Joan is well-versed in catching the signs of anger rising in older men. Some part of her tenses, preparing for the next stages. Her foot hovers over the break, because she won't be able to see, but she can't stop the car now, or she'll give up her chance to strike back, and end up defending, uselessly cornered before she's been pinned down. She waits, and the cues rise and fall. His anger doesn't extend to her.
She's not sure how she feels about that, either. But it's sharpened her focus, at least; the little rush of adrenaline makes her mind move quicker. She sets aside the philosophical concerns she was childishly chewing at-- could she ever be that angry at someone for hurting her? Luke, sure, but her? If it was family, maybe, but if it wasn't? And who's to say whoever chained Merle up wasn't family? That's the kind of personal stuff you keep between relatives-- and focus more on her driving. She angles the rustbucket around a larger group of loons, probably on their way to herd up with the cluster from earlier.
Whatever the truth of Merle's story is, she decides she doesn't want to know any more. Not now, anyway. It's not that his tales are gruesome. It's that they aren't.
"And now you round up stray orphans out of the kindness of your heart?"
"Yeah, 's me. Goddamn good Samaritan," he chuckles.
There's something funny about her-- about the questions she asks and the ones she doesn't. It's a passing curiosity, that's all; these days anyone who's left is bound to be fucked up. Part of why he doesn't mind admitting to the fucked up shit he's been through. It's just how things are.
Maybe if she makes the grade, someday, he'll figure out what the hell's up with her. (Easy enough to brush it off, now; he doesn't give a shit, he's just got nothin better to do on a car ride than wonder.)
"Whatcha gonna do if you don't stick around?"
Now that, it's gonna be pure fantasy on her part. But no matter.
"I'm not sticking around," Joan says immediately. That's important to say, not for him, not even for herself. It's just a declaration of intent. She won't be broken by ease, and she won't hide her aims. She won't be broken.
But his question's a good one. She doesn't say the first thought that pops into her head, I'm gonna get the hell away from you. There's just no point in antagonizing him. She can tell he's not the kind of person to hit when he could do something worse, and she hasn't gotten to worse yet, but it's probably either fatal, or the kind of thing you wish was.
(If she was a good daughter, she'd say, I'd find out of mom's still alive, but she's not, so she doesn't.)
"And I dunno," she says, "but whatever it is, I'll be in charge of it."
Funny thing is she doesn't say it, but he could guess it. Her dislike is radiant; she's like a cat with all its fur puffed up, whether or not she glares out of the corner of her eyes at him. If that kinda thing bothered him-- well, if it did, he wouldn't be the sort of man to more-or-less kidnap her for Woodbury, so who gives a shit.
She's got a lot of fight in her, and more than warm bodies or mechanic skills, that's what they need. The town is full of good folk but a lot of them, they've never been fighters. They got lucky and found somewhere that hasn't fallen yet. And what they do, the way they keep normal alive, it's important-- but they need defense, too.
"Probably've said the same thing myself," he says at length, with a chuckle. Mostly to annoy her, if he's honest.
It annoys her, but in an unexpected way. Merle is a dangerous man, but Joan can deal with dangerous men. The fact that he ascribes, in some way, to her personal philosophy just backs that up. She may not like it, but she belongs, in her mind, to the same breed of creature he is. It fits, because she never liked who she was anyway.
But what rankles is the inconsistency. If he cares about living under his own banner, making his own life truly his, then that means... she'd guessed he was comfortable in the kind of place they're going, but she'd hoped to Christ Almighty he wasn't in charge of it.
She tries to keep a note of fear from her voice, covering her tone in disdain instead: "Don't tell me," she says, "you're King Big Dick of Fairyland."
Rolling his eyes, he glances out the window, then back at her. Makes sense that she'd ask, maybe; he's close enough to the Governor to be in the habit of assuming some authority. But he's not in charge of anything, not really, not without orders.
He never used to do well with authority, hierarchy. But shit's different now and he's not dead, which means he's not stupid.
"I owed 'em," he admits. That's not his favorite thing to have to say, but it's true enough that it's not worth lying. "'Sides that, it worked out."
Joan opens her mouth, and then promptly closes it. For once, she admonishes herself, think before you fucking talk.
Because, loathe as she is to admit it, there's honor in paying your dues. If you end up under someone's thumb because they saved your life, it's not the same as being someone else's chewtoy. She can relent, at least, to the logic of it.
And at least she knows not to dig around deeper about owing people. She doesn't want more of his sob story, from fear that she's goddamn empathize with him. Again.
"So who is in charge?" Someone who could keep Merle Dixon in line, is who. Someone smart, and strong, and fucking patient.
It gets something closer to a real smile, tight-lipped though still totally fucking obnoxious, like he knows things she doesn't. Because, you know, he does. Mostly he knows she's really not prepared for where they're going, no matter how much she tries to steel herself for it.
"Call him the Governor. Probably be the one to give you your tour."
Joan scowls at him through the rear view mirror, not liking one bit the victorious expression on his fucking face. She isn't sure exactly what that means, only that it's definitely not good news for her.
Maybe this one isn't the rapist. Maybe it's his shithead friend. Or maybe they're cannibals. Maybe they just like to torture kids for kicks. There are all kinds of reasons he could want to drag her back to his weird little enclave. Fucking Woodbury. She hates how unassuming it sounds.
If-- when?-- they try to take her gun, she'll claw out their eyes.
"Shouldn't he have better shit to do? Or is he running low on teenagers to boss around with you gone so long?"
Of course, when she's scared, she bites. Christ. At least if she dies, she'll probably deserve it.
Weirdly this is probably the calmest Merle could be in this situation. He's always taken a certain malicious joy in setting people off-balance; these days he's just better about not being a total prick of it. All it took was the apocalypse to make him sort of almost capable of being a team player.
Sometimes.
"Wouldja feel better if I told you he files his teeth sharp and wears thongs made'f human skin?"
She gives him an unimpressed glare, her expression flat and annoyed. She wants to say something like, 'I'm not a little kid', except she's suddenly reminded of a scene in that David Bowie movie Luke liked, and it makes her want to bang her head into the window. This is all such a pointless, stupid, messy way to die. At least nobody in her family's alive to see it.
She keeps driving. "It'd make me feel better if you said something actually useful," she grumbles, "but then you'd probably be lying. How far are we?"
Might as well get her gruesome murder over with. Prepare for the worst, hope they don't take your gun.
"Been tellin you plenty," he counters, just as dry as ever. Jesus Christ, he's been more honest by accident in the past hour than in a typical week, just because it's annoying her. She's a terrible influence.
She groans and rolls her eyes, right on time. Far be it from a teenager to hold back signs of annoyance and aggravation. Bit it's better than wondering all the different ways she's going to die by this goon's friend's hands. Whatever's waiting for her... at this point, she just wants to meet it full on. Die with her fists up. It's how everybody else has so far. It's almost fitting.
"The anticipation of being brutally murdered by strangers is just killing me."
"We got a town. People, families. Mouths to feed. There ain't time for fancy murders."
Is he kidding? Not kidding? Who knows. He figures it won't make much of a difference. Joan seems like one of those people who's gonna be unsatisfied with anything she's told.
At this point, she'd have to be a real fucking idiot not to know she's being toyed with. Knowing that should nullify her frustration. He wants her to be frustrated, so that should negate any annoyance she feels. But life just doesn't work that way. She tries to keep from grinding her teeth.
"You talk like I wanna end up in some little-- town." Some little place. Some little suburb. "Fuck those places."
"Can't make it with people, either," she snaps back too quickly for it to be anything but the truth. Her truth, anyway. "Good people're all dead. Rather be alone than..." She shakes her head. She's not going to talk about... whatever she feels edging up under her skin. Not with this prick.
Well, it's not like Merle can really claim he's the good people. Most of Woodbury... she's not gonna buy anything he says, though, so he doesn't bother. Time will tell; she'll meet them and she'll make up her mind, he figures.
And because she's not wrong, and he's kind of a prick, he doesn't bother answering her question. They've already driven past the right turnoff, but like hell was he gonna make it easy. They'll drop the car off, lose any biters, and hike back.
"Turn off here," he says abruptly, a few minutes later.
So she does without an argument. There's nothing to argue. She's still got her gun. For now, she's living large.
The car wheezes onto a frontage road, and she keeps an eye out for any signs advertising a place called Woodbury. She thinks she saw some, now that he's mentioned it, but she can't recall where. "What is this, the best kept secret in Georgia?" You suck at giving directions.
If she's trying to get a rise out of him, she'll have to make do with another shit-eating grin.
"Park anywhere you like, sugar, we're walkin'."
And if she behaves, he won't have to shoot her. He's trying to be polite and not even threaten to shoot her. He figures that's gonna last about eight seconds.
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what_wings_dare2014-10-20 06:48 pm
no subject
She's not sure how she feels about that, either. But it's sharpened her focus, at least; the little rush of adrenaline makes her mind move quicker. She sets aside the philosophical concerns she was childishly chewing at-- could she ever be that angry at someone for hurting her? Luke, sure, but her? If it was family, maybe, but if it wasn't? And who's to say whoever chained Merle up wasn't family? That's the kind of personal stuff you keep between relatives-- and focus more on her driving. She angles the rustbucket around a larger group of loons, probably on their way to herd up with the cluster from earlier.
Whatever the truth of Merle's story is, she decides she doesn't want to know any more. Not now, anyway. It's not that his tales are gruesome. It's that they aren't.
"And now you round up stray orphans out of the kindness of your heart?"
no subject
There's something funny about her-- about the questions she asks and the ones she doesn't. It's a passing curiosity, that's all; these days anyone who's left is bound to be fucked up. Part of why he doesn't mind admitting to the fucked up shit he's been through. It's just how things are.
Maybe if she makes the grade, someday, he'll figure out what the hell's up with her. (Easy enough to brush it off, now; he doesn't give a shit, he's just got nothin better to do on a car ride than wonder.)
"Whatcha gonna do if you don't stick around?"
Now that, it's gonna be pure fantasy on her part. But no matter.
no subject
But his question's a good one. She doesn't say the first thought that pops into her head, I'm gonna get the hell away from you. There's just no point in antagonizing him. She can tell he's not the kind of person to hit when he could do something worse, and she hasn't gotten to worse yet, but it's probably either fatal, or the kind of thing you wish was.
(If she was a good daughter, she'd say, I'd find out of mom's still alive, but she's not, so she doesn't.)
"And I dunno," she says, "but whatever it is, I'll be in charge of it."
no subject
She's got a lot of fight in her, and more than warm bodies or mechanic skills, that's what they need. The town is full of good folk but a lot of them, they've never been fighters. They got lucky and found somewhere that hasn't fallen yet. And what they do, the way they keep normal alive, it's important-- but they need defense, too.
"Probably've said the same thing myself," he says at length, with a chuckle. Mostly to annoy her, if he's honest.
no subject
But what rankles is the inconsistency. If he cares about living under his own banner, making his own life truly his, then that means... she'd guessed he was comfortable in the kind of place they're going, but she'd hoped to Christ Almighty he wasn't in charge of it.
She tries to keep a note of fear from her voice, covering her tone in disdain instead: "Don't tell me," she says, "you're King Big Dick of Fairyland."
no subject
Rolling his eyes, he glances out the window, then back at her. Makes sense that she'd ask, maybe; he's close enough to the Governor to be in the habit of assuming some authority. But he's not in charge of anything, not really, not without orders.
He never used to do well with authority, hierarchy. But shit's different now and he's not dead, which means he's not stupid.
"I owed 'em," he admits. That's not his favorite thing to have to say, but it's true enough that it's not worth lying. "'Sides that, it worked out."
no subject
Because, loathe as she is to admit it, there's honor in paying your dues. If you end up under someone's thumb because they saved your life, it's not the same as being someone else's chewtoy. She can relent, at least, to the logic of it.
And at least she knows not to dig around deeper about owing people. She doesn't want more of his sob story, from fear that she's goddamn empathize with him. Again.
"So who is in charge?" Someone who could keep Merle Dixon in line, is who. Someone smart, and strong, and fucking patient.
no subject
"Call him the Governor. Probably be the one to give you your tour."
no subject
Maybe this one isn't the rapist. Maybe it's his shithead friend. Or maybe they're cannibals. Maybe they just like to torture kids for kicks. There are all kinds of reasons he could want to drag her back to his weird little enclave. Fucking Woodbury. She hates how unassuming it sounds.
If-- when?-- they try to take her gun, she'll claw out their eyes.
"Shouldn't he have better shit to do? Or is he running low on teenagers to boss around with you gone so long?"
Of course, when she's scared, she bites. Christ. At least if she dies, she'll probably deserve it.
no subject
Weirdly this is probably the calmest Merle could be in this situation. He's always taken a certain malicious joy in setting people off-balance; these days he's just better about not being a total prick of it. All it took was the apocalypse to make him sort of almost capable of being a team player.
Sometimes.
"Wouldja feel better if I told you he files his teeth sharp and wears thongs made'f human skin?"
no subject
She keeps driving. "It'd make me feel better if you said something actually useful," she grumbles, "but then you'd probably be lying. How far are we?"
Might as well get her gruesome murder over with. Prepare for the worst, hope they don't take your gun.
no subject
"Thought you weren't in a hurry?"
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"The anticipation of being brutally murdered by strangers is just killing me."
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Is he kidding? Not kidding? Who knows. He figures it won't make much of a difference. Joan seems like one of those people who's gonna be unsatisfied with anything she's told.
"You're not gonna do better, princess."
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"You talk like I wanna end up in some little-- town." Some little place. Some little suburb. "Fuck those places."
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"Things ain't like they used to be." He shrugs. "Can't make it the same on your own."
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"How close is it?"
no subject
And because she's not wrong, and he's kind of a prick, he doesn't bother answering her question. They've already driven past the right turnoff, but like hell was he gonna make it easy. They'll drop the car off, lose any biters, and hike back.
"Turn off here," he says abruptly, a few minutes later.
no subject
The car wheezes onto a frontage road, and she keeps an eye out for any signs advertising a place called Woodbury. She thinks she saw some, now that he's mentioned it, but she can't recall where. "What is this, the best kept secret in Georgia?" You suck at giving directions.
no subject
"Park anywhere you like, sugar, we're walkin'."
And if she behaves, he won't have to shoot her. He's trying to be polite and not even threaten to shoot her. He figures that's gonna last about eight seconds.