"Hello?"
The first time Merle heard her speak, her voice was soft and scratchy like the words were clawing their way from her throat and reaching desperately to his ears. He almost knocked her down if it wasn't for the fact that he had just lost his hand. Merle thought for that split-second that had he had it, the back of his palm would have hit squarely on her dirt-stained cheeks and she would've been cleanly knocked off her feet.
The girl was dressed in a tattered flowery dress with a large poorly mended tear at the back. The first thing his mind did was mentally calculate her age, looking at her round face hiding behind long straight hair and placing her at around her late teens. The next thing he did was note the deep gashes on her bare feet.
"What did you want, sweetheart?" His voice lacked the usual malice in it. He was too tired of this shit. He had been cuffed to the goddamn roof by some punkass sheriff and been left for dead because that fat nigger didn't have the sense not to trip over his wide fag feet. He's almost been killed by a horde of those geeks. He's got no food, no weapons, no meth, no brother. He's got enough problems of his own without worrying about some little girl.
But hey, she's company.
"You're hurt."
Isn't she observant? Merle would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy. He brandished the newly cauterized stump before the girl's eyes.
"Got it all patched up, darlin'. Nobody can kill ol' Merle but Merle." He watched her look at the burnt flesh. He could still smell his own skin burning and swallowed thickly. No way he was gonna gag. Was no woman.
Her blank stare was interesting but Merle was starting to feel uncomfortable at this awkward stand-off, so he gave her one of his trademark salacious grins.
It had its usual effect, the girl's whole frame jerked, like she was catching herself from some dream state. One of them shy ones, Merle thought. Her eyes darted back and forth from his bloody face, to the faint smoke rising from his stump, to the open window just at his back. Her knees tensed and for a second Merle expected her to sprint but apparently, human contact weighed far more in her mind than any semblance of preservation because the next second Merle found her sitting cross-legged a few feet across from him.
"Hi, Merle." Her voice was a bit stronger, still scratchy. She cleared her throat. "I'm Tala."
A/N: I haven't written anything in years so I'm a little excited about this. Testing the waters around for a bit (especially since I'm pretty new at the TWD fandom, at least fanfic-wise) Let me know if it seems interesting?
General disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. For now, I only own Tala.