Tala was light on her feet.

It was a skill honed due to a desire for freedom and parents who kept a tight leash. She knew how to walk on her toes, scuffling with bare feet on polished wood and slipping away from suffocating walls into the exhilarating liberty that only the fresh night air can provide. (Granted, she didn't do much. Just walk around the dark village streets feeding stray cats until she felt tired enough to sleep.)

It was a skill that had proven itself useful in the apocalypse.

She recognized the bleached hair of the woman who tended cashier 34. She was nice, Tala remembered, eager to smile and did not snap at her when she spent more than two minutes digging for loose coins down the pockets of her jeans. The tag pinned on her uniform announced to the world -or at least to Tala- that she was Jane.

Jane with her sunken eyes and bloody torn scalp did not hear Tala as the girl swept past her and into the teens' section of the store.

Merle was woken up by clothes thrown at his face. Immediately, he spewed on threats of great violence towards his no-good baby brother. He was gonna get a fist up his ass that's what he's gonna get, beat him bloody and then-

"Who's Darleena?"

The voice, though low and quiet, was definitely not his brother's. Also, definitely not male.

Merle was on his feet before the girl could even take her next breath. He pushed her down to the floor, barely noticing the squeak of pain as her shoulders landed first. Short nails clawed at the handless arm that he kept across her throat. Dark eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she struggled to scream or breath, Merle didn't know.

Tala.

The name bounced back in his head at the same time he noticed his apparent lack of an appendage. (Goddamn, he could use a hit.) The little burst of self-pity made him want to make her hurt so he let her struggle for just a second longer before easing up on the pressure on her throat.

"Teach ya not to come up behind hunters, girl." He grinned at the dirty look she sent him. He noticed she had changed into a pair of jeans, some rubber-soled shoes, black tank top underneath an unbuttoned red flannel shirt. The long straight hair used to be bunched up and hidden underneath a dark blue baseball cap now spilled all over the floor. He felt a few strands underneath the palm supporting him and could almost feel the pain she felt as they pulled on her scalp. "All dressed up for the end of the world, huh?" He pointed at her tender throat, cradled by recently washed hands. "Gonna bruise."

"Get up."

Merle let up, slower than he could just to make her more uncomfortable. She was itching to push him off, he could tell, but had wagered not to in case she pissed him off more. Smart girl.

"Asshole." She managed to croak out.

Merle extended his arms, brandishing himself with glee. "As advertised."

Tala scrutinized him.

Merle spent that time scrutinizing her back. She was a tubby thing. Her face was round and full, with lips that hinted just a bit of a Cupid's bow. Her ratty fringe clung in weird clumps all over her forehead. She looked tired, weary and Merle almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Apparently, he passed some sort of test (or maybe she realized she was all out of choices) because she spoke again. Merle found himself sadistically enjoying the slight rasp that remained on her voice. "Who's Darleena?"

"Baby brother." Merle did not expound and she was too busy accounting all the new bruises in her body to care.

"Stupid name." was all she managed to retort. Her throat was tender, her shoulders were sore, and her tail bone was hurting like a nothing else she could remember. Damn, she was a sheltered bitch, wasn't she?

She was apparently also a bit boring because when she returned her gaze to the older man, (His name was Merle, right? What kind of name was that? Stupid names must run in the family.) he had lost any and all interest in her and was looking at his stump, picking at it with his remaining hand.

To be fair, she would also have been more interested with a recently amputated hand than a clumsy sheltered stranger girl.

She pushed herself to her feet, hearing her joints creak in protest. "I'm Tala." She brushed the dust off her new jeans. "In case you forgot. You're Merle, yes?"

"Good ol' Merle Fucking Dixon." He replied. All the nitpicking had his wound opening up again.

Tala cursed herself for thinking of clothes and not thinking of bandages. She's got some rubbing alcohol on her bag. That would have to do. Normally, she wouldn't care. He could bleed out or get infected by all kinds of creepy superbugs. But there were reanimated corpses walking outside intent on eating her flesh and she knew she wouldn't survive by herself. Merle looked rough, and scary, like the typical hooligan her mom always warned her about, but he was all she had. And hooligans seemed like the best end of the world companion anyhow. She needed him. And he didn't seem that dangerous. Just a tad unstable. She was unscathed, wasn't she? Except for that whole pinning-her-to-the-floor business but Tala was willing to concede her fault on that point. With a sigh, she pulled out a silk handkerchief she had picked up on a whim and stepped closer to the redneck. (Silk handkerchief? What was she thinking? Vanity would kill her someday.)

Merle eyed her suspiciously when she came closer and rummaged through the small bag by his feet. She brandished the small cloth and the bottle of alcohol like weapons against his narrowed eyes. "May I?"

"Don't think your scrap's gonna help much."

She shrugged. "Gotta be better than nothing right?"

Merle did not agree but he let her play doctor on his stump anyway.