I had to restart this story so many times because I wasn't feeling it. But now I kinda am. Tell me what you think!
Sunday had bruises and cuts running down her tattooed arms. They ran across her tanned neck, her legs were scuffed up and covered in dirt. Her lips was bleeding and swollen but still managed to hold a cigarette between them. Her off-the-shoulder white t-shirt hung from her body, only hanging off one shoulder, and was tattered in dirt and grime; her jeans were ripped from her knees to her thighs, showing off the darkened bruises and red cuts. Her boots were the only thing that were in tact. That, and her chestnut hair, which was wrapped up in a messy bun. She wasn't allowed to light her cigarette in Hershel's house. She obeyed as he stitched her arm.
Sunday had bags under her eyes.
Daryl hadn't seen a girl like this before. And by that, he meant he hadn't seen a girl who was beaten up this bad. Sure, he'd seen the occasional black eye and bruised neck thanks to his old man. But this girl, she took the beating and walked away with the prize. According to Andrea, she stumbled through the woods while the group was out looking for Sophia. Maggie and Andrea both ran out to see the injured girl with a bloody smile spread across her face.
Sunday had two different colored eyes: One was blue, the other was green with a yellow tint.
"Do you guys have any alcohol?" She tipped her head towards Hershel.
"No," He replied coldly.
"Hmm." She pursed her lips.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Shane questioned with a sneer.
"Is that boy old enough to be packin' heat?" She pointed at Carl, who had a gun poking out from under his shirt.
Lori quickly grabbed a hold of him and pulled him outside while he protested.
She chuckled. Rick ignored that. He'd have to worry about it later.
"So you lost sight of your brother?" Rick had been questioning her since he got here.
Sunday nodded.
The bottom of Sunday's head was shaved.
"And the other men? Do you know where they're at?"
"Pfft, no. I was just in the woods." She pointed towards the door. "Then I ran into this group of men and they're all, 'nice bag ya got there'. And then tried to take my shit."
Hershel shoved the needle in the part of her arm that didn't need stitching.
"Ow!" She squeaked.
"No cursing in this house." He ordered.
"You could have just said so." Sunday grumbled.
"And you said you had a brother?" Rick crossed his arms.
"Yeah, but we got separated a long time ago. I told you this." She was stern. She was getting annoyed by his questions.
To be honest, so was Daryl.
Sunday had tattoos of sunflowers on her tanned shoulders. Or, at least one shoulder did.
"So you don't know if your brother is alive or not?"
"No. I don't know." Sunday shook her head as she ripped the cigarette from her lip. "It was a couple months back. Or, at least I think it was...I don't know. All I know was that a herd of Walkers came by and we got overrun. He told me to run and don't look back, so I did. I ran with some of my band mates."
"And what happened to them?" Shane stepping in wasn't going to make this any better.
"They didn't make it. It's just been me." Sunday stared directly into Rick's eyes.
It was silent for a moment. Rick glanced over to Shane, who shrugged. He then turned to Daryl, who nodded.
Rick finally sighed and nodded as well. "You got any weapons on ya?"
"I have brass knuckles, a switch blade, and an axe." Sunday dug in her pocket. "Oh, and also a lighter, if that counts."
"And you don't have any clue where your brother is?"
"No," She shook her head; her voice reaching that level of annoyance.
Sunday had, what Daryl heard was called, an industrial in the cartilage in her ear.
Rick nodded; rubbing his nose. "If you're gonna stay with us, it's gonna be on our terms, ya hear?"
"I'm staying? Do I even have a say if I wanna stay or not?" Sunday placed a hand on her chest.
"You don't wanna stay?" Shane perked his head up.
"I didn't say that." She smirked.
"Do you wanna stay or not?" Rick demanded.
"Yeah,"
"Then shut your yap and let me talk."
Sunday held her hand up in defense. "Fine,"
"You're staying here on our terms. And our terms extend to Hershel's as well." Rick stated.
Sunday nodded.
"You're not gonna be smoking around my son," He added, "And we'll give you your weapons when we deem it necessary. You want a weapon, you ask Shane, Dale or me, you got it?"
Sunday had a ring around her bottom lip. It was off to the side of her mouth.
She nodded again.
Rick was a little on edge with this whole Sophia thing. But Daryl was sure there was more to it.
"You wanna leave the camp to do whatever, you tell one of us, got it?"
Sunday nodded for a final time. "Yeah, I got it."
"No cursing in my house." Hershel added. "No smoking, and no drinking. I don't even think you're old enough to drink."
"If I'm old enough to use a gun, I'm old enough to drink." She stated as she placed the cigarette back in her mouth.
"Heh, amen." Daryl agreed.
She winked at him.
Shane and Rick glared at him.
"How old are you?" Shane asked.
"Twenty." She replied.
Sunday was Twenty years old.
Rick nodded. "Alright, Shane, let's go. Daryl, keep an eye on her."
They both stepped out.
She smiled. "Sheriff's got a little stick up his butt, eh?"
"He's under stress." Daryl defended.
"Yeah, who isn't these days?"
She had a point.
"Hey, what's your name?" Sunday finally asked.
Sunday has freckles that danced across her nose and cheekbones.
"Daryl Dixon,"
She smiled. Her teeth were still bloodied and the cigarette barely hung onto her teeth.
"Sunday Barutso."
Sunday was beautiful.
Thanks for reading! R&R!