Fortunately, kicking at her legs is an impulse he can avoid pretty easily.
"Good skill."
Especially now, the way things are. If she can get this hunk of garbage going it'll make up for the time he's wasting watching her knees bump the metal and more.
Why is he asking? Why does he care? But if he's like her, maybe he wants to know because it's harder to leave people dead in ditches if you know more about them. Here's hoping, anyway.
The two of them have the same problem-- they're no good at shutting their goddamn mouths when they oughta. He's talking because he wants to talk, and idle chat's easy enough.
"Up north a while. In the mountains. Headed for Atlanta when things went tits-up."
"Hills? Huh." She wants to ask about it. Should she? This doesn't feel like some other extended test, though. She's fixing a car, presumably for him, maybe he'll even leave her alone after. Presumably he's the kind of asshole who can't ask nicely. Asking where he grew up should be safe, so long as she can stand to hear another 'I'm so tough to make it out alive' story. At least this one will be new.
"And what're the hills of Georgia like? I been sticking to the roads, mostly. Flat as fuckall." Just driving around seeing signs for Atlanta, and knowing if it was anything like Nashville to stay the fuck away. No point in asking about that place.
By now it's all about the same, anyway. The cities are full of the dead. The woods are full of the dead. The roads are full of dead cars full of dead drivers, whole goddamn world's dead, outside Woodbury and the occasional asshole smart enough or lucky enough to survive.
"All the same now." He barks a laugh, sharp and humorless.
"Great sales pitch," Joan says. She grunts, and worms her way out from underneath the car, taking a moment to dust herself off before picking up the ketchup bottle. She whistles and makes a gesture with her thumb, move.
"Gonna open the hood to put this shit in. That's done with, and you got yourself a car."
"Good thing it ain't where we're goin." Not that she's taken to that pitch, either. But that's fair enough. If he hadn't been about an ass-hair's length from death himself he wouldn't've bought it, the idea of some place still intact, alive. They'll get there and she'll see, and if she's real lucky she'll get to stick around.
"Yeah, 'cause gravel roads'd fuck up all my hard work," she says, taking a shot in the dark. She opens the hood of the car and pours the liquid in-- it's easy going with a ketchup bottle. She hasn't seen a funnel since Kentucky, but she doesn't need one, for once. It's basically a miracle.
She closes the hood slowly, careful not to make any extra noise. "Start her up," she says, assuming he knows how to hotwire a car. Most people do, these days. Most living people.
If she glances up she'll catch him sneering, but he's not inclined to try to defend his hometown.
"All you," he counters. (He could hotwire it, sure, missing hand or no. What he can't do is hotwire the car and be ready to shoot her if she tries anything, and even if he'd rather not have to, they're still not at the point of trusting each other. Knowing Merle, they never will be.)
"I ain't the kinda guy that wouldn't let a lady drive."
Nothing like the end of the world to expand one's social graces, right?
"Oh, good," she grumbles, "I'm gonna get murdered by a feminist."
Still, she does what he says, and doesn't reach for her gun and make an issue of it. There goes her admittedly vain hope of him taking the car and leaving her alone, though. Maybe she could bargain?
With her head stuck under the steering wheel, playing with wires, there's not much she can do but talk. "You know," she says, "I'll give you the car. You can take it and go."
Her complaining gets a real laugh out of him, as close as anything comes to being good-natured. He's still got her scared, which makes sense. Princess ain't stupid, at least. If he doesn't trust her, it's only fair that she don't trust him.
"We got cars," he drawls back, unconcerned. Well, at least if he ends up having to kill her, he'll have got something out of it. Which means all in all this is a good day for Merle, no matter how it shakes out.
Joan rolls her eyes-- head turned away from him, that's safe for now-- and keeps fiddling with the wires. The way he just up and ignores her overly generous offer makes her feel just great. So this guy has cars? He could be lying, but if he was, he would have taken her offer. He's gotta be well stocked, where he's from.
She doesn't want to think about where he's from. The way things are going, she'll see it soon enough. Might be the last thing she ever sees.
It ain't every goddamn day you get an offer like he's making today. He can't blame her being a skeptic, but damn, she's a fighter. Whatever she's been up to... Well, it ain't his business.
But here he is asking, anyway. She's been with family, but she's not with family now. That leaves him quiet for a bit. Family's the one thing he hasn't got, and if he had that-- well, sometimes he thinks Woodbury could fucking burn and he wouldn't care.
"Somewhere you tryin' to get back to?"
He doubts it, considering that tower he found her holed up in at first. But he's gotta ask-- maybe... Well, let her answer.
She tenses, a little, and shit, she shouldn't have. He'd have seen that, if he's got any brain in him, and he's got plenty. Shit, shit, that's a tell.
But does it matter? It only matters if she wants to hide it, and... does she? She should, she's aware of that much. If Merle Dixon, renegade gentleman, has any sympathy in him (and she isn't sure), she ought to play on that, make it part of her gamble to not end up dead in a goddamn ditch somewhere.
The thought of hiding it, though, that leaves a bad taste in her mouth after what she's done to get here. If she's willing to hide who she is to get by, that's like begging, like going all meek and compliant. No, no, she won't do it. She'll remember what she is.
"No," she says, voice a little lower than she cares it to be. She pulls some asshole comment out of the back of her head to cover for it. "But that doesn't mean I wanna end up in your basement."
Merle's sympathy isn't a plentiful thing, and to be honest it's a mystery even to him what he'll latch onto and give a shit about. He's got a better poker face; he sees her flinch, but what he thinks of it, he doesn't show.
Hard to tell if she's running from what she's got or what she's lost. Don't much matter to him, he's got an answer. She's got nowhere to go.
Instead he just scoffs at that. "Check that ego, princess. Don't hurt to have a look, specially if you ain't got somewhere else to be."
"It isn't ego," she mutters through grit teeth. She pulls the last wire into place, and the car rumbles to life. "I just don't like basements."
The way the conversation's turned has robbed her of the sense of triumph she'd usually feel, having resurrected a car. The thing's working now, and from the sound of it, it's not going great, but it's something. It would have gotten her a few miles, maybe more, before she had to try another one, or start scavenging for parts.
Well, there goes that plan. "How far's Fairyland?"
Maybe not, since he's eager as hell to get back home. Slowly, he walks around to open the passenger door, though he doesn't sit just yet. She still looks like she might try to bolt.
"Tradin' a ride for a cold drink and a clean bed, it ain't so bad." He points down the road.
"Well, this thing hasn't got a ton of gas," she says, but if it's twelve hours walking, that's still enough to get them there in a car. Shit. She stares at him, clearly expecting her to climb into the driver's seat.
There's one peice of this whole stupid goddamn puzzle she's missing. Maybe she should just ask. She goes like she's going to sit, but doesn't pull herself all in the car just yet. Doesn't put her foot on the pedal, doesn't put her hand on the wheel. She waits.
"Why you want me there so bad?" She says. "I mean, besides outta the kindness of your heart." She cocks her head to the side, a flat look on her long face. Let's not shit ourselves.
Shrugging, Merle flashes another one of his broad, shallow smiles her way.
"Maybe I been out in the sun too long."
It's a fair question, though, and if they're ever gonna get on the road she needs an answer she can buy.
"We got a town. Towns, they need people." Simple as that. Not so simple, because if she doesn't fit in she's not gonna last very long, but there's no reason to scare her off. This car's running which proves she's got a shot of being useful.
"You need 'em enough to point a gun at me?" Her eyebrows rise a little. Hey, maybe he just likes pointing guns at people. She could believe it.
She wonders if she could just walk away. He'd have the car and everything; he wouldn't benefit from shooting her. But he wouldn't take a loss, either, and maybe he just likes shooting people. She could believe that, too.
She sits more properly in the car. "Fine," she says, and the low tone of her voice shows how she isn't pleased about it. "Fine, let's go to Fairyland."
"Don't take it personal," he drawls, settling easy into the passenger seat. The gun isn't going away anytime soon, either. "'s how things are, now. Anyone who ain't pointin' a gun at a stranger's probably got somethin' worse in mind."
He gestures again down the road, all the more eager to get going. Bringing back a working car, that's always handy. And more than that he's waiting to see her react when she finds out he's not completely full of shit. Woodbury might as well be Fairyland, the way things are out here. She doesn't want to believe it but as far as he's concerned, he is doing her a favor.
Joan takes her time adjusting the seat and the mirrors. It's petty revenge, but it's all she can afford at the moment. When she finally moves the car along, it runs more smoothly than she expected. It must have been abandoned more recently than she thought.
"You're pointing a gun at me. It's personal," she says, mostly for the sake of her own pride. She knows it's stupid-- you should lay aside your pride and just try to survive when you've got a potentially murderous stranger in your car-- but she's held onto her sense of self too long to let it go when everyone else is dead. Her father couldn't take it from her. Merle Dixon can't either. "The only way it's not personal is if I'm dead. That's how things are, now."
Christ, she's a pain in the ass. It's nearly enough to make him regret picking her up-- but she got this piece of crap running, and quick. That's not the kinda skill you just ignore. If playing driving instructor cheers her up, hell, let her waste a couple minutes, they'll still come out ahead.
"Stubborn as shit," he mutters, but try as he might there's a bit of approval in his tone. He's not quite ready to put his gun away, though.
"We ain't friends yet, Princess. You'll hafta deal with it."
Does she hear something like acceptance there? And then she's immediately annoyed-- if not revolted-- with herself for wanting it. Who the fuck cares what this asshole thinks? Is she really that lonely since everybody died? That starved for approval? Fuck, she hopes not.
...But she suspects that if she wasn't, she never would have gotten into this car. It's a train of thought she immediately abandons, because thinking of it too closely brings up some ugly truths about herself she doesn't want to acknowledge. Especially not when there's a fucking gun pointed at her.
She keeps driving. The car picks of speed.
"Oh, shit," she says, dry and sarcastic. Her tone lacks any real feeling. "I might cry. So where's this place, anyway? Since I'm, you know, driving you there?"
That's how this works. She doesn't give a shit what this asshole thinks and this asshole doesn't give a shit if she gives a shit. They're not friends, they're not even allies. Not yet. Maybe sometime. That's how it works. (It never really works that way.)
"A ways down the road we'll turn off. I'll tell you."
No good reason to keep secrets if he's taking her there, but it seems like it'll get on her nerves and he hasn't got anything else to amuse himself.
"Town's called Woodbury." It's something. Won't help her much, with all the signs knocked down-- they do better keeping unexpected visitors to a minimum, trying to avoid people looking to scavenge-- but maybe it'll pique her interest. Or make her admit her interest's piqued.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dealt_hand) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
what_wings_dare2014-10-20 06:48 pm
no subject
"Good skill."
Especially now, the way things are. If she can get this hunk of garbage going it'll make up for the time he's wasting watching her knees bump the metal and more.
"Where you from?"
no subject
"Right outside Louisville. You?"
no subject
"Up north a while. In the mountains. Headed for Atlanta when things went tits-up."
no subject
"And what're the hills of Georgia like? I been sticking to the roads, mostly. Flat as fuckall." Just driving around seeing signs for Atlanta, and knowing if it was anything like Nashville to stay the fuck away. No point in asking about that place.
no subject
By now it's all about the same, anyway. The cities are full of the dead. The woods are full of the dead. The roads are full of dead cars full of dead drivers, whole goddamn world's dead, outside Woodbury and the occasional asshole smart enough or lucky enough to survive.
"All the same now." He barks a laugh, sharp and humorless.
no subject
"Gonna open the hood to put this shit in. That's done with, and you got yourself a car."
no subject
He nods at the hood. Get to it, girl.
no subject
She closes the hood slowly, careful not to make any extra noise. "Start her up," she says, assuming he knows how to hotwire a car. Most people do, these days. Most living people.
She wonders if he can, one-handed.
no subject
"All you," he counters. (He could hotwire it, sure, missing hand or no. What he can't do is hotwire the car and be ready to shoot her if she tries anything, and even if he'd rather not have to, they're still not at the point of trusting each other. Knowing Merle, they never will be.)
"I ain't the kinda guy that wouldn't let a lady drive."
Nothing like the end of the world to expand one's social graces, right?
no subject
Still, she does what he says, and doesn't reach for her gun and make an issue of it. There goes her admittedly vain hope of him taking the car and leaving her alone, though. Maybe she could bargain?
With her head stuck under the steering wheel, playing with wires, there's not much she can do but talk. "You know," she says, "I'll give you the car. You can take it and go."
no subject
"We got cars," he drawls back, unconcerned. Well, at least if he ends up having to kill her, he'll have got something out of it. Which means all in all this is a good day for Merle, no matter how it shakes out.
"You ain't never been with a group?"
no subject
She doesn't want to think about where he's from. The way things are going, she'll see it soon enough. Might be the last thing she ever sees.
"Been with family since Kentucky."
no subject
But here he is asking, anyway. She's been with family, but she's not with family now. That leaves him quiet for a bit. Family's the one thing he hasn't got, and if he had that-- well, sometimes he thinks Woodbury could fucking burn and he wouldn't care.
"Somewhere you tryin' to get back to?"
He doubts it, considering that tower he found her holed up in at first. But he's gotta ask-- maybe... Well, let her answer.
no subject
But does it matter? It only matters if she wants to hide it, and... does she? She should, she's aware of that much. If Merle Dixon, renegade gentleman, has any sympathy in him (and she isn't sure), she ought to play on that, make it part of her gamble to not end up dead in a goddamn ditch somewhere.
The thought of hiding it, though, that leaves a bad taste in her mouth after what she's done to get here. If she's willing to hide who she is to get by, that's like begging, like going all meek and compliant. No, no, she won't do it. She'll remember what she is.
"No," she says, voice a little lower than she cares it to be. She pulls some asshole comment out of the back of her head to cover for it. "But that doesn't mean I wanna end up in your basement."
no subject
Hard to tell if she's running from what she's got or what she's lost. Don't much matter to him, he's got an answer. She's got nowhere to go.
Instead he just scoffs at that. "Check that ego, princess. Don't hurt to have a look, specially if you ain't got somewhere else to be."
no subject
The way the conversation's turned has robbed her of the sense of triumph she'd usually feel, having resurrected a car. The thing's working now, and from the sound of it, it's not going great, but it's something. It would have gotten her a few miles, maybe more, before she had to try another one, or start scavenging for parts.
Well, there goes that plan. "How far's Fairyland?"
no subject
Maybe not, since he's eager as hell to get back home. Slowly, he walks around to open the passenger door, though he doesn't sit just yet. She still looks like she might try to bolt.
"Tradin' a ride for a cold drink and a clean bed, it ain't so bad." He points down the road.
no subject
There's one peice of this whole stupid goddamn puzzle she's missing. Maybe she should just ask. She goes like she's going to sit, but doesn't pull herself all in the car just yet. Doesn't put her foot on the pedal, doesn't put her hand on the wheel. She waits.
"Why you want me there so bad?" She says. "I mean, besides outta the kindness of your heart." She cocks her head to the side, a flat look on her long face. Let's not shit ourselves.
no subject
"Maybe I been out in the sun too long."
It's a fair question, though, and if they're ever gonna get on the road she needs an answer she can buy.
"We got a town. Towns, they need people." Simple as that. Not so simple, because if she doesn't fit in she's not gonna last very long, but there's no reason to scare her off. This car's running which proves she's got a shot of being useful.
"Dunno if you noticed there ain't so many left."
no subject
She wonders if she could just walk away. He'd have the car and everything; he wouldn't benefit from shooting her. But he wouldn't take a loss, either, and maybe he just likes shooting people. She could believe that, too.
She sits more properly in the car. "Fine," she says, and the low tone of her voice shows how she isn't pleased about it. "Fine, let's go to Fairyland."
no subject
He gestures again down the road, all the more eager to get going. Bringing back a working car, that's always handy. And more than that he's waiting to see her react when she finds out he's not completely full of shit. Woodbury might as well be Fairyland, the way things are out here. She doesn't want to believe it but as far as he's concerned, he is doing her a favor.
no subject
"You're pointing a gun at me. It's personal," she says, mostly for the sake of her own pride. She knows it's stupid-- you should lay aside your pride and just try to survive when you've got a potentially murderous stranger in your car-- but she's held onto her sense of self too long to let it go when everyone else is dead. Her father couldn't take it from her. Merle Dixon can't either. "The only way it's not personal is if I'm dead. That's how things are, now."
no subject
"Stubborn as shit," he mutters, but try as he might there's a bit of approval in his tone. He's not quite ready to put his gun away, though.
"We ain't friends yet, Princess. You'll hafta deal with it."
no subject
...But she suspects that if she wasn't, she never would have gotten into this car. It's a train of thought she immediately abandons, because thinking of it too closely brings up some ugly truths about herself she doesn't want to acknowledge. Especially not when there's a fucking gun pointed at her.
She keeps driving. The car picks of speed.
"Oh, shit," she says, dry and sarcastic. Her tone lacks any real feeling. "I might cry. So where's this place, anyway? Since I'm, you know, driving you there?"
no subject
"A ways down the road we'll turn off. I'll tell you."
No good reason to keep secrets if he's taking her there, but it seems like it'll get on her nerves and he hasn't got anything else to amuse himself.
"Town's called Woodbury." It's something. Won't help her much, with all the signs knocked down-- they do better keeping unexpected visitors to a minimum, trying to avoid people looking to scavenge-- but maybe it'll pique her interest. Or make her admit her interest's piqued.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)