Too many reviews to address all of them, here's some that need replies!
amber24-03 - I think the Lt. has a huge pile of respect for Carol, which is why he doesn't rile her as hard as he riles the others. That being said, I wouldn't be surprised if he does one day push her buttons because everyone else is just done with his shit and learns to ignore it.
Ms Q - I too want to make a bundle out of Rick. He looks like all he needs is a damned hug on the show.
SilverWolf84 - Milton will get a bigger role in this story, it's still just starting out, I'm hoping his brain can help the group put to use a lot more ingenious techniques to keep food, to produce more food, to generally be more productive in order to survive.
HGRHfan35 - Because you complained so much about the days lagging, I've sped things up. Enjoy missing out on a lot of good stuff in order to rush the storyline. (I am - of course - kidding).
MollyMayhem84 - Geez, calm down...cripes, building suspense here, kiddo. But fine, here's a damned Rick chapter, enjoy. ^_^
Okay, kids, obviously I don't speak Farsi, so I had to translate English into Farsi (translate it back into English to make sure nothing got lost in the translation), then Romanize it. So...if I made a mistake in my Farsi, I apologize. I don't mean to insult anyone with my horrible Farsi capabilities.
Chapter Seven: Bosou Koblamin
**Rick**
Three Days Earlier
Overhead there was grey haze that burst with dancing lights, rays of butter yellow light that blinded him and kept what lay in the dark a mystery to him.
A figure broke the light, allowing the rays to splash over their shoulders, creating a halo of light around their head and a pair of the most hypnotizing brown eyes captivated his full attention, back lit by a lantern that hung over their heads by the dead light fixture of the old world.
He recalled running, chasing something, someone, but the eyes soothed his concern. There was still a threat, wasn't there? What had he been chasing?
A man.
He bolted upright.
The Governor, Woodbury, the mall had exploded, why wasn't he inside it? What pieces of his memory was he missing?
"Rwa tkht draz bkeshad," the figure spoke, a gentle hand pushing against his shoulder.
Rick blinked at the woman with the enticing brown eyes the colour of mahogany as she gently forced him back onto the pile of blankets and pillows he was lying on. He took in the headscarf she wore, the way her hair was carefully tucked under the simple taupe coloured cloth and frowned. "Who are you?"
"She says you should lie down," someone spoke in a thick accent from his right side.
"I have to go, I don't know who you are or how I got here, but I have to go," Rick insisted, eyeing the young boy who stood at the side of his bed. He had the same hypnotizing eyes, fringed with the same thick, dark lashes.
"Shma bayd khwab," the woman repeated in a soft, lyrical tone, softly whispering to him in a soothing tone.
"She says you should sleep. I think you should too, it'll do you well."
"Who are you?" Rick demanded. "I don't know how I got here, but I can't stay."
"Sleep," the boy suggested, tilting his head and mocking a person at rest, curling up against his hands.
Eyeing the boy, then the woman who was opening a plastic bottle of water, Rick scowled. "I have to go. If I'm not a prisoner, I have to go."
"Aw ma guwad keh aw baad anja ra trke kennd," the boy said to the woman.
The woman shook her head, turning her eyes on him. "Ayn bd ast," she cooed, "ltfa bh pesht bkhwabad w astraht kenad."
"She says you're a dumb man to want to leave," the boy said, pointing to his head, the boy blinked his big brown eyes. "You got hit really badly there."
Rick eased back onto the bed. "I can't really remember much."
"You dropped like a little bitch."
Confused by the suddenly masculine, very deep and dark voice, Rick winced and studied his surroundings again, in the doorway of what looked like some kind of storage room, he found a man entering and tensed.
"You attacked me?" Rick demanded.
"No, I said you dropped like a little bitch, I'd hardly call one tap to the head an attack."
"I think hitting me is the very definition of an attack," Rick replied.
"Whatever, Huckleberry," the man replied. "Point is you suck at defence."
"Why would you hit me?"
Sticking an unlit cigarette into his mouth, the man winced as he pondered his next words. His hands paused halfway to lighting it with a match. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he muttered through a dangling cigarette.
"Look, just let me walk, okay? I don't have anything you'd want."
"You've got a nice piece," he stated. "And I like your boots."
Rick tensed. "Who are you? You're obviously not Muslim," he stated motioning towards the woman and boy.
"Why, my religious beliefs are none of your business, sir." The man declared.
"Look, my people will be looking for me," Rick lied. They probably thought he blew up with the mall, but he was playing a wildcard, hoping to bluff.
"Oh?" The man inquired. "Well, we'd better set you free then. Wouldn't want any undo rage vented in our direction. But," the man paused, easing a heavy cowboy boot onto the edge of an old wooden chair at the side of the bed of rags to lean over Rick, "here's the thing. I'm curious as to why you shot that man in cold blood. He wasn't a shuffler as far as we saw, ain't that right Nadir?"
The boy nodded. "Yes."
"So, that makes you a cold blooded killer," the man drawled. "Whatcha doin' huntin' men down, killer?"
Unable to recall who it was he shot, the pieces missing from his previous days were just blank spaces in his memory, Rick shrugged. "I don't know."
"You don't know why you killed a living human being, Huckleberry? That's a funny reason to kill a man."
"I can't remember? You hit me on the head."
"Oh, my bad," the man chuckled. "Alright, killer, you just hang tight and I'll think of something to do with you."
"I'm not a killer." Rick argued.
"Sure you are, put a bullet in that man's brain, remember Nadir?"
"Yes."
"And who the hell are you to judge me?" Rick growled.
The man paused at the doorway and grinned. "Oh, I'm not judging you, Huckleberry, killed a man or two myself. For the times they are a changin'."
"Where'd you find me?"
"Perdition."
"I'm serious." Rick insisted, his head was so jumbled, he couldn't make out anything other than his people, his group and the danger they were in.
Removing the cigarette from his mouth, the man exhaled a long line of smoke, before he sniffed. "The highway."
"And the man I shot, what'd he look like? Eyepatch?"
"No."
Searching his mind, Rick could only recall snippets of images. Oh God, what was his name?
"Was he black?"
"African American, please?" The man replied. "Or are you one of them good ol' Georgia boys who wear bed sheets on their heads like a bunch of kids playing dress up?"
"My people are in danger if you don't let me go," Rick tried once more to reason with the man.
"Oh? In danger from what?"
"I was…chasing a man down, I think, running through the woods, something went wrong…he's dangerous."
The man stilled. "How so?"
"A few months back two of my people were taken, this man and his people took them, hurt the girl badly, tried to kill the man, they wanted information, they wanted what we had, went to war with them, lost a few people. This man fights dirty, sends in walkers, uses heavy artillery on women and children, he doesn't care. His group, the people at Woodbury, they get fat and prospers while others fall," Rick explained.
Moving back towards the Rick's pile of rags, the man kicked a chair close and eased down onto it, leaning forward. "You have my attention, killer."
"These people…it's kill or be killed, they're dangerous and they'll be a threat your group as well," Rick went on.
"My group?" The man inquired. "I don't have a group."
Rick's eyes went to the woman and kid and the man scoffed.
"They ain't mine, came across them two weeks ago, a shuffler was tearing through her husband like Garfield in a lasagne pan."
"What?"
"Garfield, he was a cat—"
"No, I mean, nobody survives without a group and yours is in danger."
Exhaling a stream of smoke into Rick's face, the man smirked. "Look, I'm just passing through, killer. Truth is if you keep moving, you have a lesser chance of getting nabbed. I like the road. Safer."
"My name's Rick Grimes, that's preferable to 'killer'," he pointed out.
The man smiled, it was an easy, all too winning grin. "Sure, but I like 'killer' better. That's what you are, isn't it? Stone cold killer?"
"It's my group or his. I don't hesitate when it comes to my people."
"That's sweet, it is, and I get all gooey thinking about the camaraderie. I really do. But you still killed a man and that's just uncool."
Rick sighed.
"Alright, look, you were in rough shape when I found you and then I hit you and well, I feel like a bit of a fool, but you looked mean and had that pistol on you, what was I supposed to think?"
"How many days have I been out?" Rick asked, suddenly aware of the fact that he may have been missing more time that he couldn't remember than he originally thought.
"Oh, I don't know, couple of day?"
"Jesus."
"Could have been worse, usually I shoot first, but the kid was with me," the man took a deep drag of his cigarette and pulled a face. "Christ these are dry, but beggars and addicts can't complain at the end of the world, huh?"
Rick eyed the man, his head was throbbing and he needed another drink of water. "Where are you from?" He croaked, as the woman handed him the bottle water again, anticipating his need of it. "Your accent isn't Georgian."
"Oh? You can tell huh? Well, aren't you just the dialect expert, Huckleberry." The man laughed at him casually, still savouring his cigarette. "I suppose you could say I'm a citizen of the world."
"Arkansas," Rick growled.
The man paused in his smoking to smirk. "Alright, killer, what'd I do before all this, then, if you're that good at observation?"
"Dentist," Rick replied.
"Why'd you say that?"
"Because I'm getting a Doc Holliday vibe off you, watch too many cowboy films as a kid? Think this is the Wild West, do you?"
The man grinned. "Well, you're wrong, killer. I was a gynecologist."
"I doubt that very much," Rick replied.
"Oh? You don't know, I could have had my hand in so much pussy—"
"I doubt any of it was professional."
He laughed. "Sure, killer, whatever you want to think then."
Rick eyed the man for a long, quiet moment, still struggling to gain back some memories of the days he spent in the woods. "When can I go, if I'm not a prisoner?"
"When you can walk out that door." The man replied. "But…well, here's where things get political."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not going to let you go unless you do something for me, sound fair?"
"What?"
"Well, I'll let you walk out that door with your kit and your gun and," he smirked, "your virtue, if you take these two with you back to your people and put them under your protection."
Rick eyed the woman and kid. "Why?"
"Because that one insists on doing my laundry and that one won't get off my ass long enough for me to do anything," he replied pointing at first the woman and then the child. "I'm better off on my own, always have been."
"You trust me and my people to treat a woman and child properly?" Rick demanded.
"Sure," the man replied
"Yeah, and then we bring her back, she slips out in the night and gives you a head's up to where my people are. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Well, I was hoping you be diplomatic at least," the man replied, shifting on his feet and standing up.
Rick watched him leave the room, only to return a few seconds later, a fireman's ax in hand.
He set it quietly on the floor, head down, handle resting against the wall.
"There," he pointed out calmly. "That's my entire arsenal. You think I'm going to take on your people armed with an ax and a kid who can't even walk straight without tripping over his own feet?"
"You expect me to believe you survived this long with just an ax?"
"Oh, I've had guns, but the noise draws them, so I completely disregarded the projectile ordnance for a more silent but useful tool of destruction."
Eyeing the door, Rick scowled. "And what would you do if I decide to just stroll out that door?"
"Well, the kid's around, so I'd probably just knock you out again, but then I'd drag your ass outside and leave you out cold for the shufflers to pick clean." As Rick's captor wandered back out the door, Rick studied the kid and woman in the man's absence. "You in any danger?" He asked the kid.
"No."
"He doesn't hurt you or your sister?"
"She's my mother," the boy said.
Wandering back into the room, the man knelt at Rick's side. "Look, one day we'll reach an agreement, but today isn't your day, killer."
Narrowing his eyes, Rick was about to continue his discussion with the man when something hard and solid met with his temple.
..-~-..
..-~-..
When he opened his eyes again, he woke to sunlight shining in through the bottom of the door to the room and a migraine that would kill a lesser man.
Pushing into a sitting position painfully, he blinked at the room around him.
It was empty of life expect for him, half a bottle of water and a package of cheese crackers rested beside him, his pistol and what little bullets he had left beside them.
After a second of gathering himself, he realized what woke him from his unconscious state wasn't natural, but the thumping and scratching at the door.
Rick eyed the knob as it jittered and rattled, before calmly collecting his things and pushing to his feet shakily.
Ignoring the clawing at the door for a moment, Rick searched the room for something to use that wouldn't cause too much noise, just in case it was only one walker.
Grabbing a shakily built metal shelf, he tugged and pulled, breaking it apart with difficulty until finally he had a decent length piece of metal pipe.
Going to the door, he calmed himself, still feeling like he wasn't really in a good state to do anything, before yanking it open.
The walker fell in towards him and he jammed the pipe up through the soft bottom of its chin into its head. The thing collapsed heavily on him and in his weakened state he dropped beneath it, crumpling to the floor.
Thankfully there was only one and after a struggle, he managed to roll the corpse off him.
Folding a scrap of old sheet into a sack bag, he stuffed the water and crackers into it and slinging it across his torso and stepped out into what he realized was a small mom and pop convenience store.
If he could find his bearings, he could get back home. He'd make sense of things when he had time to regroup his thoughts.
The Voodoo Dialect
Bosou Koblamin – Bosou is a violent loa, capable of defeating his enemies, he is often seen during times of war. He often protects his travellers when they travel at night and while he will come to the protection of his followers, he is often thought of to be unreliable and can sometimes be known to abandon his followers. Bosou has three horns which he affectionately named: Strength, Wildness and Violence.
..-~-..
The Farsi Dialect
Rwa tkht draz bkeshad – Lie down
Shma bayd khwab – You should sleep
Aw ma guwad keh aw baad anja ra trke kennd – He says that he must leave
Ayn bd ast – This is bad
Ltfa bh pesht bkhwabad w astraht kenad – Please lay back and relax