed into most unceremoniously by the sailing, merciless missile, she who sought to gargle with Grimes herself gibbed into the most minuscule kibbles and bits…
…
…yet the youth who was to meet most head-on with her, he was somehow shunted out of his confining constraints and into the air on impact, his frail form flying so many feet…
…all before crashing involuntarily right into that considerable container towed along by the Terminians all this time.
…
Only Sasha could see exactly the young motherfucker of a man as he came to, realized his impossible plight, pressed up against the glass in vain, not unlike the other survivor he left behind in the revolving door…not unlike the mammarial subject matter of a Sir Mix-A-Lot video…
…And oh, what an overly, multifariously apropros comparison that was—as there would in truth be a slimy youthful sir, a miscreant who would be set to be mixed up to the quick, in another instant.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"
Sasha studied the look of horror on Nicholas's features as the Walkers inside the enormous appliance laid into him as he was propped up against that plexi-partition, the ghouls' jowls lashing through muscle and bone and blood and tongue and eye and crappy ass mustache and otherwise as Aidan's asshole assistant was snarfed down upon most consummately. As the obnoxious Alexandrian was thrashed this way and that, to and fro by the teeth of those sordid selves most deceased and most mentally dentally demented, Tyreese's kin collected herself up in the tower and, partially out of pity, partially out of contempt for a young man whom she deemed a douche at first sight (as did anyone else of Rick's clique),
[BANNNGGGGGGGGG]
went the sniper shot and then, a second or so later,
[SKKKRAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP]
the shot struck against the oversized On switch, the mechanism primed to puree,
[WHHHIIIIIRRRRRAAAAASSSSSHHHHHHRRRRRAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHRRRRRAAAAASSSSSHHHHH]
the bloody blending that followed flooding the glass with green gel and garnet gore, Nicholas living up to his patron saint's name in death, somewhat, as the carnage's colors conjured Christmas rather properly, the red and green eventually receding to the most obscenely, putridly pallid of white.
…
…
"Hhh…" sheeshed Sasha, as she rested against her rifle a couple of minutes later. "Welllll…I guess the little tyke didn't get his cookies after all.
"But someone sure did get the milk."