skittletitz - Hm, interesting question...and yes, Sister Mary Agnes was over the limits of trying to blend in with the girl talk, but it amused me.
Peta2 - Andrea...hmm...well she might get more lines soon. Not sure when or how because of the plot and such moving along, but maybe. And yes, Grace did kind of set a standard for the Lt. to match, didn't she? Seems he might be the sort to rise to the challenge.
Axelrocks - Of course I watch Conan. The Cone-Bone is one of my favourite late night talk show hosts (him and Craig Ferguson), and yes I saw it! Hilarious and perfect in everyway! Conan's reaction, Mr. Rooker and of course Melissa McBride looking so perfect and beautiful and adorable...(I may have a huge lady crush on her...)
Dianaxoxo - Ah! Applause...*bows...trips and falls on the band in the stand below...two drums and a cymbal fall to the floor* Story of my life... ^_^ Thanks for the kind review!
HGRGfan35 - Yes, classic cars are a secret passion of mine. I can't get enough of them...I'm glad you enjoy the posts I make on tumblr of the classic cars, because no one else seems to. V_V
zerogravityganja - Often when I watch TWD all I can think is how Daryl just needs a hug...which led me to believe that Carol could possibly be very protective of Daryl from people who would want to hurt his heart...because let's face it, the man puts up a strong front, but he's a big softie that takes thing to heart quite often...
Lilone1776 - Oh God! I'd love to write a stupid scene where the Lt. and the ladies are just hanging around dishing...I agree with you, he seems the laid back, new age type who'd probably enjoy girl talk as much as any lady. Or maybe he'd be the type who'd want to be a part of the girl talk if only to get a better understanding of them, like a good soldier infiltrating the enemy...or something...I'm thinking too much about this.
AFishNamedSushi - I would be honoured to have you following me on that day when you finally get around to tumbling. ^_^ And I'd most definitely follow you back.
Ms Q - Merle chapter is coming up after this one. I swear! I'm trying to move the plot (I know this story has one, shocking, right?) along. But yes, more Merle to mend my broken heart...
GG - I agree on the hurting Carol thing, but as you also mentioned, Daryl is a smart man, he probably learned his lesson this time around and will be sure not to make the same mistake in the future.
ldyjaydin - Thanks! I enjoyed your story BTW...hope you don't mind if I recommend people here to go and read it...because it's fantastic and lovely! Much better than this reheated pile of dog food I'm writing. ^_^ (THAT'S A HINT PEOPLE. GO READ IT.)
SilverWolf84 - I agree. Women can be pretty fierce when it comes to protecting those they love.
vmg -Daryl is such a feral thing, isn't he? And yet I just wanna hug him...sort of like that alley cat who snarls and hisses at you, but you just wanna wrap him up and take him home. ^_^
Surplus Imagination - Are you just hinting for a smut scene? *tsks* Shame on you...^_^
Well, sorry for the lack of Caryl in this chapter kiddos. But Milton's just as cool, right? Yeah he is. God I hope the Governor is IC in this chapter...he's a hard man to write...damn...
Chapter Sixty-One: Chien
**Milton**
Three cans of baked beans, two bottles of Woodbury well water and as many .45 rounds as he dared sneak from the armory lock-up lay spread out on the table before him.
With his head bowed to his journal, Milton did a few figures on the paper there. He was doing basic calculations on his weight and the amount of food and water he'd need.
After three days he'd need to consume at least one of the bottles before he got too dehydrated to function properly. A grown man could logically go about twenty-eight days without food, but he'd lose strength after a week, that wasn't taking into account the fact that he'd be useless if his blood sugar ran low.
He'd need more, but he couldn't risk taking more food from the people who needed it.
Writing the variable into his calculations of finding food and drinkable water while outside the walls, he estimated he could survive for about three weeks, that was completely ignoring the fact that he could be devoured alive before then.
Eyeing the Glock on the table beside the water, Milton frowned. He managed to sneak twenty more rounds that were loose inside the armory, which gave him a total count of fifty-one, still not a comforting number, but better than it had been.
Maybe he could find some kind of makeshift melee weapon outside the walls…
Furiously scratching out his calculations of survival in his journal, he nearly missed the knock at the door.
Pausing, he pushed his glasses up with the knuckle of his pointer finger against the side where the arm met the hinge and eyed the door for a moment.
Again someone knocked.
Gathering the things into the worn canvas knapsack he had since the beginning of the end, Milton hurriedly tucked the pack away behind the massive stacks of books and periodicals he squirreled away for himself, and moved to the door to answer it.
The Governor stood on the other side, looking calm on the outside, mouth turned up in one of his eerily pleasant smiles.
"It's nice out today," he greeted, pushing past Milton into the room. "You should be out taking a long walk."
Milton quietly closed the door behind the man and followed after him as the Governor made his way to the tiny card table.
"I was reading," Milton replied.
Easing down at the table, Philip smiled again. "How about some tea?"
"Herbal or—"
"You know I don't drink any of that flowery stuff, Milton. Black always suits my moods," the man chuckled and it was deceptively light.
Moving to turn on the little propane element he had to heat his kettle, Milton fiddled with the knob for a moment, before turning back to face the man in his apartment.
"How are you sleeping?" The Governor asked.
Knowing the man had a habit of keeping things ever so perfectly pleasant on the outside, but also knowing his habit of using pleasantries to underlie issues, Milton hesitated before answering.
"Good, not great, but…I have my books," he said.
"Companionship is a thing all creatures crave, Milton. You should get out more, might do you a world of good."
Gathering up some of the Guns & Ammo periodicals that he had been reading only just hours prior, Milton tucked them against his chest and moved to put them away. "An open enemy is better than a false friend," Milton replied casually. "Books suit my needs more."
"Well, you're a grown man, Milton. I have no worries that you do fine on your own." Leaning back in his seat, Philip pushed his light jacket away from the gun at his hip and tilted his head. "I was talking to Martinez earlier."
The man purposefully left that sentence hanging, studying Milton for a reaction. In his paranoid and agitated state, the man was always fishing.
"He mentioned that he issued you a firearm."
"I figured with the terrorist attacks and such I should at least carry one."
Philip blinked his remaining eye at Milton, before calmly reaching for the pistol at his side. There was an almost challenging look worn on the man's face as he set the gun down on its side on the table before him, barrel pointed directly at Milton, finger caressing the side of it, just by the trigger.
"You don't like guns, Milton. I have to admit I'm kind of puzzled about why you'd want one now."
Didn't they just cover that? Was this more of his fishing?
Milton shrugged, moving to drop a teabag in the mugs he had set by the element, boldly and perhaps a little foolishly turning his back on the man and the machine. "With the terrorist attacks I didn't feel very safe without one."
"Do you know how to use one?"
"I'm brushing up on the basics," Milton said. "I think if an erect ape like Martinez can work his opposable thumb enough to use a gun, I can figure out the proper usage of one as well."
Philip jerked his chin towards his chest a little. "Milton, this is a pithy side of yours I've never seen before. Why the hostility towards Martinez all of a sudden?"
"You're right," Milton said softly, craning his head to peer over his shoulder at the Governor. "It's just been a rough week for me."
Sliding his hand off the pistol, Philip stood up and moved towards the shorter man, clapping a large hand on his shoulder. "It's these terrorists, isn't it? I agree," the man boomed in his 'Governor' tone, the one he used to placate the people of Woodbury like the charming snake he was, "if we could only catch these murderous criminals and bring them to justice, we'd all be a little less stressed."
Eyeing the hand on his shoulder warily, Milton took a moment to ponder the man's delusions, before speaking carefully. "You're right. The just needs to overcome the wicked. Maybe I just need more sleep," he muttered turning back to his kettle as it began to boil angrily, whistling at the pathetic scene it had been brought to life in. A short, scholarly man kowtowing before a tall, commanding man filled with inner demons and darkness.
Milton wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the kettle shaming him. He was used to placating bullies and jocks his entire life.
"We might fare better if we could send out a team on a supply run," Milton suggested, pouring the steaming hot water into the mugs gingerly, very aware of how dangerous the man standing close by him was, very aware of how hot the water was.
Folding his arms, Philip laughed. "We will, once I've deemed it safe enough to venture forth and gather."
"The people are starting to worry about the lack of regular rations," Milton said.
"Small sacrifices," Philip stated, moving back towards the table to ease down at it.
Turning from the mugs to allow them to steep, Milton kept one eye on the man who was back beside his weapon again. "The children will get sick soon without proper calcium and vitamin D supplements."
"Well, Martinez is less than a man, apparently," Philip began evenly. "Why don't we feed him to the children?"
There wasn't a breath taken in the room for an entire minute as Milton blinked at the very stoic man standing across the room from him. Finally the Governor laughed jovially.
"Milton," he chided, "I was kidding of course." Pushing up from his seat, he moved towards the steaming mugs of tea, picking one up and eyeing it, before casting a sideways glance at his scholar. Carefully, with purposeful movements, he moved to the sink and slowly tilted the mug, dumping the hot brown liquid down the drain.
"You should ease up on the tea," the man said. "It's making you twitchy."
Heading for the door, the Governor commanded, "the children will be fine. I'm close to hunting down the terrorists."
At the door, Philip paused, opening it and tossing one last, simple look at Milton. "Keep my gun, Milton. I want to see what you do with it."
Leaning back against the counter in absolute exhaustion, Milton hissed as his forearm brushed against the hot plate and he leapt away from it, holding his arm, eyeing the gun on the table.
Now he had another weapon he had to familiarize himself with and a reason to up the date of his exodus. Something about that visit didn't sit well in his stomach, like he swallowed a stone.
..-~-..
..-~-..
Handing Mrs. Gregson the last of his canned fruit, Milton kept one eye on his task, the other on the gate.
In two hours the guards would change shifts, there would be a moment where the old guards would hobble down the steps and meet with the new ones to give their reports. If Milton could somehow be on the platform when the old guards headed down, he could hop the fence there quickly and sprint off into the night.
Well, logically that would be what could happen, but realistically he'd probably be shot at before he even reached the safety of the nearby houses outside the walls.
Walking away from Mrs. Gregson who was still piling praise on him for the meager bounty of canned mandarins, Milton marched determinately in the direction of the arena, hoping to find a better spot to hop the fence.
Pulling a sharp right at the sight of Martinez heading his way from the direction of the singles apartments, Milton hopped into a nearby building they were using to store spare clothing and linens, hoping to avoid the militant man.
Darting out the back way, he felt confident he shook the man, moving between the narrow path that was left between the back of the building and the makeshift wall, heading for the back side of Woodbury, where the Governor kept the collected infected.
Rounding the corner to get back onto the street, hoping he came up behind Martinez, Milton prepared to hustle across the street for his home, when a voice from his immediate left startled him.
"You're predictable, you know that, Milt?"
Glancing at Martinez who was leaning against a wall beside the mouth to the back alley, Milton kept on for his home.
"I suppose that's why your kind of meek freaks won't last long in this new world." Martinez kept on, following after him.
Stopping mid step, Milton turned on the man, quietly eyeing him. "It was my understanding that the meek were the ones to inherit the earth."
"You feel you're up to inheriting this shithole, take it," Martinez said. "Stop pussying around and just take it, man."
"Was there a reason you stopped me, Martinez? Or are you just looking to spend a little extra testosterone pushing around the meek?" Milton asked after heaving a world weary sigh.
"The Governor has our men stretched thin between hell and back, I'm going to need you at the back wall tonight."
Milton frowned. "I don't do that."
"You do now. You still have that Glock I gave you?" Martinez asked.
"Of course."
"Look, the back wall is heavily fortified, it's not like the front gate, biters want to thump and moan at the wall all night, that's fine by me. You don't have to shoot them, you just have to monitor them."
"I can't."
"You will or I'll put a bullet in your ass myself," Martinez stated. "End of conversation."
"I won't."
Martinez quirked a brow, sniffed and glanced about, before grasping Milton by the front of his plaid shirt, knocking him hard against the brick wall behind him. Milton's head hit the wall with a thud and he saw stars dance across his vision for a moment. "This is not a negotiation, Mamet. Your ass will be on that wall tonight or I swear to God I'll make every bully you ever had in high school seem like a butterfly flitting on your petals, princess."
"That hardly makes any sense," Milton stated, adjusting his glasses which had been knocked askew during the harassment. "But if it'll make you happy."
"Not really, but shit happens." Sniffing again, Martinez released Milton's shirt and stepped back. "It's time you started becoming a productive member of society around here, Milt."
"I am a productive member. If running this place were left up to thugs like you we wouldn't have the water system I've devised to give us fresh well water in every home."
"Well, give it a few days, we'll see how useful you are then, huh?"
Not sure what Martinez meant by that comment, Milton frowned, but decided to let it slide. Nothing the man said made much sense to him usually. Martinez was a mean, tough sort of man who was made meaner and tougher at the loss of his wife and children, but he wasn't as dumb as Milton liked to pretend he was. The man was observant and it unnerved him to be put on wall duty so suddenly after acquiring the gun.
The Cajun Dialect
Chien - Dog