Brazen Hussy - I don't blame you. I think Merle's character is a very deep, complex fellow and I'm trying to get inside his head to figure out why he tends to enjoy 'shit disturbing' but so far nothing. I shall continue to delve...(don't worry he will get a chance to explain himself soon enough).
Canadian Friend - Ah, a fellow Canuck huh? Well, should I post this comment bilingually so you feel more at home? ^_^ I'm so touched that you actually read my comments before the chapter as well. I do post them in the chapters so that if people have similar questions and concerns they have a reference. Plus I always enjoy open discussions. Ah, but I ramble...thanks a metric ton for your review (see what I did there?)
crystal2817 - Aw, thanks. You made me blush a little.
Axelrocks - I would be so happy if Merle on the show could join up with the group. I kind of get all happy at the idea of the Dixon brother's united against evil and walkers. They'd kick so much ass together.
sammipoop - Ack! I recognize you! Eeeeek! Hey, thanks a bunch for your review! I'm glad you find the story good.
MollyMayhem84 - Daryl and Carol should never NEVER happen unless it's slow. That's the entire reason I like their relationship. It seems stronger, because it's been such a slow burn. If the show ever hooks them up, it needs to be subtle and awkwardly sweet. I think in the story if Daryl, Merle and the Lt can get along, they'd be one hell of a force against Woodbury.
spygrrl99 - Haha, your mom sounds like a total BAM (get it? I left the F out... ahahaha, I'm not funny...) Anyways, your review made me laugh my ass off. To be honest, I felt like a racist prick googling to see if there was a derogatory term for a Cajun (I figured if there was one, old Merle would know it). To my shock there was. Anyways, surprised people actually have heard it and used it.
KrisAnthemum221 - Ah Merle's racist side...he just can't make it easy for us to love him, can he?
AFishNamedSushi - Ack, your review was so kind! And I'm glad I got across what I was hoping to get across. So...*cough*...when can I expect an update of your beautiful piece? Hmm? *nudge nudge* XD Thanks for the review!
Supfan - Thanks. I'm trying to go slow with the Caryl (which is getting some people a little peeved at me) but the truth is their relationship isn't just a wham-bam-thank you-ma'am type. I could never just write them flopping into bed together in the third chapter, because I can't see them ever doing that believably.
Surplus Imagination - I do find they sometimes do things that don't make sense on the show...I like that people are always starving, but when you think about the amount of food most people have in their cupboards (and given that they live in a rural area where people are always stocking up on the preserves in their basements at least that's how it is where I live) I'm amazed that they're always so hungry. Like when the ZA hit, did people go out and just eat all their food before they got turned or what? Anyways, thanks for the review!
I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate you all. Even you shy readers who don't review. I mean it. I love you kids for showing me such support. Gah! *hippie Spyface* Thanks to everyone who reviews, everyone who reads, just everyone in general. You are the ones who earn your quick updates of this story by showing such love and support. If I didn't get that nudge, especially from you reviewers, I wouldn't update as quickly. So thanks.
(I just got super polite Canadian on you all, didn't I? Sorry...wait...no I'm not)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Chouchoot
**The Lieutenant**
"This is the church," he muttered templing his fingers, "and this is the steeple…"
Lying on his back on a pew in the dark church, the Lieutenant idly amused himself, waiting for an appropriate amount of time, before returning to his shed for a little shut eye.
Hearing the door open and the scrambling of claws on the hardwood floor, the Cajun paused in his pew.
Earlier he had handed the dog off to the Little Missy, who squealed and cooed over it and Lafayette knew immediately just who was creeping up on him.
Sitting up, he eyed the darkness near the door, surprised to find not Annie moving down the aisle, but that blonde girl Beth, followed immediately by the dog.
Her footsteps faltered when she spied him, but she offered a small smile and kept moving on towards the front of the church.
The Lieutenant spied the door open and close again, this time that young man Carl was there.
He nodded a silent greeting to the Lieutenant, the hat he wore bobbing.
Watching as the blonde took a knee in one of the front pews, the boy moved down the line of the pew until he seated himself at the Lieutenant's side quietly.
"Is it okay for us to be here?" Carl asked softly.
"Of course, but the Old Missy will snatch you bald-headed if she catches you with that hat on in her church."
Carl removed it quickly with a sheepish, forced grin.
"Beth really likes that dog." The young man said.
The Lieutenant nodded. "Annie sleeping? That's the only way I'd imagine she'd let that dog out of her sight."
Grinning, Carl nodded. "Yeah."
"Mother Superior give you the tour then?"
"Yeah."
The two fell silent as Beth prayed up at the front, the dog clicking and clacking back and forth on the floor.
"You sweet on her?" The Lieutenant asked, nudging the boy playfully.
He shrugged. "No, she just…she needs someone to watch her. With Merle around here somewhere and everything."
"Mais, Merle won't bother you here. I wouldn't allow it."
"But you can't watch him all the time." Carl argued. "Dad says he was really out of control in Atlanta."
"Merle is just a rabble-rouser. Ever hear of that?"
"No."
"Used to be these men would stir up conflict to gain support for their own causes. They called them rabble-rousers."
"What's Merle's cause?"
"Don't know." The Lieutenant admitted. "Could be anything. Could be he just likes to cause fights. I think it's called social dissension disorder under the DSM. Or maybe he's just a big mouthed asshole."
Carl nodded. "Could be."
"You're kind of a serious boy, aren't you?"
Shrugging, Carl eyed Beth at the front of the church. "Not much to laugh at these days."
"True. I guess I was never able to take life too seriously. Probably something I should work on."
They were quiet for a moment as the dog scuttled over to sniff at the Lieutenant's leg. The Cajun scooped it up and dropped it on the pew beside him, scratching it idly behind the ear.
"Little Missy name her yet?"
"That girl Annie? Think she was calling her Boo."
The Lieutenant chuckled. "Was she now?"
Carl nodded.
"Did you ever hear the story of old Boudreaux?" The Lieutenant asked.
The young man shook his head. "No."
"Well, this old man named Boudreaux was out fishing in a lake one day and he had a heart attack and died suddenly there in the water. His missus, Madame Boudreaux called up the paper to put his obituary in. And she said she wanted it to read, "Boudreaux died the other day while fishing'. Well, the paper called her back later on and said to her, 'Madame Boudreaux you know you can put up to ten lines in the paper'. So the next day old man Boudreaux' obituary read, 'Boudreaux died the other day while fishing. Boat for sale.'"
The young man blinked at him.
"Nothing, huh? Well, I guess it's not that funny…"
"It's kind of funny, I guess." Carl shrugged.
"Naw, I'm no George Burns, he would have gotten a laugh with that one."
"I don't know who that is." Carl said apologetically.
"Doesn't matter."
At the front of the church, Beth stood and began to head down the aisle for the door.
Carl stood up, the dog scrabbling off the pew to join Beth at the door. "Nice talking with you, Lieutenant."
The Cajun saluted the young man playfully.
..-~-..
..-~-..
"Is this what you do with your free time, Lafayette?" A voice broke the silence of the night. "Sloth about in cemeteries?"
The Lieutenant looked up from where he was star gazing, lying beside Sister Francine's grave at the back of the church where the nuns buried their dead, to find the Mother Superior approaching him. At least he thought it was her, it was hard to tell as this woman wore jeans and a vaguely peasant-style shirt.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the jeans or the way the shirt clung to her curves in all the right…er...wrong ways.
"Not all the time," he replied, sitting up quickly.
The petite woman eased down onto the dewy night grass beside him. Drawing her knees to her chest, the Lieutenant noticed that she was bare foot.
In the stifling heat of the Georgian night, he eyed her little feet as she wiggled her toes among the cool grass and frowned a little.
"You should be in bed," he pointed out.
"So should you." She returned. "I'm shocked that you're up so late, honey. Don't you have a war to wage tomorrow?"
Sticking his long legs out, he crossed them at the ankles and leaned back on his hands. "I don't quite know what the plans are for tomorrow, Missy."
"But you're willing to follow Daryl into the mouth of hell itself, aren't you?"
"I'm trying to make us some friends in a friendless wasteland."
Beside him he felt the woman's eyes on him. Those soft, ocean green eyes that could turn hard as stone in an instant, were scrutinizing his every facial tic.
"We must help our fellow man. This is what the Samaritans have taught us." She finally said. "I'm not overly fond of the idea of killing others, but there are things in this world I don't like that can't be helped." Reaching over, she touched a strong, tiny hand to his forearm. "But I wish you would take care of yourself as well, honey. You never seem to think of yourself at all, it seems."
"That's all I did when I was younger," he said. "It's about time I left that attitude with the old world, don't you think?"
"And what if you are going to war?" She asked. "You'll have gone in without doing one selfish thing."
"Expecting me to run out of time to do selfish things, Missy?" He teased.
"Lafayette," the woman scolded him, "you shouldn't joke about death. You know what they say. The man who speaks of Death meets him soon enough."
"Hn, never heard that one." He eyed her legs in the jeans and pursed his lips. "I don't like you in jeans." He stated firmly.
"Too bad, honey."
"Just doesn't seem right."
"Life is full of things that don't seem right."
"I mean, you could wear a skirt or something."
"Actually, speaking of the clothing you brought us, Lafayette. I've been meaning to ask you," she reached into her pocket and withdrew a tiny scrap of red lace. "Was this intended for me or did you have a particular Sister in mind?"
Eyeing the thing the nun held, the Lieutenant froze like a meerkat on the African plains. What was that even? It was more than just drawers…
Whatever it was there wasn't much to it.
"Uh…huh…" he managed to get out.
"Because you wouldn't put it in with our clothes unless you had intentions for it, right?" The woman urged dangling it in front of her.
Flashing a charming grin, the Lieutenant bought himself a little time. "Well, funny story. I just sort of grabbed clothes at random, threw them in a valise and…uh…that…that…uh…chouchoot could have been hiding."
"Hn, seems a little racy for us. Maybe you'd better do something with it." She said, folding it and handing it over to the Lieutenant.
He handed it back almost the instant it touched his hand. "What am I supposed to do with something like this?"
"What am I?" She returned archly. "After all, just wearing jeans makes you uncomfortable, could imagine what I'd do in something like this."
The Cajun wondered if there was a way he could pass out if only to escape the thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind. He looked from the red thing the woman was holding out to him, to her face, over her form and back to the thing.
Oh, he was going to hell for sure.
Looking away, Lafayette stared a hole into a nearby tombstone. "The little baby…ah…Judith she's running low on formula…we'll probably make a dash into the nearest town tomorrow. Look for some…maybe check some houses, anywhere we can really. Someone has to have some formula sitting around…don't really know the expiry date on something like that, but…well if she needs it, she needs it. I wonder how you make formula, anyways. What is it, like dried milk? I know it's a powder, saw some once in a little baggie that a woman had on her…think it's vitamin enriched too, isn't it? Sort of…a cocktail of good things for wee ones. I wouldn't know, not an expert on chemicals and science, really. It has to be manmade though, right? It can't be an actual organic substance. Can it? Naw. I wouldn't say so. You know my Mamere she used to be a midwife back when she was younger, I bet she'd know a good substitute for formula…probably just recommend a wet-nurse maybe…though I recall hearing once that babies can't drink anything but their own mama's milk and formula, otherwise they get sick…not sure if that's true. I wonder how I know this…I must have heard it somewhere."
"Honey, you'd better breathe," the woman broke in gently.
He clamped his mouth shut and nodded.
Putting the thing on the other side of her out of sight, the nun smiled warmly at him. "There. Out of sight, out of mind."
"Sure."
They were silent for a long, awkward moment.
"It wasn't the red thing, ah…that made me…you know?" He broke the silence.
"It's a called a negligée, honey."
The Lieutenant eyed the woman out of the corner of his eye as she stared idly up at the stars, before he touched a hand to his chin, stroking it.
"Sure. Of course. I've seen them before…just didn't know what they…well!" He laughed again nervously. "Not on women, naturally! Ah…but you know…seen them around…just hanging around…on hangers and…not on a lady, it's…"
"Okay, honey." She said with a small smile, touching a hand to his knee warmly. "Let's talk about something else."
He nodded. "Sure."
They watched the stars in the sky quietly. After a moment, the woman laid herself out on the ground, hands behind her head and the Lieutenant followed, lying down beside her to better watch the sky.
"You know they say the bigger the star, the shorter the lifespan of it." He offered after a moment.
"Really?"
"Um."
..-~-..
..-~-..
"Well, mon dieu! Look who's darkening my doorstep!" Merle exclaimed as the Cajun entered the infirmary that night after taking his shift on the wall.
The Lieutenant eyed the man for a moment, brow furrowed, before he burst out laughing. "Ain't nobody down on the bayou says 'mon dieu'!" The Cajun laughed. "What the hell kind of French you think we speak down there? I mean we probably said 'mon dieu' like a hundred years ago, but…you know. You Texians with your ideas about us Acadiens, I swear…"
"What brings you here?" The older Dixon asked.
"Well, I figured an apology was in order after I kicked your dick in the dirt today."
Merle scowled at him. "What?"
"I'm not normally that unkind to guests, but…I lost my temper a little. So, I came to say 'sorry'. I'm sorry, Merle."
"Really?" The man demanded, looking at the Cajun like he was a walker on the loose with his intestines trailing behind him.
"For true."
The man sneered for a little longer in his direction, before flopping onto his cot. "Well, whatever the fuck makes you happy."
"I'll take that as an acceptance of my apology. Whatcha doing there, Grande Beede?"
The man fiddled with a blade, one handed it looked like he was struggling a bit, but the man seemed to be doing the best he could with what he had.
The Lieutenant had to admire that about him.
"Working on my blade, dumb ass. What's it look like?"
"Looks like you're yanking your crank, couyon. Anyways, just wanted to apologize before heading home for a good long rest."
"That, ah, nun okay?" Merle asked suddenly.
"Yeah, she's fine."
Merle went back to work.
In the silence that followed, the Lieutenant assumed he was dismissed.
"Mais, better let you get back to work, then. Goodnight, Merle."
"Yeah." The man grunted.
"Oh, sorry, bonne nuit, Monsieur Dixon!" The Cajun laughed again hard on his way out. "Mon dieu…"
He was still laughing by the time he ducked into his garden shed.
Wiping tears out of his eyes, he nodded to Daryl who was quietly making bolts.
"What's tickling your balls then?" Daryl greeted tonelessly.
"Ah, just…archaic terms."
Resting his rifle beside the door, the Lieutenant flopped onto his cot and scooped up his National Geographic.
"So, what's your plans for tomorrow then?" He asked, flipping through the magazine.
"Well, I'm assuming if Rick is still alive he'd be in and or around Woodbury, and if we plan on taking on the Governor's people, we'll need more weapons and medical supplies. I'd like to get Judith some formula too before Carol runs out. Figured with Glenn and Merle bitching fighting with each other, we could divide up the group and half could make the run, the other half pull some recon of Woodbury."
"Sounds good. Supply run into where? Closest town? Anyplace specific?"
"What's the closest town like?"
"Don't know, keep clear of it as much as possible. One thing I learned humping mud with the grunts is that you don't go where the scent of man lingers." Opening the page of the magazine to an article about Papua New Guinea, the Lieutenant began reading.
"Speaking of you and that fucking gear you haul around. What's with that old radio? Thing must weigh about thirty pounds."
"More like forty and change," the man replied.
"Why bother?"
"When our walkies went down, we broke into an old VA hall and stole this from one of those glass cases. Got our orders off it."
"Why go through the trouble?"
"Thing doesn't need batteries, easier that way."
Daryl stopped working on the bolt long enough to cast a glance at the piece of ancient equipment that the Lieutenant stored on a shelf between weed killer and a box of gardening gloves.
"You still carry it sometimes," he said.
"Sure do."
"You really think anyone survived? Soldiers, I mean?"
"Haven't heard from anyone since I had troops at my command." The Lieutenant flipped a page casually.
Daryl went back to whittling the branch quietly.
"What about that gun in the corner? You use it anymore?"
"Marie? Naw, she's got one shot left."
"Do you name everything you own?"
"Not everything. Didn't name the dog, remember?"
"What about this knife?"
"Salt? What about her?"
"Why Salt?"
Putting the magazine down, the Cajun lolled his head to one side to look over at Daryl. "I once knew an old voodoo woman named Tamara LeBlanc. She used to tell me this story about her Papere who knew of an old Houngan who put this boy under the spell of the Voodoo God Zombi. She said the only thing that snapped that boy out of his stupor was when the Houngan's wife accidentally put salt in the boys meal. Salt apparently wakes zombies up from their trance."
"And you think that's what's walking around out there?"
"Oh hell, no. I just thought it couldn't hurt to be prepared, yeah?"
"What about that .22 of yours? Graveyard Dirt? Is that some kind of magic crap too or what?"
"Voodoo, couyon, and yeah it is."
"So, what? You're a voodoo practitioner or something? Does the nun know about this?" Daryl asked.
The Cajun laughed. "Not a follower really, no. Anyways, best get some rest, yeah?" Flopping back onto the bed, he sighed and tucked his hands behind his head.
The garden shed was filled with the sound of Daryl whittling.
"I spoke with Merle. He won't cause you trouble again." Daryl said.
"I know. I went to apologize to him for knocking him down earlier, he seemed a little more reasonable."
Daryl shifted on the lawnmower to eye the Cajun on the cot. "You apologized to him?"
"Hn, don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of establishing dominance. Sometimes an Alpha Male just has to snarl at the right opponent, but no one ever said he couldn't apologize for it afterwards. That's good manners."
"You're fucking weird, Fay." Daryl pointed out.
"Thank you."
The Cajun Dialect
Chouchoot - Thingamajig
Acadiens - Cajun's speak Acadien-French, in French Cajun's are also Acadiens. True story the word 'Cajun' comes from the sound Englishmen heard when the Cajun's introduced themselves as 'Acadiens'. If you pronounce Acadiens properly it sounds like A Cajun.
Added Bonus - The Parisian French Dialect
Mon Dieu – My God! (The Lt makes fun of this term as it's a Parisian French term and wouldn't properly be used by a Cajun who speaks a more low class form of French). Mon Dieu actually would have been used back a hundred years ago by the Cajun ancestors because most of them were directly off the ship from France, but otherwise it's a term that's barely used by common class Cajuns.
Bonne Nuit – Goodnight (Cajuns would probably use it if they strictly spoke Acadien-French, but being that the Lt shows high bilingual abilities, he would more or less choose to just say goodnight, him saying 'bonne nuit' is just him making fun of Merle).