Right hand to the most dangerous, and dare you say cunning, man on the planet. It's a title you never expected to wind up with in a million lifetimes. Then again, who ever dreams they'll be in the midst of a zombie apocalypse? Simon used to hold the title that you now carry, that was, until he managed to go and get himself bitten by a walker after so carelessly traipsing through an abandoned building in search of supplies. And thus, you find yourself thrust into Negan's spotlight, all eyes gazing upon you for leadership when the big, bad wolf isn't around. This gig isn't so bad, you tell yourself. Being Negan's right hand comes with a very big perk. Like his wives, even though you most certainly are not, you don't have to work for points. Should you get sick, or even injured, you no longer have to worry about whether or not you've saved up enough points for medication. Food, luckily for the encampment, doesn't come with a points system, but luxury items are now "free fucking game" as Negan so eloquently put it.
As the RV rolls to a stop, your mind shifts from thoughts of the past to the here and now just as Negan peers at you via the rear view mirror. "Oh, honey, we're home." You watch silently as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the reflection with the grin that's now spread across his features. "Time to go get us some mother fucking pork!"
Of all of the missions you'd run together, this was your least favorite. After all, chasing hogs wasn't exactly an ideal way to spend your time. A swing of the RV's door reveals the self-proclaimed King Ezekiel and his no good do-gooders, and stepping out onto the pavement, you're greeted with a sickeningly sweet smile that even Ezekiel himself had to know was far from convincing.
"As requested," he begins, waving a hand toward the squealing hogs that have been tied up to the beds of their pickup trucks prevent their escape. "You'll find we've even thrown in two extra."
"Jesus Christ!" Negan exclaims, twirling the bat on his shoulder whilst he steps up beside you, the pair of you now standing at the forefront of your little group. "Two extra. Well goddamn if you ain't fuckin' steppin' up. Well done. Well fuckin' done." With a simple nod of his head, Negan orders his rag-tag group to gather up the hogs so they can be relocated back to the Sanctuary.
Holstering your gun, you begin to take a step forward in order to assist with the transportation of the pigs. The sole of your left boot barely makes contact with the asphalt before the sharp sting of barbed wire pushes past your clothes to bite at the skin of your stomach. "And just where the fuck do you think you're going?" The question is laced with both genuine curiosity and a warning: you're not to move from your position beside Negan, and as ordered (without actually having been ordered), you comply.
"Was just going to help them round up the pigs," you reply as your head turns to look up at Negan, Lucille still pressed up against your abdomen. His gaze holds yours in an intense standoff, and soon, he's pulling Lucille away from you, the barbed wire tearing small holes in the fabric of your sweater.
"Might I remind you that you're no longer the help. You're my right hand man!" Negan pauses in a fleeting moment of thought. "Let me fuckin' retract that statement. You're my right hand woman." A grin, the same shit-eating one from the RV slowly spreads practically from ear to ear until both rows of teeth gleam in the morning sunlight. "Fuckin' own that shit now."
You may not know it now; hell, none of you would, but you'll own your status in more ways than one in the coming days.