Chapter Thirty-Eight: Rada
**Daryl**
"I said to her, 'girl, don't you give me that playing around business or I'll show you the hand of God'," the woman stated as she bustled about the kitchen, putting away the dishes she had dried.
At the sink a middle aged Asian lady was washing the dishes, nodding her head in agreement.
"I'm sorry, but those girls are beginning to get wild," the woman went on. "Yesterday I found them outside about to smash a bullet with a hammer. Blow their damned hands off and then where would they be? Uh-uh, this day and age, they can't afford to stumble around with no hands."
Lingering in the open back door to the Hollander's kitchen, Daryl stuffed tobacco into a rolling paper and frowned at the irony of her words.
The Lieutenant joined him from his patrol of the farmyard, moving to lean against the door casually, breathing with a deep rasp.
"They grow their own tobacco," Daryl remarked, holding up the half rolled cigarette to show him.
"Industrious lot, aren't they?" The Lieutenant returned. "But do they have a moose-dog or a Milton Mamet?"
Daryl scoffed. He looked at the Cajun studiously, eyeing the way he held his arm tight against his ribs. "You alright?"
"Ribs, they'll be fine enough," he replied.
Inside the kitchen a pretty, dark haired, dark eyed twelve year old girl hopped up to the counter with a violin and bow in hand, drawing their attention. "Eve, can I have a glass of milk before bed, please?"
"Of course, baby girl, you know where we keep it."
"Thank you." The girl set down her violin and headed for the door, but slowed when she spied them.
Both men moved out of her way and watched as she headed for a cellar door just outside the kitchen, beside the foundation behind them. She struggled with the door, so Daryl moved to help her, wrenching it up and open.
"Thank you," she whispered, hurrying down into the cold cellar for the milk.
"So anyways, I told those girls if I catch them messing around with bullets again I'd knock their asses into next year," the woman inside the kitchen went on.
As the young girl emerged from the storm cellar, the Lieutenant spoke, "you know how to play that fiddle, honey?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir." Stopping, she tilted her head at him. "You're from Louisiana, aren't you?"
"I am, petit mademoiselle, and you're from the great state of Georgia."
"Born and raised. Mister Delgado says you're the good guys."
Daryl scoffed, lighting his cigarette.
"Gambit's Cajun," the girl said softly. "He's also a good guy. Though, he used to be a thief."
The Lieutenant remained still, eyebrows perched high on his forehead. "Who's Gambit, now?"
"You know, the Uncanny X-Men? Marvel? He first appeared in issue fourteen of the X-Men Annual, I believe." She went on.
"Superhero, dumb ass," Daryl stated, bumping Fate with his elbow.
Shrugging, the Cajun helped the girl up the steps back into the house, following her into the kitchen as she poured herself some milk and sat at the island.
Daryl kept just outside the door, smoking.
"You play any Cajun waltzes on that thing?" The Lieutenant went on, talking to the young girl.
She nodded. "I think so. Do you know Le Danse De Mardi Gras?"
"One of my favourites."
Putting down her glass of milk and picking up her violin, the girl looked at the women. "Is it okay?" She asked them.
"You play your little heart out, baby." The black woman urged.
Daryl smiled a little as the girl began playing, it was a little screechy for his liking, but the Cajun's eyes lit up. As the Lieutenant began singing, it was the girl's turn to light up, she put more force into her playing, a smiling spreading over her previously solemn face.
In the kitchen the Asian woman made a big production out of asking the black woman to dance and they both began to dance about, though neither one quite knew how to dance to the kind of music the girl was playing.
Sidling up beside him, Merle peered into the kitchen, watching the scene quietly as the Cajun stood up and cut in, dancing a two-step with first one and then the other. It amazed Daryl how the man could get along with anyone, he had trouble just forcing polite niceties with people he knew, never mind complete strangers.
"For a man who has a lucky horseshoe shoved up his ass he sure can dance," Merle said from beside him.
The party stopped when a weary, exhausted looking brunette woman stepped into the kitchen. "Mae, you should be upstairs studying, then bedtime, please?"
The girl stopped playing and stood up, taking her empty glass to the sink and rinsing it, before gathering up her violin and bow, wishing everyone a soft 'goodnight', and quietly stepping out of the kitchen.
"That poor girl," the black woman said, going back to finish the dishes. "She never gets any time to herself."
"They work her like a dog," the Asian woman spat.
"I haven't seen her smile since Christmas when Harkness brought her back a sled from one of the farm runs."
Turning to the two Dixon's in the doorway, the black woman sighed. "Are you boys going to come inside or are you just going to stand there gawping? You're letting mosquitoes in."
Merle beamed. "Never thought you'd ask, sugar."
Knocking the cherry off his cigarette and pocketing the dead half for later enjoyment, Daryl joined them inside finally, kicking dirt off his boots, feeling like he should at least to be polite.
"Good Lord, you both look like that dead muskrat the dog found floating in the lagoon out back," the woman went on.
"I clean up nice," Merle flirted, helping the Asian lady put a bowl up onto a high shelf in the cupboard.
The woman took one look at his blade hand and made a small thoughtful sound. "Eve, did you see the attachments this one comes with?"
The black lady, Eve, looked over from the sink and chuckled. "And what is that for? You already look like the devil, don't need to be going around scaring children with that."
Merle chuckled. "Keeps me alive."
Easing onto a stool at the island beside the Cajun, Daryl sniffed and eyed a younger Asian woman who came into the kitchen and filled a kettle for tea.
"I'm sorry, I can't recall your names, ladies," the Lieutenant said, eyeing the younger Asian woman as well.
She was actually very pretty, but very petite and something about her nose made him wonder if she was related to the older Asian woman. Maybe sisters? Or mother and daughter?
Though he wouldn't ever voice this out loud, saying the only two Asians around must be related was probably not the most tactful thing to declare in public. He expected Merle to say something at some point about it.
"That's because we haven't given them." The older Asian lady said. "I'm Dolly Mei, this is Eve Claiborne and that's my daughter Vivian." Throwing the dish towel down on the counter and resting her forearms on it, the woman eyed them. "And I know that one is that soldier that Delgado knows, but you boys?" She eyed Merle and Daryl.
"I'm Merle, that there is my baby brother Daryl."
"Of course, two scruffy wasteland dogs like you have to be related," Eve said jovially, setting three mugs down before them and tucking some tea bags inside them. "Where you boys come from?"
"Around these parts," Merle said.
"Far and away," the Lieutenant added for himself.
Reaching out, Eve brushed Daryl's hair off his forehead and he fought not to react poorly to the action. Before Carol, he would have told her to keep her damned hands to herself, but the woman had tamed him somewhat to human touch. Besides, he liked this buxom black woman, she looked like a good mother-type.
"Um-mm-mm, would you look at this one, Dolly? Isn't he adorable? Like a scrappy puppy."
Beside him, the Cajun laughed hard, bowing his head to really let it out as Daryl felt his face grow hot.
He pulled away from the woman with a sneer.
"Shut up, dumb ass," Daryl snarled to the Lieutenant.
"I'm sorry, did I embarrass you?" Eve said, touching her hands together. "I didn't mean to, you just have such a cute face."
"It's the cute ones you have to look out for," the Lieutenant agreed.
Eve moved about the kitchen then, throwing things together as Daryl glared at the Cajun feeling the sting of betrayal.
Merle, too busy eyeing the slender Vivian, didn't even offer either man back up.
"So, you boys have women back home?" Dolly asked, hanging the towel up and leaning on the island counter again.
"I sure do. Getting married soon, actually." The Lieutenant said proudly.
"Oh, that's nice," Eve gushed, setting a sandwich down before Daryl, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. "It's peanut butter and honey, both are very hard to come by these days, I was saving the peanut butter for an emergency craving. Take it as an apology?"
Daryl scooped up the sandwich, sold on the word 'honey' and took a big bite, flashing a brief, smug grin to the Cajun at his side.
"So, getting married? Oh, I'd love to see a wedding around here. What do you say, Vivian?" Dolly asked her daughter.
Vivian, still shyly haunting the area by the kettle, looked up with frightened amber eyes. "Sure, mom. Which one of these boys here should I marry? The widower? The married one? Married to his horse? Married to his chewing tobacco? Never leaves his tree? Gay? Or the one who builds coffin's in his spare time?"
"I'm afraid no man will ever be good enough for you, Viv." Her mother sighed.
"No man ever will, honeychild," the Lieutenant agreed swiftly. "First thing I learned as a father-figure for a little girl, no man will ever be worthy of you. Pretty thing like you is better on her own."
"You have a little girl?" Eve asked. "How old?"
"Six, she's the sweetest little thing," the Lieutenant said. Daryl couldn't help noticing the proud way the man declared this and while it made him a little happy for Fay, it kind of brought a sudden touch of jealousy to him. It was the same kind of jealousy that he had felt in his younger years when he spied boys happily playing with their fathers or speeding around the neighbourhood on flashy brand new bikes.
"Couldn't love her more, even if she were my own flesh and blood." Fate went on.
"Is she your woman's?"
"No, Annie, that's my little girl, she showed up one day and we took her in. Most beautiful little thing." The Lieutenant blinked and cleared his throat, returning his eyes to Vivian. "So, yeah, no man will ever be worthy of you, honeychild."
"So what do you offer your bride-to-be, then?" Eve inquired. "To make you worthy?"
The Lieutenant fell thoughtful. "Well, I speak fluent French…and I'm adequate in bed."
Daryl nearly choked on his mouthful of sandwich, he wasn't shocked, he just wasn't expecting that.
The women laughed.
"Not good, mind you, but I know my way around a lady's undercarriage."
Flushing pink, Vivian made for the other room, struggling to conceal laughter in her mother's presence.
"You and yours should come to the wedding," the Lieutenant said, throwing his elbow over the back of the stool he sat on. "It's not a proper Cajun party until the entire parish shows up. Daryl has a woman too, don't you, cabri?"
Slowing his chewing, Daryl looked up through his shaggy bangs at the group, before swallowing. "Yep." Wondering if he was supposed to sing her praises or something, as everyone watched him expectantly, he put the sandwich down and cleared his throat. "Carol is, ah, she's real pretty." He felt his face grow hot and bowed his head to avoid everyone's eyes, not sure if he pulled that off right.
Thankfully, Eve saved him gracefully with a somehow knowing look, turning her attention to the Lieutenant suddenly.
"You know," she said, touching the Lieutenant's hand warmly. "I have a little girl Annie's age and one two years older, I bet they would love to get together and play with your little one. We should set up a play date for them."
The Cajun blinked blankly at the woman.
"Mais," he finally declared. "I'm sorry, I was sucked into the horrors of middle class suburbia for a moment there. Play date?"
"Hm, I bet your little girl is so lonely. Mine are, no other girls around, except for Mae, and well, you've seen how much fun time she gets."
Leaning forward, the Lieutenant whispered. "What's with that? I mean, that woman, she wasn't even doing anything to help you out here or nothing."
"Kate has nervous breakdowns," Dolly supplied, pouring hot water in the mugs for the tea to steep, sounding very unconvinced about the validity of said breakdowns. "She often needs about a week's worth of rest."
"High maintenance, if you ask me." Eve added, the two women sharing a knowing look that spoke volumes about the hierarchy of power in Delgado's group.
The leader himself stepped into the room then, silencing everyone, standing like a sentinel at the door for a moment, before speaking.
"Sarge, Mrs. Hollander made up some beds for you and yours to get some shut eye in, figured the least we could do was offer you some real beds to sleep in," he said. "I also found some clothes for you, since you're still covered in blood."
The Lieutenant glanced down at his bloody jacket, vest, shirt and pants.
"Says a lot about the times when I didn't even notice," he remarked. "You didn't need to kick people out of their beds for us though."
"We're happy to have the allies, Sarge. Believe me, a lot of us volunteered."
"Actually," the Lieutenant said. "I'd like to look over this prisoner of yours before I get any rest."
"Fair enough."
..-~-..
..-~-..
"So, you're queer, huh?" Merle asked.
They were waiting for the Lieutenant to finish up interrogating the prisoner, standing outside with Delgado in the dark of the night.
The tall, broad shouldered soldier nodded. "Yeah."
Daryl, expecting his brother to say something bigoted and perfectly 'Merle', was shocked when his older brother nodded, seemingly okay with that information.
"So, when two of you are…like, engaging in, you know? How do you decide who pitches and who catches?" Merle asked.
Frowning, Daryl scuffed the dirt with his boot.
"I mean, do you flip coins or…?"
"You know, I never really thought of it." Delgado replied.
There was a beat in time, while the crickets chirped and the whippoorwill's cooed, before Merle went on with his questioning.
"So, which one are—"
"Pitcher."
Both Dixon's nodded, Daryl because he didn't know what to say or do and Merle because it was almost like he wasn't expecting anything but.
"Yeah," Delgado began calmly, shifting on his feet. "I love the men," he mused. "Big, burly, gruff types, a little bit older, grey hair, blue eyes, missing a limb."
Realizing what Delgado just pulled, Daryl smirked as Merle looked from the man to the ground, to the man again, mulling his words over, before shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
"You're gross," Merle stated, before moving off, heading for the house.
Daryl and Delgado watched him storm off, before the soldier quietly asked, "that's not going to bite me in the ass later, is it?"
"I think you can be sure of one thing," Daryl said simply, "he's going to keep clear of your ass from here on out."
At his side, the normally stoic man gave a small huff of laughter.
Stepping out of the shed where they were keeping the prisoner, the Lieutenant cleared his throat.
"Mais," the Cajun began, "he's not exactly a sought after dinner guest. Lacks a few manners, basic grammar skills, pretty sure a few chromosomes, and he strung together a long line of curses and swears, that…well I'm not sure if I'm more insulted that he called me 'dog-eared' or whether it's because he implied that my mother was less than virtuous with me of all people. But I didn't get anything else from him. He's a real piece of work, so it's your call."
"Yeah," Delgado said. "Well, better to take—"
Gunshots, firing from the eagle's nest in the tree Kowalski haunted, had all three men jerking their heads in the general direction.
"Son of a bitch," Delgado growled. "Those dumb sons of bitches!"
Running in the direction of the house to protect the innocents inside, Daryl followed the Lieutenant who reached behind him with difficulty and tugged his helmet from where it dangled from his pack and dropping to one knee behind an old tractor for coverage, pulled it on and secured it.
That was a sure sign of war, he figured, pressing against the corner of the farmhouse, ducking behind the safety of the porch, crouching low and hurrying for the door as the gunshots intensified as Delgado's other men joined the firefight.
The Voodoo Dialect
Rada - The loa that represents the emotional stability and warmth of Africa, the hearth of the nation. Rada derived almost directly from the Dahomean deity is highly religious in nature; rite is never celebrated without the performance of Mahi dances and without honoring and invocation of Nago gods. The Rada drumming and dancing is on beat whereas the Petro is offbeat. Rada stands for light and the normal affairs of humanity.
Surplus Imagination - You ask all the important questions. Hopefully I can answer that one in the next few chapters. ^_^
DarylDixon'sLover - Thanks.
Merle's Right Hand - I'm glad I can finally have some kick ass Carol. Damned time.
Girl in a White Dress - I hope you got some sleep. Thanks for the 'woohoo'. ^_^
missdaryldixon - Glenn needs more love and I'm hoping to give him some. Also, I agree the Lt. is kind of hot when he's being all commanding and Marine-like.
HaloHunter89 - I'm glad you like Kowalski, he kind of grew on me too.
Yazzy x - I'm thinking Glenn should have two main talents, running and getting things and imitating hillbilly's.
Brazen Hussy - Yeah, so glad they're okay...for now, indeed.
I don't think I need to say it, but in case you all forgot, you all are beautiful and darling people. Never stop being you.