You're all very lovely people. I give you, a Merle chapter...with some Caryl at the end. Oops, that slipped out. Ah well. ^_^
Chapter Twenty-Two: Azacca
**Merle**
Around them the sounds of the late Georgian evening hummed, the crickets were beginning to complain, the leaves in the trees whispered and the sounds of the convent were beginning to slow, readying to still for the night.
Squinting down at his opponent, Merle was readying himself for a good fight. "Are you telling tales out of your ass?"
"No," his little visitor objected.
"You can't bullshit a bullshitter, you know this, right?"
"I'm not!"
Giving Annie, the pint sized piece of trouble, a good long stink eyed look, Merle eased back against the tree. "So, you're telling me that if I even gave a woman a peck, a dry, closed mouth, barely brushing her lips, kiss, she'd be good and fertilized?"
"What's fertilized?" Annie demanded.
"You know something," he went on. "I think you're just trying to sell me snake shoes."
"I'm not! It's true! That's where babies come from." She argued.
Calmly picking dirt from under his fingernail with the tip of his blade, Merle scowled. "I think you're only seeing the tip of the iceberg, little squirt."
"What's that?"
"Never mind, go bother someone else, you've been hanging off my ass all day," he snarled.
Annie slumped down into the dirt beside him, leaning against his side as though he weren't a mean old alley cat of a man, strands of her dark hair which had fallen out of her braids tickling his bare arm as the calm breeze blew through them.
"What happened to your hand?" She asked.
"I got a tattoo I didn't like on it, so I chopped the whole hand off," he replied. "Thought it'd grow back."
She blinked at him. "I skinned my knee once," she said, pulling up her dress to show him her knee. "It got better though."
"Jesus," he exclaimed, mildly sarcastic, "did they take you to the hospital and everything?"
"You're teasing me," she stated with a broad smile.
"So this is what you do all day? Just talk bullshit with people?"
"I don't talk bull-poop," she growled. "I really did skin my knee, but it just looks normal because it got better."
Opening his mouth, Merle was mere seconds away from continuing his fight with the little chickenhawk, but the gate opening and a minivan driving in with the others broke the moment and he climbed to his feet, ignoring the ache of his hip and spine, putting off his worries about getting old in favour of eyeing the seven people who piled out of the vehicle.
He spied tiny lioness Carol give his baby bro a huge grin and furrowed his brow to fight off the pleasant look that was threatening his features. It would embarrass the hell out of him to have anyone see him content with his brother's happiness.
Not that Daryl was all smiles for her. He wasn't really a big grinner. It took a rare thing to make his baby brother smile, but a strange curve shifted and altered the shape of his scruff as Carol pushed up and gave him a kiss and even Merle knew his brother was smiling gently for her.
Everyone who didn't have anything better to do crowded the minivan, Annie forgetting about her bullshit with him, racing for first Grace, and then wrapping herself around the Cajun's leg tightly.
"How'd it go?" Rick asked, as Herschel and Mrs. Douglas pushed past him, helping Andrea to get to the infirmary to rest.
Blondie looked pale and drawn, but still had that twinkle of a scrappy fighter in her eye as she met his on her way by.
"Still alive?" He grunted to her.
"Barely," she replied.
Smiling, Merle pulled up beside Officer Friendly, folding his arms and eyeing the others.
"Better than I expected," the Lieutenant said. "No uggie problems and they only want amicable relations."
Rick narrowed his eyes a little, but said nothing.
"How can you be sure about that?" Karen broke in.
"Because I trust Delgado and he's in charge of them, if he says he wants only peace, then that's all he wants."
"We'll discuss this tomorrow," Grace stated firmly, gripping the elbow of the Cajun's good wing and gently pushing him towards the dorms. "But some of us could use our rest. Shouldn't be out of bed anyhow," she added under her breath on their way by, Annie sticking as close to the Cajun's ass as she could without riding it.
Merle approached Carol and his brother who were milling about with Glenn and Tyreese. His brother's damned horse at his feet as usual, lying on them almost as though trying to keep Daryl from moving about too much.
"Well?" He demanded.
Tyreese was the one to speak. "They're alright," he said. "At least I didn't get a bad vibe from them."
"Well, Woodbury was all sunshine and rainbows for the strangers too," Merle pointed out.
"I don't know," Glenn said. "They seemed more scared of us than we were of them."
"That's because they don't know how many of us there are, we have the upper hand," Carol said softly.
Merle turned to her, impressed by her thinking.
"For all they know," she went on, "we could be hundreds of men strong with the might of firepower and an unknown location to them."
"They didn't follow you? I mean to find out our location?" Daryl asked.
"No, on the way back Glenn took some lonely roads, twists and turns to lose anyone who might have been," Sasha said, moving to stand beside her brother. "Besides," she added, "I liked them."
"Me too," Carol said. "I honestly think they want the allies."
"You'd be stupid not to in this day and age," Tyreese said.
As the group split up, Merle followed his baby bro, heading in the direction of his love shack Daryl shared with his silver haired lady friend.
"Hey, Darlina," he called out, stopping his brother at the door to his shack.
"What's up?"
Merle sized his brother up. He was pale and a looked tired, which both pissed Merle off over how dumb his brother was for pushing himself and irritated him that he gave a rat's ass about it. It wasn't any of his business if his dumb assed brother didn't stay in bed until he was fully recovered.
Still, he growled to Carol, "you make sure he gets some sleep, he looks like something a sailor pulled out from under his nutsack."
"We're heading for a rest right now," she said, patting Daryl's chest with her hand.
Merle squinted at them. "Make sure you actually do that."
"What do you want, Merle?" Daryl snapped.
"Jesus, can't even tell you to get some rest?" Merle barked back. "I'm trying to be fucking concerned here."
"Ain't never cared before," Daryl muttered, stepping into his shack, his moose of a dog at his heels eagerly.
Carol lingered, big blue eyes on Merle. Before they used to narrow at him, suspicious of all he was, everything he had been when they first met, but now they eyed him calmly, almost sympathetically. She reached out and touched a warm, rough hand to his forearm, right above his blade strap.
"You should get some rest too, Merle," she said. "Lord knows we could all use it," she added, ducking into the shack behind his little brother.
Merle stood at the door to his brother's 'home' for a while, before bowing his head and kicking at the grass with his boot.
Shit, he was beginning to give a rat's ass about his brother's woman too. That was a dangerous, but somehow not unwelcome thing. Besides, she was as good as a Dixon. Anyone who'd dare cut her would wind up in the same mangled shape as the dog who'd dare cut Daryl.
"Well, fuck," he murmured to himself, "looks like ol' Merle's got a family."
As he turned from the shack, he spied a few of the group mingling around the campfire they set up beside the infirmary, just beyond the convent's peach tree and headed towards it, keeping out of the inner circle of light, but leaning against the tree to observe as Beth sang to them sweetly, Judith fast asleep in her arms, being gathered up by her father who was heading towards the dorms to put his baby girl to bed.
On the wall, Sister Mary Elizabeth lingered long enough to hear the song, before walking off on her patrol, shotgun braced over her forearm.
"She's really got a lovely voice," someone said from the other side of the tree trunk.
Merle poked his head around and found Sister Mary Agnes standing there, one of the few remaining cats of Sister Gertrude's in her arms.
"I wouldn't know," he replied.
"I miss music," the nun went on. "My husband used to take me to those Sunday night dances they had at the local hall, old time music mostly, but he could dance like Fred Astaire." She shrugged. "May have seemed that way because I was in love."
"Ain't much dancing anymore," he grunted. "Just a lot of death and destruction."
The nun moved closer to him, sliding around the trunk to stand beside him, setting the cat down. "I don't know. Yesterday I found that cat had a nest of kittens hidden away under a stone bench in the rose garden, safe from the elements by a thick tangle of rose bushes on either side. That didn't seem like death or destruction to me," she argued.
"Give it time," he returned.
"What about Rick and his little girl? Among the chaos of these end of days was born a sweet cherub with dark curls and rose petal pink lips."
"Last I saw of her," Merle went on pessimistically. "She had a full load in her britches that smelled like death and destruction."
"You're a negative thinker, Mr. Dixon."
"I'm a realist, sister. We are living in the worst of times, this is it. Nothing pretty left. Only tears and blood."
"Well, we differ in opinion, I'm afraid."
Watching as she folded her arms around herself, he frowned, looking at the sky overhead. "Cool tonight," he remarked.
"Never a good thing when it's cold at night in Georgia," she replied, smiling, she motioned suddenly to the group, dragging Merle's attention down and over at them. "Seems there's two others on the sidelines."
He eyed the new woman and her son as they stood in the shadows of the infirmary, watching the merriment.
"Poor woman doesn't speak a lick of English," Sister Mary Agnes said.
"If she was smart enough to know English, she'd have been smart enough to know she was travelling with a complete piece of shit."
"Mr. Dixon!" The nun exclaimed. "That poor man—"
"Poor man my ass," he growled. "He's a big mouthed, blockheaded, fish trying to vacation in the desert. He's going to get himself killed one of these days beaking off to the wrong person."
"We all handle stress differently," the woman reasoned.
Sighing, he eyed her, before choking back his anger. "You should get your ass closer to the damned fire before you get sick and die on us."
"I didn't think you'd care, Mr. Dixon."
"I'd damn well care if I woke in the night with you chewing on my ass," he stated.
"Well," she retorted with a small, proud smile, "certainly not until you have a bath."
"If you weren't a damned nun," he began, temper flaring a bit at her smart assed bickering.
"You'd be chasing me around like a fox after a hen?"
Even in the near dark he could see the flash of impish intent that flickered in her eyes and it nearly knocked him onto his ass. He smiled broadly at her. "Well, Sister Mary Agnes," he drawled slowly, pausing between words, "I do believe you're flirting with me."
"I'm too old for that nonsense, Mr. Dixon," she said. "But it's kind of you to get so excited at the prospect."
Resting his hand against the tree, he leaned over her. "You know, about that bath you think I need—"
She smiled sweetly at him. "Goodnight, Mr. Dixon."
Watching as she hurried across the lawn, Merle beamed even wider as she hesitated a few feet from him, peeking back at him over her shoulder.
"Well," he said, turning his eyes to the sky above, "fortune is beginning to smile on ol' Merle."
"Don't be so sure," she called back to him.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Carol**
After she helped him remove his boots (against a barrage of grumbling protests from him), she eased Daryl back onto their bed and helped him get comfortable, fluffing his pillow and adjusting the thing blanket she made him use to ward off chill while he was recuperating.
She commanded Clyde to lie on the old ratty rug at the end of the bed and toed off her own boots, before going back to adjusting Daryl's comfort level.
"Dammit, woman," he grumbled, grasping her upper arms and pulling her down onto the bed with him. "Stop your bustling and bumping."
She smiled at him, arranging herself so that she wasn't leaning against his wound. "You wore yourself out today."
"I'm fine," he argued, catching her hand as she moved to adjust the thin blanket over his hips, pulling it up to lay it on his chest. "Jesus, stop picking and prodding me."
"I missed you," she explained, stopping all complaints from the grumpy Dixon.
He only grunted and wrapped his hand around hers.
Laying her head against his chest, Carol smiled softly, content like a cat ready to purr. She never felt safer than she felt when she was with him. Daryl made her feel like nothing bad would ever come near them.
She liked these quiet moments they had just before sleep, when they were warm and comfortable and safe in the belief that there was always someone walking the wall outside, that there was always someone up and about at the convent.
Nudging her head up and under his chin, Carol smiled and snuggled in deeper against him.
As he released her hand to tuck it behind his head to prop it up, she eased her fingertips under his shirt collar and gently stroked at the sparse hair that covered his chest, fingering a scar as she came to it.
Pushing up to arch over him, she hovered over his body, heading upwards on his body to catch his mouth in a sweet, short kiss.
"You know Judith is already trying to pull herself up?" She asked him. "Yesterday she rolled over onto her belly and was grasping at the grass for support."
"That's all we need," he griped, reaching up and tugging at a tendril of her hair that was curling out around her face, "another damned kid running around."
"You say lovingly, I'm sure," she teased.
Daryl blinked at her and she eyed him back quietly, before he snorted.
"That's what I thought," she said softly. "Big teddy bear trying to growl." Curling up against him, she lay her head back down against his chest, her hand now moving to lightly check on the bandages over his wound, fingering the edges of them gingerly, reminding herself of how much she nearly lost.
His hand continued to play with her hair, curling it around his fingers, catching it on his rough callouses, stroking and petting it idly as he lay with her.
At her age, she was glad he didn't want to do much more than hold her (and if she was honest, she'd admit that he was getting much better at that). Ed sort of ruined sex for her anyways, with his rutting and poking. She was much more content to just have Daryl, to hold him, to hear his gruff voice first thing in the morning, to have his quiet strength with her and in her life.
Really, she couldn't ask for anything more.
..-~-..
..-~-..
The Voodoo Dialect
Azacca or Zaka - This is the loa of agriculture, but is generally seen as the brother of Ghede. For this reason Ghede will often come to the ceremonies for Zaka and come when Zaka has mounted someone. Zaka is a gentle simple peasant, but greatly respected by the peasants since he is a very hard worker. He is addressed as "cousin". He is found wherever there is country. He is usually barefoot, carries a macoute sack, wears a straw hat, and has a pipe in his mouth. By nature he is suspicious, out for profit, fond of quibbling, and has a fear and hatred of town folk. He is known for his gossip he spreads and for his "girl chasing."
Like Ghede, Zaka loves his food. But, unlike Ghede, he is rude and voracious in his eating habits, often running away to hide with him food and eat it quickly. His favorite dishes to eat are the ones peasants feed on-boiled maize, bread soaked in oil and slices of small intestine with fatty membrane fried, unrefined sugar. His favorite drink is white rum and his tree is the avocado. Zaka controls the fields, and like the farmers themselves, he is very watchful of detail. He notes who is treating whom in what manner, who is flirting with whom, who says what to whom etc. He does not forgive easily.