Oh dear, I know I am in the middle of another story but I really wanted playing my hand at a non-apocalyptic world for a while.
So I had a really fun idea of how Beth and Daryl could meet, I don't know if it's going to go anywhere, you guys tell me!
The meeting was going well as expected. Daryl Dixon sat alone in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other held a plastic cup of apple juice. Ten minutes at the 'alcoholics anonymous annual summer family barbeque' and already he needed some whiskey. It was alright in about a 50 more minutes he would leave- either his father would be tired of acting nice or he would literally loose it and storm out.
He came with his father, not to be supportive. To be honest, Daryl didn't think his father deserved a rat's arse being given over him, not after all the past shit he had done. But Merle had insisted that he go, threatened to beat him up if he heard he hadn't. Merle hadn't seen their father in years, not since being a teenager, but he still made Daryl do shit like bring his groceries and drive him to friends' houses. Maybe Merle could forgive him because he was drugged up to the eyeballs most the time, like father like son. But Daryl couldn't feel anything but hate toward that man called 'dad'. He would never be forgiven, and he could never redeem himself- not after his childhood.
Daryl could hear the normal family noises going on around him. Children were squealing happily, playing on a rented bouncy castle at the end of the garden. The adults all chatted loudly, placing their hands on each other's forearms in a signal of 'I'm here for you in understand'. Ha, they didn't understand a thing about addiction.
His family was built on addiction, and no one had greater appreciation for the hold it had than he did. His father had battle alcoholism, and would drink until he got thrown out of the bar, or thrown in jail. And when he was collected by Daryl, he would yell at him too, sometimes even try for a swing. Daryl was getting to big for swings though. His mother had been a chain-smoker, and those had killed her. Set the house on fire just like she did her lungs. Merle, had followed their footsteps, starting out early with light stuff. Eventually he was doing meth and who-knows-what-else, whilst dealing to the local high schoolers.
Ah, there we are, the sweet sound of real family, not his 50's television drama. Far away in the distance he could make out two screaming women on the porch, they didn't look related. Probably arguing over who spilt the couscous. This place was a joke.
An elderly man came over, standing between them, he spoke to the taller of the two. She reeled back, storming off whilst screaming ''you always take her fucking side'' over her shoulder like a petulant child. The entire garden watcher her procession to the end of the garden with slightly aghast mouths. As she came closer, Daryl was impressed at the lack of tears. He expected her to be springing leaks, but instead he got a cold stubbornness that demanded a bit of respect. She didn't give a damn that everyone was staring at her.
Her eyes were fixed, and he watched her quietly for a bit. She was playing with children, her short cropped hair swinging round as she helped them to play. From sad to laughing in 0 to 60. The woman had a pretty face, it held a strength that the rest of her radiated. But no-one kicks up a fuss like that without reason, and this fiery brunette must have had a pretty big reason.
The sun was coming down warmly, and Daryl was getting tired of all this sitting. Unexpectedly a woman came up to him, offering him a glass of lemonade and a smile. He shook his head and politely as possible declined.
''Oh, you must be Jack's son.'' Her smile was bright, but Daryl felt his gut twist at being affiliated with that man. It was bad enough sharing DNA without people pointing it out. ''He's such a lovely man!'' Daryl was glad he hadn't taken up the lemonade because he would have spat it straight up then.
''He was just telling us about those puppies he stopped a man drowning at the creek. Such horrible people in the world, and so brave of your father to go in and stop him.'' The woman was happily chatting on, but none of what she said made sense. Is this what the old man was telling everyone? Daryl was almost sure that it would be his father drowning the puppies and being beaten up by some other guy. He probably span the story round. But these people were plain stupid if they believed his lies. And horrible people, oh, Jack knew all about horrible people.
''You must be Daryl, the one with anger issues.'' The last statement made him pay attention to her. What? The look must have shown on his face, because she started backtracking. He stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Daryl saw red, hot burning crimson. Knowing too well he had to remove himself from the situation, he spun around, leaving the perplexed woman alone. That was it, the last straw. The house was empty except a few women's voices in the kitchen, everyone else was enjoying the sunshine outside. Why was he even here? Screw Merle and his 'family look after their own' ideal. He felt that way, great he could get himself out of prison and look after that man himself, he was done.
He stomped up the stairs, trying to find somewhere to cool off a bit before he found the old man and forced him into to the truck. So maybe he was a little scared of his big brother still. The hallway was picturesquely American, everything clean and comforting. It set his teeth on edge. Pushing open a door he discovered what he guessed to be a guest room. The distinct lack of personality and floral-lacy accessories made him think it was alright to hide here a while.
Walking across the room to sit on the floor with his head against the bed so he couldn't be seen, he could wait out his anger there, like he had always done. Only, there already someone there. A small figure was sat with her knees up, back leaning against the bed frame. A small faced looked up at him from under the hood of her jacket. Her eyes took in his red face and tense stance, she popped her head phones out her ears.
''You can sit if you want, nowhere else really to hide inconspicuously.'' Her voice was light and had that southern tone, so she was local. He had little choice but to accept the offer, so he sat at the foot of the bed and stared at the wall. They sat there for a while, in silence.
Eventually her phone rang, she looked at the number and swore, leaving it to ring. It couldn't be the person she was here for, or the person she brought along. The noise would bring them to her if they were looking. No, his guess was it was someone outside the AA barbeque, and she was playing it off that she was busy supporting or being supported. The phone kept buzzing, her foot began to tap frantically as if having some inner argument.
''If you don't want to answer it, put it on silent, that way its outta mind.'' He didn't mean to say it out loud, he had a habit of making suggestions in his head, but he never much liked talking to people. People were impossible to understand, and either they were spoiled or spoilt. She seemed shocked at his sudden intervention, but her hand pulled out the phone and turned the ringer off. Still she was reluctant to put it where she was ignorant of being called or not, so she placed it on the floor beside her in case it lit up again.
He took a moment to observe her, she had light blonde hair that fell in soft waves. In fact, everything about her was oft, her expression and the way she held herself. Such a contrast to the brunette fireball he saw earlier, who was all edges. But, wait, there they had the same eyes. So they were related, a silly mistake to disregard them on their difference. He and merle weren't alike either.
''So you're the porch-wrestler?'' he tried to joke, she tilted her head at him, trying to figure him out.
''Beth is my non-professional name.'' she smiled slightly. ''My sister was being less than understanding, at least it wasn't wrestling- Maggie's always been able to beat me up.'' He understood why she was here now, avoiding everyone after that confrontation, and he didn't blame her. She must have sulked off as he was watching her sister do the same.
''Down side of being a younger sibling, but we do learn to run really fast'' Daryl nodded back at her, she gave a full-fledged grin and smiled. He looked over at her. Normally Dixon was all too happy to sit in any kind of silence, be it comfortable or not. But, there was too much of him in her, and he wanted to know where the similarities ended.
''This place needs vodka,'' she groaned unexpectedly, rolling her sleeves up. It must be boiling int hat thing, he thought, the middle of summer and wearing a sweatshirt. He laughed at her and agreed, leading him to ask if that's why she was here.
''No,'' she snorted, ''my daddy he's 'recovering', though he's so many times off the bandwagon I'm starting to think being on it is only when he sleeps.'' Her voice was heavy, this was obviously an exhausting topic, probably years of hope. But some people just never really change.
''Mine too. Though he's a right ol' git.'' Daryl's venomous voice surprised even him, Beth was looking at him with an awkward look of puzzlement. He didn't want to go into it, but years of bottling it up spilled out to this little blonde haired angel. He told her only of the less bad things Jack did when drunk, stuff like tying him to a tree for the night and breaking his mother's coffee table. She only nodded and added in words of parallel with her own life. Rubbing her dotted arms.
Letting it get off his chest. There was something calming about her, like she was a locked bottle, he knew she wouldn't tell anyone.
''One time, my dad had drunk so much he saw Maggie sneaking a guy into her room and walked off saying she was as much of a whore as her mother had been. Took her weeks to look at him without glares and even longer to talk to him. He stayed off for a whole 4 months that time.''
They had been sat there for almost an hour, exchanging stories. He hadn't felt this close to anyone in years, he understood her, and respected her. It wasn't easy to live the life she had, but somehow she came out of it unbitter. And he couldn't fit her into either category.
Beth wasn't spoiled. Her father's verbal abuse was counteracted by his gentle sobriety, from what he heard Herschel was a god-fearing and apologetic man in reality. That allowed her to retain a lost innocence to the other children like them. He had turned cold, his brother vindictive and many more of his friends shared their problems. But she kept up the good graces of normality, whilst shining an understanding.
And she wasn't spoilt, the world hadn't been kind enough to give her everything. She had a pretty face and that kind of dominating cute appeal, but years of lacking hope or love, left her humbled. He suspected there was greater reason for the heavy sadness in her eyes, not just her father.
The phone lit up again, Beth sighed knowing she had to go this time. A text flew up almost immediately after the call ended.
''I have to go, it was lovely meeting you. See you at the Christmas do, I guess.'' She shrugged, playing it off as a small deal, and got to her feet. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a bright cascade as she leaned over to offer her hand. He shook it and nodded, moving her legs so she could step over. God, she was so small.
Something didn't sit right with him, her pale forearms were dotted with dark prints, and her eyes had that hollow look in them. His history was before him in this girl, only she wasn't going say anything, just like his mother. His mother had trying to get love from that man downstairs, all she ever got was deluded pain. He couldn't let her leave without acknowledging it. Sure, it was none of his business and if it were him he'd punch the guy who brought it up. But the yellow healing bruises and then the overlaying fresh, noon had noticed had they? And if no one else was going to save her, he'd at east give her a place to turn. After all he had someone do the same for him.
He stood up, rummaging through the bedside draw a second. Then ran down the stairs getting her just before she got in her car. He hadn't realised how short she was, she barely reached his shoulder, and he wasn't a tall man himself. Her jumper sleeves were rolled back down and she looked at him expectantly.
''Whoever did that to your arm, they don't deserve you. He does it again you call me.'' Daryl passed her the scrap of paper with his number on.
So, what's the verdict?