May 9th 2011
Location Unknown, DRC
François hissed in Michonne's ear as he dragged her off to the side. Somehow all attention had turned from her to Shane and Oné arguing as she pulled herself out of François' grip uneasily. This whole thing had been a symphony of indignities where she was pushed around, roughed up and injured at regular intervals. As Shane shouted near incoherently at Oné and Dwight, Michonne looked around at the people watching silently. She supposed at some point, if she lived long enough, she'd be like them. This would become second nature to her and she would be cowed. In that moment, Michonne vowed to have escaped or died in the attempt before she allowed that to happen to her.
François grabbed her arm again roughly and pulled her away, toward the door as Shane continued to rage. No one but Ariane seemed to notice, but even she seemed too caught up in the disagreement to give more than a glancing acknowledgement to Michonne's exit.
She resisted for a moment until François growled at her under his breath, "He wants us to kill you now, would you like to stand here until she changes her mind?"
Michonne looked at him in surprise; he almost sounded like he cared. But as he saw the look on her face he sucked his teeth, pulling her harder through the exit doors.
"You don't know him, he's not gonna stop until he finds her!" Shane complained as the doors were closing, separating Michonne from the part of the conversation she was most interested in.
She had been right, Rick was searching for her. She realized triumphantly.
Michonne marched across the courtyard to the Big House, pushed roughly by François. Other than a handful of guards at the main gate, the square was near desolate. They weren't kidding about everybody being in attendance for meals. Which gave Michonne the idea that during meals might be the best time to escape. So perhaps it was for the best that Shane had effectively ruined the one small bit of freedom she'd been granted. In that moment, she tried to resign herself to the remand to her room but for some strange reason, the idea of that suddenly irritated her more than the rest of her situation.
*May I at least have a book or something?* Michonne asked in French as she walked down the long hallway to her room.
*Shut up!* François snapped. *You have caused nothing but problems since we laid eyes on you.*
Michonne wondered who's fault that was until she thought about François' words. *'Since you laid eyes on me?' Were you following me before?*
François' lips flattened as if he refused to say more. He stood stiffly at the door as she walked into the center of the small room and turned on him.
*Ngangabouka had people following me before you kidnapped me?*
He didn't speak but the non-response was confirmation enough.
*For how long?* She demanded harshly.
He shrugged, averting his gaze and Michonne saw, for perhaps first time, how young François was. In that moment, rather than challenge him further, Michonne took another tack.
*It's frightening to think someone was watching as I went about my everyday business,* She admitted sighing heavily as he watched her suspiciously. He was clearly expecting an explosion of indignation and was clearly uncertain how to handle her resignation. *What if I was doing something embarrassing and you lot saw it?*
*Did I? Were you one of the people following me?* She asked, keeping any resentment out of her voice.
He shook his head still obviously suspicious of her motivations.
*Could have seen me checking myself out in the store windows, I do that. Make sure my make-up's on right, check that my slip isn't showing. That would be embarrassing. I'm a little vain. I admit it,* Michonne didn't know the last time she'd worn a slip but the little lie had the desired effect.
François was silent for a moment, deciding something. Michonne could see the indecision on his face, warring with his animosity.
*My sister was like that. Never met a mirror she didn't like, we used to say.* He said it with a mixture of melancholy and affection that revealed he hadn't seen her in a long time.
Michonne smiled mildly and raised her hand meekly as if embarrassed by the admission. *Me too. Being without a mirror here has been hard.*
*Dwight didn't want you to have one. Too risky he said. You could try hurting yourself or one of us.*
Michonne was the one to shrug this time then glanced at the window. *That's just silly. I could do the same thing with the glass in those slats.*
The realization seemed to startle him until he also realized she hadn't. He shook his head amused.* Dwight is an idiot.*
*I won't argue with that.*
*Oh, so that makes one thing.* He almost muttered to himself.
Michonne laughed. *Do I have a reputation?*
François looked at her then, bemused. *Do you? You are the only person besides Mama Oné that we've ever seen argue with DaDa and live.*
Michonne's smile faltered. That was a frightening thought.
*You fight with everyone, about everything! When you will get up, what you will eat, what you will wear! You fight with DaDa, you fight with Mama, you even fight with Marion and she's mute!* François laughed.
Michonne was shocked at how musical his laugh sounded and how handsome it made his face. She'd never seen this side of him. When he smiled, it brightened his whole face and he didn't look much past twenty-one. She chuckled too, walking to her bed and perching on the corner. She had no idea the people of the camp were watching. She must have seemed like a proper hellion.
*Well, I'm here against my will, François. You don't actually expect me to be cooperative?* She admitted truthfully, the idea mildly amusing her.
For a fraction of a second, he seemed impressed for a moment before he answered. He shifted the rifle hanging on his shoulder as if it were uncomfortable and glanced down the hall behind him. *No, we expect you to be scared.*
He was being honest too.
She was quiet for a moment. Of course she was scared. It was remarkable to her that he didn't see that. She'd been trying to hold it together and not really sure how she was doing. The longer she was here the more distraught she became. It was surprising to hear that that constant fear wasn't bleeding through what she thought of as a pretty transparent façade of bravado.
*I am,* She said quietly looking down at her hands.
*Then, not enough, not of the right people.* François corrected, turning again to look down the hall as if he expected someone. The harshness returned to his voice. *You think she's helping you but she's the one digging your grave with that Walsh. Don't trust her. She is not your friend.*
*Who?* Michonne couldn't believe François of all people would be the one warning her. Could she even believe what he was telling her? A part of her screamed no, but the larger part said yes. He gained nothing by lying to her.
His voice lowered to the point that it barely bridged the distance between them. The urgency, however, was crystal clear. *You have no friends here. Remember that.*
*You announce yourself when you approach. Not every conversation is for your ears. I know Mama Oné has already told you that.* It was a sudden and stern reprimand.
Michonne didn't know who he was talking to until she saw Fabian standing next to François in the doorway.
*I'm sorry.* Fabian said to him sheepishly, his head bowed.
*Don't apologize. Don't do it!* François barked, tipping Fabian's head up with a quick, sharp finger under his chin. And with that, the brief window into the man François was behind the hard mask closed. He turned back to Michonne briefly.
*Can you read French as well as speak it?*
She nodded.
*I'll see about some reading materials.* He began to close the door before pausing, *And don't forget what I told you.*
Michonne nodded as he pulled the door shut harshly.
The noise of the slamming door made Michonne jump. He couldn't have been more ominous if he'd tried. Still, it was nothing she hadn't thought to herself anyway. She had no idea why Mama Oné had decided to help her to begin with, so it wasn't any real revelation that the woman didn't have her best interests at heart. Her relationship with Ngangabouka was very complex and though she might appear to be helping Michonne, her loyalty to him ran deep.
Michonne was lost in thought until she heard the soft knocking on the door minutes later.
"Yes?"
"It's Fabian, Miss Michonne."
"Yes, I know." Michonne pulled her legs up on the bed, crossing them under her.
"I'm your friend." Fabian whispered, barely audible through the door.
Michonne smiled to herself despite the heavy words that had just been left for her to mull over.
"Yes, I know."
As his last duty of his shift, Fabian walked Michonne back to Ngangabouka's suite the next morning. She was surprised...and worried. Marion had gone with Ngangabouka so there was no special outfit she was forced to don and the walk to that side of the building was almost leisurely. Still, she had no idea what this could be about and knew better than to ask Fabian. It made the walk an uneasy one, where she tried to memorize more of the typography to calm herself. The memory of what became of someone who had entered that room a guest and then never left ate at her. But when he knocked, Onè opened the door herself admitting Michonne with something close to a smile before dismissing Fabian.
Michonne was genuinely sorry to see the boy go. They'd stayed up almost the entire night talking and practicing card tricks. He was a quick study. In another couple of nights she would exhaust her meager knowledge and he might need to start teaching her. His knowledge of other things surprised her too. He liked astronomy and was a serious movie buff. He could recite the placement of constellations and nebulas and then the release dates and production information for a wealth of films, from recent movies back to the beginning of cinema. He was like a walking encyclopedia. Combined with his childlike innocence, Michonne had begun to suspect he was some sort of savant. The idea that a gentle soul and inherent intellect like his would be wasted by Ngangabouka annoyed her beyond measure.
*He's a good boy,* Michonne said in French after he left and Oné led her to the circular dining table. The room was empty other than them and so Michonne felt freer to speak her mind. She took a seat across from Oné and waited until she had the woman's attention to continue. *He doesn't belong here.*
*He's a man,* Oné corrected her.
"No, no he is not."
Oné gestured to her to help herself to the food that was on the table before responding. "He's turned eighteen. They both have."
"I know you know what I mean. And having him do this, guarding me is a waste of his talents. He belongs in a school."
Oné smiled. "You've been speaking to him." She shook her head as if amused.
Suddenly, François' words came back to Michonne.
Maybe she shouldn't have admitted to that.
"Do you suppose he would be able to survive here if he did not have a job to do like everyone else?"
"You could send him back to his family." Michonne argued.
Oné laughed bitterly, "What family? Or did you forget, his father is dead, his sister is here and you helped get his mother killed?"
Michonne felt as if Onè slapped her. "I had nothing to do with that!"
She defended herself uneasily since she felt a small undercurrent of truth to the statement. A small part of her accepted that culpability.
"You harbored my son's wife, did you not? Helped her deceive him, eh? He does not take kindly to that. You lie to him at your peril."
François' words came back to her like shouting in her brain. It screamed at her to put an end to this conversation before something bad happened, but she couldn't stop. Not yet. "Then why exactly are you helping me, huh?"
Oné laughed and looked at her closely. It was a searching look as if she hoped to see into Michonne's innermost thoughts, into her soul. "I told you, I don't have to do everything I'm told by him. Ariane said you needed help and I decided to give it. That is all."
"No," Michonne said defiantly dropping her fork and staring back at Onè. "You are the person most loyal to him in this camp. I suspect you are the only person who truly cares for him...despite whatever he's probably done to you."
Her expression grew sad as Michonne watched, darkening from the brightness of a moment before. Michonne could see the tears making her eyes glassy. It was unsettling, this diamond-hard woman suddenly on the verge of tears. Michonne was unexpectedly moved. She was tempted to retract her statement, if this was its result.
Oné reached out and covered Michonne's hand with her own on the table. Michonne was so surprised she flinched, pulling her hand away quickly. It was too much like Ngangabouka's man from the day before. Visions of the aftermath of that breakfast flashed before her eyes again. She shivered and shook her head revolted by the memory, trying to shake it free.
Onè misunderstood and was visibly hurt. The first tear slipped over her cheek and down before she could wipe it away roughly and gather herself.
"I'm sorry." Michonne said and meant it genuinely. But she could not say anything more; there was only so much sympathy she could consciously muster for one of her captors.
Onè shook her head waving it off. She offered Michonne a small closed-mouth smile even as a few more tears slid silently down her face. "You are so like her."
She spoke so low it was nearly a whisper. As if she was actually just speaking to herself and Michonne was eavesdropping. "I saw it almost immediately but I didn't realize he saw it too. Not until yesterday."
"What?"
As if Michonne's voice had broken a spell, Onè looked at her then —at her, not into the past through her— and wiped the tears away.
"Fabian is entrusted with things we feel he is capable of. He earns his place like everyone else."
"By guarding prisoners?" Michonne interjected, realizing the moment, whatever it was, was gone. "He could be hurt."
"Would you hurt him?" Onè asked.
"Of course not." Michonne said as if the idea was absurd.
"So then."
"You can't expect everyone to be like me."
"Everyone who? You are the first. Do you really think my son-in-law is in the habit of keeping captives? Feeding them? Clothing them? Tell me, you have been here a few days, have you seen any other prisoners?"
Onè's question silenced Michonne for a moment because of its very obvious answer. The truth of it cut right through her, a chill rolling down her spine. The whole thing continually frustrated her beyond measure and everyone refused to answer her.
"WHY AM I HERE!" Michonne slammed her flat palm down on the table in abject frustration rattling the fine china and silverware. Onè just eyed her coolly.
"Because of Mr. Walsh's presence in camp, I find I have to restrict you to your room again. But I thought you'd at least prefer to eat your breakfast at a table with a person like a human, was I mistaken?" She arched her eyebrow dressing Michonne down wordlessly.
Michonne composed herself even as anger burned in her chest.
"No."
Onè returned to her meal and then eventually Michonne did too. There was little else to do. Michonne considered for a moment asking after Ariane but thought better of it. If the young woman was occupied elsewhere, it was probably for the best. Despite how much she leaned on Onè, Michonne had the distinct impression Ariane resented her. Michonne could hardly blame her. The older woman's main job in camp seemed to be normalizing what were clearly highly abnormal circumstances.
"Oh, François left this for you." Onè said changing the subject yet again effortlessly, as if nothing had happened at all. She reached onto the chair beside her and produced a small, heavy hardcover book and pushed it toward Michonne.
She took it up and turned the old book over in her hands admiring the well worn and illegible spine. Then she looked at the title on the front cover and nearly cried. François was at once far smarter than she gave him credit for being, and had a far more wicked sense of humor than Michonne could have suspected.
"Le Puits et le Pendule. I've never read it, I don't particularly care for Poe. Do you know what it is about?"
Michonne gave a wry smile looking at the title on the cover again: The Pit and the Pendulum and Other Gruesome Tales of Terror. "It's about a man during the Spanish Inquisition imprisoned and tortured for reasons unknown to him. It's about the impermanence of time and the inescapable inevitability of death."
Onè smirked. "I can speak to François, if you'd like. Get you some better reading material?"
Michonne shook her head flipping to the book's table of contents. "No, there are other stories in here I do like that aren't quite so... on the nose."
"I suppose." The woman said with a shrug.
Michonne put the book down gently beside her plate and picked up her fork to finally eat. Onè watched her silently for a moment before doing the same.
