DandelionFunky - Nice to see you reviewing! Thanks! And yes, I hope the Lt. stays alive too (you never know, right?)
Jack And Honey - Dreamt of her? Well now you have to go into details about that.
songbird1313 - Well, thank you! I hope to update as often as possible.
BanannaFlvdSnow - Lemon snow cones wouldn't be as delicious as banana imho. ^_^
HGRHfan35 - It actually pains me to write Annie's story, I just feel like the poor little thing doesn't deserve any of that, but *sigh* TWD, huh? Life is shitty.
Brazen Hussy - Wow, I think I found the Rick hater. ^_^!
MollyMayhem84 - Hey, you picture him how you want. JDM is also a good looking fellow.
Merle's Right Hand - I too share that fear. Babies be wailing and I'm all 'nope' right out of the room.
peonies01 - You're very welcome, I'm just trying to show as much love as you have all given me!
Surplus Imagination - Me? I love Glenn! He made a good judgement call in my opinion and he was just hitting below the belt with Merle because he still hates/distrusts the man.
DarylDixon'sLover - Maybe...
Lilone1776 - Children are tragically honest at times, though, huh? And yes, I enjoy writing chapters from her POV, because she sees the good in a lot of the people (Merle being one).
SilverWolf84 -It may take a while, but I hope they get over it too.
Gone Random - Well, welcome to the current party. Thanks for all the lovely reviews you left in GD&S! ^_^ I'm glad you're able to read between the lines with the characters and the development I've taken with them. Honestly appreciate that.
amber24-03 - I would like to try to delve into the Lt.'s backstory a bit more too, hopefully soonish, but not too much, these OC's are getting cocky.
itsi3 - I'm glad you agree on the Richard Armitage thing. It took me for freakin' ever to find an actor I liked (looks wise). The thing about the Lt. that people tend to forget in this story is that the dude is a Marine and used to be a drill sergeant, so he can be pretty commanding when he wants, he just doesn't want to be usually.
Ms Q - I really want Milton to try to help her maybe, use his big old brain to read up on childhood psychology and PTSD. At least give her some counseling. I think while he doesn't like kids, he might at least want to help her.
GG - You raise a good point, kiddo. I thought about that (I pay attention to detail...sometimes ^_^). Daryl and Andrea were both conscious when they were brought in, Daryl speaking to Annie from beyond the wall, therefore she doesn't compare them to finding the Lt. already pale and still, as she had found her mother, she comes across him thinking him dead, whereas the others were still very much alive in her mind. That was the trigger for her episode, the stillness, plus the wound was what drove her to believing the Lt. would turn. I was hoping to get this in the story at some point, but you're so observant that I felt I should at least clear that confusion up for you.
Chapter Three: Baron Samedi
**Daryl**
He eyed the little sprite haunting the doorway of the infirmary as Fay took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table.
"Aren't you worried about her?" He asked, motioning with his chin to the little girl who was just disappearing back out of sight behind the doorframe.
"Of course, but every time I try to talk to the pischouette she backs off like I'm going to hit her and I can't properly deal with it with my leg in irons. Truth is I'm very worried about her, I just don't know how to help her."
Feeling something cold and wet nudging at his hand, Daryl grudgingly stroked the muzzle of the grey dog who had sat up from where he lay to beg for attention. Daryl wasn't sure what to say or even what to do about the little girl. He wasn't so good at emotionally offering help to a person, hell he wasn't even sure he should give advice to anyone considering some of the choices he made with his life.
"Don't even know what the problem is, really. Grace won't say anything about it, but I know it's bad. Woke up in my bed in the dorms, to her screaming. I don't know, probably scared her. Mal pris, yeah?"
"What's that?"
"Stuck in a bad situation, Texian. Talk to her she screams, ignore the problem and she falls deeper into the rabbit hole."
Daryl eyed him quietly, in the stuffy heat of the infirmary the men were laying bare chested, sweating bullets with only a slight, merciful breeze coming in from the boarded up window now and then.
"So what about Rick? Did Merle and them find him when they went back? What happened to the Governor?"
The Lieutenant opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Carol wandering in with a tray of food.
"All we have is some pasta with canned mushroom soup sauce and crackers," she said apologetically. "But I'm assured Sister Mary Agnes is a professional when it comes to makeshift meals, so don't panic about how it sounds, it's actually pretty good according to several sources."
"I don't care if it's got fur balls in it, I'll eat anything at this point," the Lieutenant said, taking a bowl and a small handful of crackers from her. "Thank you, ange."
Carol smiled at him and handed off a bowl and a few crackers to Daryl.
He set them aside on the little wheel up hospital tray and caught her hand before she could turn around and go.
Casting a sideways glance at the Lieutenant, he waited until the calmly eating Cajun could grab hold of the curtain, whipping it across the divide between them with his good arm.
Smiling, Carol eased down onto the bedside near his ribs, facing him with her legs tucked into the narrow space between his bed and the bedside table neatly, avoiding the tray and the equipment.
Setting her hand on the bed by his hip opposite, she leaned over him.
"How are you feeling?" She asked him.
"Like I've been sleeping for months," he replied, hand still wrapped around her wrist, running up her arm cautiously, ready to remove it should she give any indication that it wasn't supposed to be there.
"You look a lot better though, I'm glad," she replied. "You had a rough couple of days."
Daryl hated that he missed so much, he liked to know what was going on, liked to know his surroundings and the mood of the scenery.
Hell, he felt so confused and behind and he knew he'd never properly catch up.
And it pissed him off that he hadn't been there to help, that he was lying about when people were fighting and possibly dying.
Carol's touch was so comforting when she removed her hand from the bed beside his hip and slipped it up and over his chest, heading for his face, where she slid her fingers into his hair and played it with idly.
He liked that she didn't need to constantly be talking, that her eyes said a lot more than her mouth ever could.
Though sometimes he didn't understand the language her looks were using, but he was sure it was because he wasn't used to hearing what they had to say.
This was one of those moments, her eyes were indecipherable. It gave him a sense of vertigo in a way, like he was teetering on the edge of something, unable to control his plummet into the dark void.
Picking at a callous on his hand, he sullenly wished he knew what to say or do with her.
The Lieutenant was so easy with women, with people in general and Daryl had no idea how he did it.
For a moment Daryl wondered if there was a way to learn his secret, how to communicate with people on a normal level.
He knew he wasn't normal, there was no point in denying the fact that he was raised ass backwards, that he had all the traits of a wild animal and he envied the way the Lieutenant blended so well into the human fabric, how he spoke and acted like a man should.
It was thoughts like these that made Daryl sure he didn't deserve Carol's affection. She needed someone who could charm her, she needed someone like the Lieutenant who could gracefully pull her down for a kiss, instead of some dumb ass like him who didn't know the first thing about charm.
Fuck it, he thought, things were out there hunting them down, he didn't have time to be wishing he was normal like he did as a teenager. He was good at one thing and there was no point in learning how to be a human being when he could be learning more useful things.
Locking away those longings back into the box he had built for them as a teenager, Daryl winced as he tried to sit up, adjusting his position and huffed.
God he hated being bedridden, made him feel like a fucking hot dog just lying around, useless.
Carol helped him adjust his position gently, fluffing his pillows to give him a bit more height.
As she bent over him to adjust his pillows, he eyed the wooden rose that dangled from her neck and realized that he had his priorities right, but that didn't mean he couldn't observe the Lieutenant for a few tips on how to act like a human being.
"Better?" Carol asked him, straightening up.
He nodded.
She leaned down to kiss his cheek, but he took the opportunity to shift his head so that their mouths met.
They fell gently, smoothly into a deep kiss and he finally found something to do with his hand, winding it around her waist, feeling the dip between her ribs and hip to be one of his favourite places on her.
It didn't matter the time of day, what she had just eaten, where she had just been, the clothes she was wearing or the amount of work she had done, Carol always tasted and smelled like something unique, something sweet that was unlike anything he had ever tasted, but yet there was an undertone of something akin to a soft salt in the sweetness of her kiss, in the scent of her skin.
His hand left her hip, travelling upwards to cradle her cheek, holding her face with both hands, cupping her against him for a while longer, before she pulled away with a small, pleased grin.
Daryl offered her a small smile.
Leaning down one final time, she kissed his forehead and pushed to her feet. "I'd better get back. I'm on the wall in a little bit. Beth is on watch over you two later, in case you need someone."
Breezing back through the infirmary the way she came, he heard Carol check in with the Lieutenant before she left, then she was gone.
Slumping back against the pillows, mindful of his exit wound, Daryl huffed.
"These are really nice curtains," the Lieutenant said from the other side of the cloth barrier. "What do you think they are? A polyester-cotton blend?"
Reaching over, Daryl yanked the soft white curtain back, finding the Lieutenant beaming at him from the other side, he sneered.
"You're a dumb ass."
"So you tell me daily," the man replied. "And if it were any other man saying it, I'd be inclined to believe them."
"What's that mean?"
"Because in Dixon-speak 'dumb ass' and 'dummy' are just endearments, deep down you love me."
"Don't be a pussy," Daryl growled.
"Deny it all you want, you can't hide your feelings from me, cabri."
"I'm going to get out of this bed and punch you in the face," he stated.
"That's like a Dixon hug, yeah?"
"I mean it, don't make that—"Daryl broke off with a snort, looking away from the Lieutenant as the Cajun pursed his lips at him. "I hate you."
They both fell silent after a moment, and Daryl sighed. The information of the day suddenly came down on him and he was very much aware of just what he missed.
Rick.
Daryl began picking at his hand idly again.
"Did I ever tell you about Mean Old Ernie?" The Lieutenant asked.
Daryl shook his head. "No."
"There was this matou, ah tomcat, haunted the bayou behind my Mamere's home, we kids used to call him Mean Old Ernie. And this cat was so mean he used to put the run on our neighbour - Mrs. Bloom's - big monster of a hound, scared the hell out of us, this nasty, beaten up old cat with the missing eye and the tattered ears. Oh, he was certainly a big, black monster of a cat, all yowls and angry growls.
Nobody knew where he came from or where he spent his nights, but what we did know what that he could heard at night spitting his hate at the stars overhead. Almost like he was performing some kind of black magic rituals to the goddess of the night, worshipping the moon and stars with his kitty yowls.
Truthfully he was probably horny and looking for a lay.
You know tomcats have barbs on their genitals? Hell of a thing."
Daryl winced. "Why?"
"Well, I'm not a cat, I can't say. Feel sorry for them lady cats though. Sure know why they make such a fuss when they sex each other now though, I'll tell you that much."
Daryl smirked.
"Anyways, this Mean Old Ernie he used to come around my Mamere would feed him scraps of meat from our dinner table when my Papere wasn't looking, because he hated that cat. Had no compassion in his heart for the feline species. Which I couldn't understand, Mean Old Ernie used to keep the raccoons away from our garbage, so you'd think he'd be a little grateful.
So, this matou would come around and eat his dinner in the heart of the darkness of the night and by morning there'd be nothing but an empty plate and pieces of scarfed food scattered about.
One day I woke up, hopped outside heading to catch the bus at the end of our road, when I noticed his scraps still there. I didn't think too much of it, Mean Old Ernie had often gone courting over to the next county or so I believed, he'd always come back a week later, looking pleased with himself like he'd just visited the lady cat brothel—"
"Queens," Daryl interjected.
"What?"
"Lady cats are called 'queens'."
"Oh, so you know that but you didn't know about the barb on the dick?" The Lieutenant shot back.
Picking up a soft cover book, Daryl threw it at the Cajun. "That's because I'm not a pervert like you!"
Ducking the book, the Lieutenant laughed. "Alright! Calm down, cabri!"
"Anyways," the man went on after a pause to collect his thoughts, "Mean Old Ernie's food went uneaten for a week, then another passed and my Mamere decided she wanted to stop putting the food out as the raccoons were returning and it was only attracting them. I don't know why, but I didn't give up hope, the cat was mean but once he was gone I kind of missed him. You know? Running all the way from the bus into the house because of a rabid cat on your ass is sure fire motivation for exercise.
A month went by, no matou, two months, three and then one day I was out in the woods hunting down cranberries with Pete Cortland, when I came across Mean Old Ernie—"
Daryl winced. He didn't like the direction the story was taking.
"The little bastard chased us up into an old willow tree and Pete damned near broke his neck taking the plunge to safety."
"Cat was alive?"
"Sure was and just as mean as ever."
Daryl smirked.
"See, he must have found himself a home elsewhere, because he had this clean, healthy look to him, but he came back to us, back to my Mamere's scraps and living under the stars."
"Why?"
"I dunno, I don't understand cats."
"So what happened to him?"
"Oh, Mean Old Ernie lived for a good four years after that, eating my Mamere's scraps, chasing me from my bus, beating on dogs and raccoons and humping anything furry with lady parts.
Then one day I found him curled up under our porch, just lying there. Buried him in the side yard under my Mamere's mayhaw tree. That mojo bag I gave you has his bone in it, because I wanted to take a part of his spirit with me for strength and luck. Funny, but thinking about it now, I kind of loved that cat. He was so mean, but all he needed was someone with patience to show him that the world wasn't cruel, that love and comfort and hope and joy isn't found in a place or a thing, but it's often found in another person. Doesn't matter where you are, as long as the company you keep is good."
Daryl bowed his head to his hands, fidgeting with them quietly. "I don't think Rick is dead," he finally said. "He can't be."
"I don't think he is either," the Lieutenant agreed. "Man that tough doesn't die easily."
Daryl nodded.
"We'll find him, cabri. He's probably just lost in the damned woods or something. Give you something to track when you get better, yeah?"
"Yeah. Trail might be cold though."
"We'll find him."
Feeling the Lieutenant's gaze on him, Daryl shifted uncomfortably in the silence.
"I'm glad you're okay, Daryl." The Cajun said after a long, studious moment.
Daryl nodded.
The Lieutenant was distracted by a little sprite poking her head into the infirmary through the open door, lingering in the middle of it, eyeing the men quietly. He motioned her inside, but she backed out again quietly.
Daryl could only see a third of the Cajun's face, but he could clearly see the worry that darkened it.
"Hey," he said softly to distract the man from his concern, "don't ever run towards the men with the guns again."
The Lieutenant turned to face him, eyes sombre. "It's my job," he said.
"Yeah, well, you need to be careful, now more than ever," Daryl growled.
"Because you love me? And you can't live without me?" The Lieutenant teased.
"I'm not kidding, I'm gonna knock you on your ass," Daryl snarled.
"Try it, porcupine."
Unable to comprehend the fact that the Cajun just called him a 'porcupine' Daryl snorted, before chuckling.
Beside him the Lieutenant began to laugh as well, until they were both chuckling.
He supposed he needed a good laugh after the shit that went down, because he laughed for a good two or three minutes until tears came to his eyes.
"Fuck," he managed to squeeze out between bouts of laughter.
As the laughter died away, they were left feeling a little less like shit, Daryl certainly felt more invigorated, ready to try moving a little again.
He shifted into a better sitting position in his cot.
"Easy, cabri," the Lieutenant warned him from the bed at his side. "Don't push it."
"I'm fine," he snapped. "I hate sitting around."
"Yeah, not for me either." The Cajun said, rattling his ankle chain as if to prove why he had it on in the first place.
"Alright, so tell me then, Merle went back to the mall, what happened?"
"Well, all I know is what I heard through the convent grapevine."
The Voodoo Dialect
Baron Samedi (My personal favourite!) – Baron Samedi (Guede or Papa Guede), the spirit of death is the loa (Voodoo deity) of the crossroads, death, sexuality and cemeteries. His symbol is the cross upon the tomb. He is a greatly renowned lover of women and often utters obscenities, loves rowdy songs, sarcasm and dirty jokes. When someone is inhabited by Baron Samedi, they wear a long black undertakers coat, dark glasses with the right lens popped out and stiff black top hat with cotton stuffed into the ears and nose to represent a dead body read for burial. Despite being a loa associated with death, Baron Samedi is much beloved because wherever he goes laughter and joy, singing and dancing follow. And he's always fashionably late to a party. Considered the clown of the Voodoo world, Baron Samedi loves cigarettes and is often seen smoking two at a time, he is neither good nor evil, but merely amused by humans, which is why he jokes around so much. When Baron Samedi chooses his humanly host, he often prefers to inhabit someone who pretends to be aloof from sex and lust, only to mock and embarrass them. Because of his connection to the dead, he seemingly knows all by what has been and what will be written in their spirits. Baron Samedi generally doesn't like to see a child die, therefore he is usually the one loa someone will go to when a child is sick or gravely injured because only he can change whether they live or die.