AN: Hope you're all liking it - thanks to those who PM'd and reviewed that way, haha! For the rest of ya'll from here on a lot of the majority of chapters will be developing Beth's plot - there will be some 'more' added to come in later chapters - but I can't tell you about that! SHH! It will ruin its crazy factor when it hits! We need the crazy. Love the crazy.
Enjoy the chapter. The song I listened to writing this one mostly were I will never Die - Delta Rae. Check that band out actually, if you like essentially any sound one of their songs will have it. Haha.
Chapter 7:
Sustenance
She hiccupped and stumbled on an upturned root. Catchin' the rough bark of the tree with her small hands. "Lightweight" I growled, mock' offensive.
The moonlight lit her pale face as she shot a stern look back at me. 'Er eyes betrayed 'er though. "Well – hiccup – tha' ain't entirely my – hiccup – fault. Is it Mr. Oooo drink moonshine Beth, it's better than peach schnapps Beth." She'd lowered 'er voice to try an' mimic mine.
I bit back a smile, shakin' my head as I pushed past her. "You know it was better than'. What kind'a friend would I be if I'd let ya' have a'borin' ass time first ya' drank, hm?"
"A friend who – hiccup – didn't want to make Beth go all 'Ooo Daryl lets burn down a house!'," she waved her hands 'round, dramatic-like, face overly expressive. "Arson. I've – hiccup – become an arsonist! – hiccup – you're a bad influence Daryl Dixon... where'd my impulse control go?!"
"You say tha' like you had it ta lose. Had we known bout that fire fetish o' yours before, could'a just got ya' drunk an' set ya' on the damn Governor at the start; up comes the sweet young doe eyed blond Christian girl. Woosh. He'd not'a see it comin'. Damn Beth why'd ya' keep such talent under wraps so long?"
She laughed through her hiccups, causin' 'er to cough and double over. "Oh yeah – I'd just'a walked up and been all sweet and lovin' and then go bat-bleepin'-crazy! His eye would have been so wide, wide with – hiccup – shock and fear. I can see it now!"
"C'mon," I sobered my tone, even if still drunk. "We need'a get some shelter. Your hiccupin's gunna get us killed. All kind'a sort's gunna hear it miles 'round and just come'a runnin."
"Back to the – hiccup – 'Beth's drunk: Beth's gunna get me killed.' Stance are we? Wha' happened to the strength in crazy? Ya'll got your ways; cross bowin' all over! I think I should 'ave a talent too!"
"Ya' do."
"Burnin' shit! – Oh shoot!" She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I ain't a swearer!"
"I didn't know you were an Arsonist either – learn somethin' knew ever' day I hear."
She laughed as we trudged on through the undergrowth. "Daryl – Daryl wai-wait. I gotta ask you – I – hiccup – I gotta ask you a very important – hiccup – very serious question!"
Her chin was right 'gaints her chest, as she looked up at me under her brow, hands out front, as if ta' physically stop me. I think she'd mean' it ta' look serious. Just looked like she' was a non-rottin' walker or somethin' aweful. "Well? Shoot Greene," I muttered, lookin' 'er over through the dark.
"Yeah. That. I wanna know how to shoot somethin' – you know," she mimicked my stance when I held the crossbow ready. "I wanna know how to survive and, and, - and stuff!"
I nodded. "Right. In the mornin'."
"Beth Greene, Zombie extraordinaire!"
"Mhm, c'mon."
I'd taken' watch. Girl was half comatose by tha' time we'd set camp, she'd just sort'a flopped down into the leaves an' dirt, heaved a long drawn out sigh, blew the hair from her eye's dramatically and then just drifted out'a consciousness.
"Beth," I called, keepin' my voice low; in tha' woods ain't got no safety but silence. "Wake up."
"Why do you hate me," she groaned.
I squatted down beside 'er, glaring down at her pretty blue eyes. "Who was it that decided it was smart 'ta go out on some blind-man mission 'ta find alcohol?"
"Obviously not the doe eyed arsonist," I held a hand out, pullin' 'er to 'er feet. She stumbled slightly.
"Who was it tha' decided it'd be best ta' implement this 'never have I ever' drinkin' game?"
"You're simply makin' stuff up now Daryl Dixon," she smirked.
"You still drunk."
"Wow – hey now – I don't even hear a question there."
"That's 'cause it weren't one."
"Hardly! I ain't drunk," she said. "I just... feel like there's a whole family o' coons runnin wild in my head." With a squinted glance around 'er she shot me a half-assed glare. "Why in the heck are you wakin' me up this early for if you let me, a young teenage girl get hung over?"
"That teenage girl asked me 'ta teach 'er 'ta hunt. Mornin," I hoisted my bow 'cross my shoulder. "Is the best time for huntin'."
"That wasn't me talkin – it was the arsonist!"
"Mhm. Get yourself ready 'girl'. I don't take well 'ta waitin'."
She rolled her eyes but swung into action quick as she and I began takin' down the camp perimeter.
"Oi," I called back as we set off into the thick wood. "Tha's two talents ya got on yer record."
Her brow furrowed. "It is?"
"Singin' and burnin'."
"Shut-up."
"Gettin' quite tha' mouth on ya too."
"Must be the company I keep."
"Breakfast," He uttered softly.
"E-excuse me?"
"You missed breakfast. I'd made you some."
I glanced 'round, shiftin' my weight to fully rest on my good leg. Least I still got both, I thought bitterly. "I don't understand. You – wanted me to come out'a my room so quick this mornin'... for a missed breakfast?" There I went again; lacin' my tone with disrespectful soundin' sarcasm. Damn Daryl and his bad influence, I cursed. He really had been right; I wasn't just some meek girl, I was a singin', swearin', arsonist.
"You missed grace," he said more forcefully: That sobered me.
The wind rattled 'gainst the tin roof behind me. I swallowed hard, my mouth felt dry, like swallowin' nothin' but air. "Oh," I breathed – I must'a looked some kind'a stupid though, as the wind swept my quiet voice right out'a my mouth.
He chuckled darkly. Advancing one, slow, calculated step forward. I tried to shuffle back, but I heard the growl start up behind. I bit my lips tight together. I didn' need to look over my shoulder to know Saint was right at my bare heels. I could feel his hot breath quake 'cross them with each of his low growls.
"So scared," his voice soft and airy, like the wind which blew around us. "So meek."
I felt an uncontrollable shiver run through me, hair standin' up all over. I felt the hair on my arms prickle up, a light itch resultin'.
"So weak."
My lips hurt as I clamped my teeth tight on their softness. I knew I'd leave bloody indents on them, but I refused to let them quiver in fear. I kept my eyes planted on his. Daryl would think that was strong; starin' fear down like this. I felt like I'd owe him that, to be the strongest I could be. I think Daddy'd be proud too... in his own way.
He circled me, at my back now. Shit, in the blindspot. My eyes watched his shadow closely. And I felt cold in its depth as it blocked out the warmth of sunlight. The wind felt harsher in the darkness.
Saint was now in front o' me his eye locked on my bruised and battered ankle. My stomach turned as I saw the drool drip off his gnarled lips. This time it weren't the breath of a dog on my ankles, it was the breath of the Priest on my neck. "What're you waiting for?"
My breath came in fast, hadn't realized I'd been holdin' in. "Excuse me," I asked, awful baffled.
"It will go cold," each word was over punctuated.
"Breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"You have to eat. I want to clean up."
"I can do that," I stammered "Please, I can clean it all up. It's only fair - "
"No. It is not proper of me to ask my guest, my injured guest none the less, to take care of my home. – You are my guest, Eve. You must look to be taken care of, not to take care," I swear I heard him smell me. I moved fast, swivelling 'round to meet him face-to-face. His chest near touched mine as he towered so close over me.
"Okay," I nodded, realizin' that by this point in our interactions I must look like a completely jittery and frantic fool. "Yeah. I'll eat. What – What did you make?"
"Meat."
He'd turned swiftly. Meat? Who the heck says 'meat' when asked what food'd been made - for breakfast? Even when Daryl used to get back from hunts back home ... I was so stupid to have called it that; home. Everyone else called it 'The Prison'. Kept it detached... and here I was talkin' at myself in my head 'bout how much I missed 'home'. Way to get side-tracked Beth... way to start talkin' in the third person inside your head 'Beth'. He'd lost me to my thoughts as I sat down in the small kitchen.
I couldn't help but notice him hoverin', like how teacher's used to hover over your shoulder when you worked. It felt so intrusive then... I'd kill to have that 'teacher intrusive' feeling again. This just made my skin crawl.
"You get this last time you went out to hunt," I tried to make small talk, tryin' to divert his attention off... well whatever he was thinkin' as he stared onward.
"I don't hunt."
I furrowed my brow, that couldn't be right. "You set snares and traps then," I concluded, fork in hand. He'd pre-cut the pieces small, so I didn't need a knife... he was smart that way; even the smallest knife could be a weapon if someone were desperate enough. Lord knows I was desperate enough now.
He shook his head, leanin' back 'gainst the blue linoleum counter-top. My brow furrowed, fork mid way to my open mouth. My stomach grumbled at the sweet smell of the meat. Goodness it looked delicious. But I couldn't help the naggin' feeling his comment'd given me.
"I don't understand."
"I trade."
I just sat there, blinkin' "Oh," seemed like I said that allot lately.
"Eat."
At the forcefulness in his tone I plopped the chunk of somewhat undercooked meat in my mouth. It certainly tastes fresh, nothin' wrong with it in anyway. I sighed softly as it went down.
"Is it pork," I asked suddenly as I bit into another piece of the juicy meat. "Tastes like it, got that sweet undertone and sort of fattiness of it."
He shrugged - Seemed like far too normal of a gesture for him, funny how when someone so abnormal displays simplistic traits of normality, and suddenly it's more off puttin' than their anomalous tendencies.
"I trade with them when they need something I no longer do, somethin' I've failed... And, in return they provide me with the sustenance to which my garden cannot provide. They have a big group, and whatever animal they have tended it has been rigorously pastured through such cultivation as animal agriculture. Even they don't take to huntin'. They say there's nothin' left but squirrels."
"That makes sense," I nodded, recalling the pigs we'd kept at... at the prison.
"They say they do not want to deplete the natural world, so it is in their best interest to pastor and farm in order to allow for nature to thrive without the added kills of the hunt."
I'd finished now, there'd only been about five small choppy bits. I placed my fork down on the white china like he always request I do; he said it was the polite way to signify to your host that you were done and had enjoyed the meal graciously.
Stepped forward, taking the dish up from in-front o' me. "You might find my library of interest. If you would like. There's a wealth of books there as well as a rather out of tune piano..."
He'd not given me time to answer the sudden change in conversation. Just taken my dish and headed out to the old red water bucked out back.
I sat there, quite still in that moment, hands folded over one-another in my lap. Starin' holes in the white kitchen cupboards opposite me. The door thumped as it swung back on itself when he returned, wet plates in hand.
He shot me a speculative glance as he began to dry the drippin' dishes over the sink, crisp white cloth in hand. "How old are you?"
I swallowed – I had to think on that; how long'd passed since last I... "Perhaps... 18? I think. I was 16 and a bit when I'd left my daddies farm with – with my family. That was about two years...?"
He didn't answer, understandin' I'd just been thinkin' out load to myself as I hummed over my own age. How odd... to forget to keep track o' somethin' so simple. What odd things we take for granted in life... when it's just about 'life'.
"Must be nearin' three by now," I nodded along with my conclusion.
"So, about 19 then?"
"I suspect so, yeah."
How in the heck did I think it was okay to keep track of 'days without incidents' but I hadn't thought to keep any kind'a track of how old I was. How perturbin' it was to not even know your own age!
"It must be... difficult. Growing up into a lady, in this world."
"I think," I sighed, leanin' back into the wood chair. "I think I've kept my head straight most of it. I 'spose growin' up just... happened, before I even realized. But I ain't no kind'a lady... I ain't no girl neither. I'm a survivor."
Girls die, I thought of Sophia. Ladies die, I thought or Lori. Survivors... they keep on goin', and I thought of Michonne and my sister. Those were the types of role models a young woman had; survivors. So that's just what I'd become.
He opened an' closed some cupboards, puttin' now dry dishes in their white cabnets before turnin' back to me. He busied himself foldin' the white dryin' cloth. Then clasped his hands in'front o' him as he leaned back into the counter once more. The window over the kitchen sink squarely behind him, framin' him in the illuminated pink lace drapes which hung'round it.
"What kind of deeds and personal actions or decisions have you made, in order to 'survive'?"
His stare bore into my soul, like he knew somethin' I didn'. That stare... it said everythin'.
Review! Let me know if you love me, hate me, want me to turn into a walker, wanna walker-drown me, wanna Rick-style my neck, you know, whatever pleases you!
