The farm was large. Huge. Vast. A giant grazing field for cows surrounded a tall white Victorian home like ocean around a sail boat. Louie loosened her grip on Daryl, craning her neck to see the house better. The noise of the motorcycle attracted the inhabitants to come outside on the porch and stare at the arrivals. One of the porch dwellers was Lori who stepped down to hug Dale in a joyous moment of relief when they exited their vehicles. Carl would be okay. Louie hung back with Daryl to stare and distinguish the people who were helping theirs'. An old, strong patriarchal figure stood with a steadfast and steely expression, a few women littered around him and a tall hesitant young man. Louie suddenly found herself in an off-guard hug by Lori while she was staring at the haven's keepers. She patted the woman's back gingerly and pulled her off slowly to see her gleaming and happy.

"I'm so glad you're here," She rasped and then turned to join Carol in celebration and mourning for Sophia. Lori's proclamation struck Louie in the gut like a sharp knife that punctured quickly and cleanly. Nobody's ever said that to her before, nobody really recognized her presence at the camp being a glad one. Louie swallowed the anxious feeling away. Rick explained that the large, graying man, Hershel, would be allowing them to stay on their land while Carl was recovering and for the time they were searching for Sophia. After being rejected of using the barn due to clutter and a lost key, their camp was to be set up a few yards away from the house, under a gathering of trees and near the large, mocking barn.

"Jesus woman. Do something," Daryl yelled as he was setting up their tent. Louie glanced up from her nails as she leant against a tree.

"I am," she said lazily. "I've got this wicked hangnail- hi," she stopped short of her problems seeing two girls from Hershel's house approach them with large rectangular contraptions under their arms.

"We brought y'all some extra cots we have," the confident brunette motioned to the things under their arms. Louie's face melted into gratitude.

"Thanks so much- Daryl! I need help," she said turning to the tent. He exited the shelter and looked at her expectantly. She jerked her head at the cot and he rolled his eyes and snatched it muttering about her uselessness.

"He means 'thanks'," Louie rolled her eyes as if he were the problem.

"Your husband-"

"We're not married," Louie quickly interjected. The girl blushed.

"Is he your boyfriend?" she asked and Louie shook her head slowly.

"Brother?"

"Nope," Louie rocked on her heels feeling a little awkward.

"Friend?" the girl laughed also feeling the tenseness of the conversation.

"Hey Daryl!" Louie turned her head to the tent.

He didn't bother leaving the tent to see what was wrong this time. "What?" he shouted.

"Are we friends?"

Silence.

"Don't be stupid."

"I guess we're not that either," Louie shrugged. "Thanks for the cots. Oh and my condolences," she lowered her voice referring to the funeral they had earlier for a man named Otis. The brunette nodded with a small smile and her blonde friend looked down. They walked towards the other campers to give them the spare cot and Louie turned to her tent.

"We're not friends?" she pouted entering through the flaps. Daryl, crouching on the ground, looked over his shoulder at her and then went back to trying to set up the cot. Louie collapse on it the second he unrolled the sleeping bag on top of it, grinning. He rolled his eyes and with one hand clutched her cheeks and squeezed them together to force her lips in a pucker.

"Louie?" Glenn's voice outside called. Daryl mid-lean, narrowed his eyes at her and her face melted into a laugh at his annoyance, her face distorting in his palm.

"What," she snapped at him playfully as she left the tent to see him clutching a guitar. She grabbed it from his hands and poised it to strum it.

"You know how to play?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Er, I have more piano fingers than strings," she said furrowing her eyebrows in concentration, trying to tune it. "What did you want?"

"Did you see Shane?" he asked lowering his voice.

"Yeah, Quasimodo or what," she snorted remembering how Shane had shaved his head and wore Otis's oversized borrowed clothes. "Daryl thinks something's not right."

"Daryl? Since when are you and him best friends now?"

"We're not," she rolled her eyes and started to strum a song absent mindedly. "Why does everyone keep saying that? He saved my life." Glenn didn't respond but was staring at something.

"What," she said twisting her midriff to look behind her.

"Are those your hips?" he asked with a grimace and held out a finger to touch her protruding hip bones that her shorts had fallen beneath. She pouted.

"Don't judge me," she whined.

"I know this song," he started to smile as she picked up a tune. Her smile was wide and her eyes scrunched up as she tried to find the words but hummed instead.

"All the other kids with their pumped up kicks- hmm, hmm, out run my gun, all the other kids with their pumped up kicks," she sang the chorus trying to find the words and Glenn's face lit up at the memory of their old world: music.

Daryl was listening to their conversation from inside the tent and suddenly heard her singing. She didn't have a terrible voice. It wasn't the best, but she could hold a tune and had a folk twinge; an interesting voice.

"Something, something, something plan," she chuckled not being able to remember the proper lyrics. "He's got a rolled cigarette. Hanging out his mouth, he's a cowboy kid. Something 'bout a type of gun. Somewhere in the closet with a box of things and I don't even know what," by now Glenn was in tears at her version of the song. "But he's comin' for you, yeah he's comin' for you," her strumming got thicker and stronger as she picked up the chorus. "All the other kids with their pumped up kicks, better run better run. Out run my gun-"

"Jesus, shut up," Daryl exited the tent with an annoyed glance walking past them. Louie rolled her eyes and handed the guitar back to Glenn who refused it.

"Nah man. You keep it. But you gotta teach me how. But pick a different song," he laughed. "Thanks. I feel like I needed that."

"Movies."

"My couch."

"My bed."

"Air conditioning."

"I miss art."

Everyone booed and Louie lifted her hands up in surrender.

"You never did tell us your story Louie," Rick said with a smile. Everyone gathered around the campfire that night for dinner in celebration of Carl's surgery success.

"Well, I don't think I've heard your's either," she countered shyly. "Has anybody, really?"

"Yes." "Yep." "Pretty much." "Yeah." Everyone consented all at once to get her to start talking.

"Just tell us aleady!"

"Shut up Glenn," she glared playfully at the boy knowing fully well that he already knew about her past. She started listing off her life as briefly as she could, "I went to University of Michigan and attended the school in the shittier part of town. Glenn would know about that. I double majored in philosophy and global affairs-"

"She's a celebrity!"

"Glenn!" she half shrieked, half gasped. Everyone's faces morphed into shock and extreme interest as they all flooded her with curious and excited questions.

"You were taking too long," he apologetically shrugged.

"I wasn't even going to mention-"

The group started chatting about all the possible things she could be and how exciting it was to have a celebrity amongst them. Even Daryl was staring at her oddly; and he never gave a shit about anything.

"I'm not a celebrity," she announced firmly, silencing the group. Everyone's face shifted and looked over to Glenn to confirm this; he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fine!" she snapped. "If he's so all-knowing about my life, then why don't you have him tell you!" she huffed and stomped over to the tent causing a general outcry of protest and apology trying to coax her back. Daryl was meant to follow her but was more interested in the story the boy was about to tell and rather not have Louie ruin it with her own stupid version.

"Well," Glenn sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming with juicy information. "Let me tell you first, that art is a huge deal over there. It's like the thing that keeps it going. Like New York or San Francisco, but grittier. Detroit isn't clean and fancy. Underground art runs everything. Groups and everything-"

"Wait, so you're telling me that a bunch of Leonardo Da Vincis get together in gangs and do what? Draw their feelin's?" Shane laughed and T-Dog joined in.

"Nah man. But they've killed each other before. Extreme cases, of course. But they live that shit," Glenn said his voice getting serious and Shane frowned. "Anyways, most of them are poor and get around stealing and stuff. There was this one guy, he was like the next Banksy or something. He was big. If he painted something, people would pay good money for his stuff if he ever sold it. Anyways, there's this alleyway, it's pretty famous actually, and it has murals covered all across, wall to wall. It's always changing and artists are always painting over stuff and putting their own crap on. Nothing's permanent. Tourist trap, really. But there's one that nobody painted over or ever touched," he said with a growing grin. Everyone awaited the words. "It's of Louie,"

Everyone's eyes widened and mouths dropped open. The quiet, reserved girl that had been traveling with them was painted on a wall viewed by millions. Everyone asked a multitude of questions all at once, confusing Glenn.

"I-I don't know the specifics of it really but she was his muse or something. He was crazy about her and was a sick puppy for her as far as I know. But I bet that mural is still there. I use to take that alley as a shortcut for pizza runs and…man. It was my favorite part of the job," he gave a dreamy sigh with his eyebrows worked in a knot as if he were trying to see it in front of him.

"What it look like?" Lori asked. Glenn focused his eyes on the mother and gave her a boyish grin.

"She was on a motorcycle," he smirked. T-Dog whistled and Shane raised his eyebrows letting his own mind wander as well. "It was so sexy. But even more than that. It was- man," he breathed. "That was art, if I'd ever seen it. Tourists and artsy type people from everywhere would come to see that wall, I swear. I'm pretty sure there's a Facebook page for it."

"There was. The official title was La Môme. It got famous. People recognized me. But then the apocalypse hit. And those people died. I was kidnapped by people who didn't give a shit about it. I was raped and tortured for two weeks and not my degree or my education or that stupid fucking walldid anything to save me. And none of it ever will. Because none of it matters."

Everyone remained silent as they watched Louie, who had stalked silently out of the tent to face them all. The group bowed their heads, ashamedly. They didn't forsake an idol; they had ignored the voice of a survivor.