Writing this at work... Yeah, I got over time now...
~Loner
Moving day.
Daryl sighed as he looked at the box Arron was holding in front of him, reading the big bold chicken scratch that was Aaron's handwriting stating 'MINE!' Capped and everything. Aaron was an amazing survivalist, he really was, but he was really childish too. Daryl leaned over, lifting a flap, to peek into the box. Books. Not just any kind of books either. Mangas. Daryl sneered up at the man, reaching out an arm to smack the box away from his person. "Damn it, Arron!" He all but hissed to the wounded looking man, "Fo' tha las' time, NO!" This was a common argument between the brothers and Arron, and, normally, Daryl would relent, at least, a little when he saw that handsome , scared face twist up like the man had been shot to the heart. However , now, they just didn't have the space, what with Arron's van being gone (it being the van they took to Atlanta).
"But, Daryl," the man drew the words out in a slur, a whining pitch clear in the voice, "their my soul! I can't leave them out here all alone." Arron was really dramatic and childish when it came to his hobbies; the only one he took seriously, perhaps too seriously, was, quote on quote, 'being a Ninja' -the geek. "There isn't anyone to take care of them out here," Arron whined.
Daryl glared at the childish man, half wishing he could leave the man behind. "We don' 'ave the space, Arron!" He snapped. He could feel his blood pressure raise to a new peek. While everyone else was almost ready to go, Arron and him were still arguing over what was to be taken and what was to be left behind. Daryl sighed, one of those deep angry sighs reserved for only Arron and his shenanigans. "Look, Pa, we can fit in one," he said in defeat, and Arron's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Bu' only one," Daryl snarled at the man, the last word having a hard edge to it like there was to be no argument on it.
Arron immediately dropped the box he was holding straight to the ground, a clear show that he was just fucking with Daryl. "Yay~" the elder man sang in a childish voice as he turned on his heel to go grab the box he really wanted to take with them.
Daryl just sighed, again, putting his hand to his forehead to rub the growing head ache. Every fucking time! Daryl kicked the heavy box to the side, using more force then needed. This is why Daryl and Merle needed steel toe shoes. The boxes were heavy as fuck, almost as if they were made of steel themselves.
Daryl was inspecting the dent he created in the box with a self satisfied smirk when Arron came back again with another one. This box slightly smaller then the first and marked 'MINE!' again but followed with 'Don't dare leave behind, assh-." The last word went unfinished, like Arron had started it but got distracted halfway through (which with Arron's ADHD that seems to randomly roar its head, it was quite possible). Daryl sneered at Arron, reaching out to violently jerk the box from the man's large hands, and throwing it roughly into the back of the truck.
"Oi!" the man barked in a strangely strangled tone (Daryl smirked in satisfaction at it), "Be gentle with it. That's important shit."
"Can' be too important if your callin' it shit!" Daryl snapped, already turning to pick up one of the 3 tents, the biggest one obviously (wasn't any way Daryl was letting Arron out of his sight after the shit Merle pulled, even for a second) and throwing it, too, into the back of the truck. He lifted the tailgate and closed it with a the air and force to say 'that's it. We're done. Period.'
"You know," Arron stated with a wise and, for once, serious tone, as he scratch at his 5 o'clock shadow (mostly in annoyance. He hated the prickly sensation that came with the beginning of a beard. Daryl thought the man looked ridiculous with a beard), "that box may just save our lives one day."
"Sure," Daryl muttered under his breath as he stalked away from the other man to tell the others they were ready to move out, "like a Manga," purposely pronouncing the word as 'mane-ga' to annoy the undoubtedly listening man, "is going to do much other then distract the Zombie."
"HEY!" Arron called after him, offended, "It's Ma-n-ga! Not Mane-ga!"
Daryl spared him just a second to flick the man off before continuing on his way, knowing the man was already following him, even as he grumbled to himself about nerds and their strange kinks (maybe, Merle was right, Arron was a disgusting bastard).
"So," Rick was saying to Shane and, for some reason, Lori, as he pointed to the map spread out on the hood of the car in front of him, "to the CDC, then?" the other two nodded their consent, though Shane looked upset about whatever they were agreeing to.
Clearly, Daryl and Arron missed something when they were having their own argument. Not that it mattered to them anywhere they went. Safety in numbers and all that (at least, until Merle decided to show his ass back up). Being with the main group meant having a direction they didn't have to argue over. One less argument meant more time searching for the idiot who got separated from them.
Rick turned on his heel, almost running into Arron, who was still making a point to be between him and Daryl at all times. "Er," Rick stumbled awkwardly, "'s'cuse me." The man went to step around Arron, who took a step in the same direction, to stop the man from getting closer to Daryl, even subconsciously on his part. "Er…" The man was at a loss.
Daryl rolled his eyes at Arron's amusement. Seriously. Arron was just going out of his way to be annoying today. Daryl reached out, pinched the sleeve of Arron's blue outer shirt and yanked the man out of the way. Arron didn't resist.
Rick sent Daryl a look of appreciation, before heading off to the main group. "Alright, guys and gals," he started, scanning the group, "We've decided to head off to the CDC!"
Arron glanced at Daryl. Daryl stared back, irritated.
Arron violently pulled open the door to Daryl damn truck, a pout clear on his face. He took a moment to let his eyes linger on his stack of boxes on the outer edge of where their camp use to be. I'm sorry, he mentally whimpered, forcing himself to look away. It took everything in him to turn away and not run back with a shout of "Just kidding. Let's go~" and chunk them all into the back of the, admittedly full, truck. Arron sent a spiteful glare to everyone involved in the rescue into Atlanta. It was their fault his babies were being left behind. He was never going to let this go. NEVER! (And, thus, a grudge was forever formed between Arron and the rest.)
Arron grumbled, taking advantage of Daryl's slow assness (if that wasn't a word, it was now for Arron) to slip an unmarked CD into the radio, after, of course, turning the key to the engine. Next thing he knew the theme song to 'cube 3' was blaring through the ridiculously loud speakers giving him away. "Fuck," Arron growled as he scrambled to turn it down, even as Daryl yelled, "Oh, HELL NO!"
Now, Arron was sitting in the quiet ass truck with his arms crossed and a scowl etched into his scared features. "Fucking Daryl," he would mutter under his breath occasionally as they drove down deserted roads, following the caravan of cars, "Not letting me have anything nice." This is why he had the van, damn it. "At least," he spoke up so Daryl could hear, "put something on the radio." This silence was suffocating. It just reminded Arron of the fact that Merle, his brother in all but blood, wasn't with them to start arguments with. If there was one thing Arron counted on with Merle, it was the arguments that filled the silence. And, damn it! "Don't ignore me, Darlina! Music, now!" he whined.
"Pa!" Daryl snapped. Seriously, they just drove out not even 5 minutes ago. "Stop it!"
"But, Daryl~" Arron whined, lifting a hand to paw at the boys shirt, "It's quiet~ At least, talk to me."
Daryl sighed in irritation, half wishing he could kick the man out of the truck and leave him there, stranded. The man always, always got like this when Merle wasn't around to keep the boredom away.
"Daryl~" that whiney voice was back again, buzzing annoyingly in his ear.
He couldn't do this. He really couldn't. Daryl reached over, slamming his finger on the play button, almost immediately regretting it when the alien language hit his ears. "There!" Daryl snapped, "Happy, now?"
Arron hummed in delight. "Yeeeess," the man purred out in a husky voice, sending shivers down the young man's spine. It was almost worth the grating of the music on his ears just to hear that sinful tone.
Great, Daryl thought, shifting uncomfortably around the boner that sprouted up. Fucking freaks and their kinks!
Rick sat behind the wheel to one of the 3 cars following behind the RV, second to the end, lost in thought, eyes, occasionally, flickering up to the review mirror that gave him perfect view point of what was going on in the truck behind him. The truck was strangely separated from the rest of the caravan, always making sure that it was, at the minimum 2 nii-san car length away. Rick could admit, if only to himself, that he was curious as to what was going on in the forever alluding truck. Those two men, Daryl and Onion… Orion? Ah, Arron, he thinks, were always separated from the group. When the men walked by, even Lori pulled Carl into a protective embrace. To Rick, the two men didn't seem all that dangerous (which is stupid, because he knew Daryl could throw a mean punch). They seemed useful, at least. Weird, he thought as he watched the older man (Arron, he reminded himself) reach over with the most childish air about him, and pulled, Rick could see the tall tail signs of Daryl's shirt stretching downwards through the mirror, on Daryl's shirt, saying something. Next thing he knew, Daryl was reaching over, and suddenly, (Japanese?) music was blaring from the truck behind them, scaring the living daylights out of Lori, Carl, and himself, before the volume was turned down enough. Then, Daryl was shifting uncomfortably, like the music wasn't the only thing playing in the car that was putting the man in a tough spot. Again, there was that air about them that reminded him of him and Lori, as Arron relaxed back into his seat.
"Hicks," Lori gasped under her breath as she tried to calm her racing heart, "Their going to draw all the walkers to us."
Rick had to admit, even though he didn't appreciate the slur (he was a cop, damn it. Racist cops didn't survive well), his wife was right. Perhaps, the next time they pull over, he should issue a warning to the two men in back when given a chance?
"Dad!" Carl spoke up from the back seat, "What's a hick?"
Rick glared at Lori.
"Nothing, Sweetie," the woman replied.
"Don't ever repeat that word again," Rick added to her statement. Glancing back at his impressionable child, for good measure, he added, "It's a mean word that Mommy shouldn't be using, either."
"But, why is it mean?" the child asked, innocently.
Rick glared at Lori. This was going to be a long car ride