Title: Dinner for Two
It must take place in the watchtower.
Somewhere in your story, you must include a shoebox, toothbrush, purple scarf and a rubber duck.
Somewhere in your story, the phrase "deer are [fucking] majestic" must be included.
Flavor: The Walking Dead
Synopsis: Daryl is in the hunt. Carol prepares a bath. Both spend a calm dinner in the watchtower.
Characters: Carol Peletier + Daryl Dixon
Word Count: 1300
A/N 1: Takes place after season 3.
A/N 2: Written for the USS Carly Contest.
Scoring (x of 5) by the First Mate of USS Carly:
- Ideas & Content: 3
- Organization: 3
- Voice: 2
- Word Choice: 2
- Sentence Fluency: 3
- In Character: 2
- Grammar: 3
- Total: 18
Disclaimer: I earn no money from this thing, nor do I profit in any other way from it. Involved persons are only borrowed and always go back to their owner.
The sun glistened in the emerald pond and the birds welcomed the new day with loud chirping. A soft breeze purred through the tree tops, spraying Daryl with fresh water drops and only one walker growl was audible. The hunter loved to be alone in the woods in the early morning, even when it had rained all night long and mud stuck under his soles.
Daryl shot the rotting un-dead only with one eye of visibility. Long sweaty bangs covered the other half of his face.
"Damn." Daryl shoved the hair back behind his ears. He couldn't risk his vision when hunting alone.
A branch cracked and Daryl turned around. A superb roe buck crossed the dew covered glade.
Mhm yum, Bambi. Come to daddy. Daryl aimed at the big animal which would feed all the hungry mouths of the prison for a few days. As he fired the crossbow, the next gust got caught in his hair, shielding his view. The arrow missed by many inches and the deer jumped in the next brush.
With a grunt, Daryl felt for his right back pocket, drying his wet palms. Out of the left pocket he pulled a long, purple silk scarf he had sneaked from a shoebox of Carol's wardrobe as he left the prison before dawn. He wrapped the fabric around his head like a bandana.
Daryl rolled his eyes. He would look like a gay version of Rambo, but at least his hair didn't bother him any longer. A cut was past-due.
Hopefully not one of Lil' Asskicker's diapers crossed Daryl's mind for a brief moment as he followed the deer on soft feet, deeper in the dark woods.
Sticky sweat ran down Daryl's back. The hot morning turned into a boiling and humid day. Welcome to Georgia's summer. The dead deer on his shoulders got heavier with each step back to the prison. His mired boots didn't help either. If one of the new prison-mates would dare to say - Deer are majestic. I won't eat it. – he or she wouldn't win the staring contest Daryl would begin. They should be a little grateful for the fresh meat. Hard enough to feed all of them even without exhausting discussions.
The buzzing bugs devoured him – damn bloodsuckers. Daryl rolled his shoulders and shifted the dead animal, trying to scratch his neck at the fur. Thank God the prison rose up. He didn't know if he could stand the relentless sun any longer. Just over the overgrown bridge and along the gritty and dusty driveway, and Daryl could put down the weight and rest in the cool shadow of the prison.
He was glad that they had repaired the gates and cleared the yard. No more running the gauntlet to reach the safe walls any longer. Plus, he had Carol as his guard on the last steps. He only saw a silhouette against the blinding sun but the red shirt on the watch tower revealed her.
"Shit." He snatched off the 'borrowed' scarf.
Daryl's arrival wasn't unnoticed. As he crossed the second gate Michonne met him half way. This new guy Tyreese and his sister short behind. What a relief to pass the deer. The tall ex-football player handled the 40 pounds of dead meat without much effort.
"Yum, looks like we'll have a barbecue tonight," Sasha exclaimed.
"Will check what we can use as a grill," Michonne added, short-spoken.
Daryl stumbled around the corner toward a calm area of the prison court. The hunt had exhausted him more than expected. In the shadow of a derelict and burnt out watchtower stood an old metal tub filled with water and foam, a rubber duck softly bobbed on the surface. He also noted a big towel and clean clothes on a nearby pallet.
Daryl laughed to himself. This woman was good, really good. He just wanted to wash himself in one of the rusty water barrels at the end of a drain and now he found a full bubble bath with lukewarm water and garments to change into. How did she know and how did she makes this happen? With all his clothes on Daryl sank down in the tub, his head and limbs dangling over the frame.
First he watched the yellow duck swaying on the foamy waves he caused. As he was sure no one would disturb him, Daryl peeled out of his shirt and the pants, scrubbing his itching skin. The air riddled with the delicious smell of the frizzling deer. Daryl's mouth watered, but he would stay a little longer in the languorous surrounding.
The night settled over the prison. In the west the sky showed a breathtaking rosé and in the east the first stars twinkled at the dark blue firmament. Daryl rested safe and sound against the balustrade of the last intact watchtower. The iron stairs squeaked and Daryl knew Carol would visit his watch. They hadn't met the whole day and Daryl missed her company more than he would admit. He turned at the same moment the glass door swung open.
"I already had my portion," Daryl said, and nodded to the dish full of cross deer roast and freshly baked bread Carol carried.
She shook her head with a warm smile and replied, "I saw that you had only three bites before leaving for watch."
Daryl just shrugged his shoulders but his stomach betrayed on his coolness with a loud growl.
Carol sank down to the floor and crossed her legs. She took a long and juicy slice of meat and put it in her mouth with pleasure. "It's not all for you," she said, licking her lips. "I also haven't had dinner yet."
Daryl gave up and sat next to Carol, dangling his legs over the platform. He reached for the meat and both enjoyed their dinner in the silent but comfortable company of the other.
"We should have this more often," Daryl dabbed his greasy lips, bumping slightly against Carol.
"Dinner, just the two of us."
Carol nodded her agreement.
"I miss the silence and blind understanding of our group. Feels like I have to explain every thing and tiny step nowadays."
The humming of a midge at his ear led Daryl to scratch his neck and shoulders again. The insect bites got to him more than usual.
"Don't," Carol said, and stroked with cold fingertips over his heated and swollen skin. So good. "You'll scratch it bloody. Don't risk an infection."
"But!" Daryl wanted to protest.
"Use a toothbrush. It won't irritate your skin so much but helps against the itching."
Daryl raised his eyebrows.
"Trust me, it will work."
"Cold river mud is my remedy."
"Maybe river mud applied with a toothbrush would be the perfect combination," Carol added.
Daryl snorted. "Yeah, we should make our own business."
"Daryl's and Carol's bug bite tincture and scratch tools."
Both burst out laughing.
"But no mud after bathing. You can't imagine how much effort it was to prepare the tub," Carol warned him playfully, getting closer.
"Thank you," Daryl replied like a school boy. "Where did you find the rubber duck?"
"A girl shouldn't tell all her secrets."
"Mh." Daryl fiddled with the blue scarf which was wrapped around Carol's head. He held his breath because his friend got even closer.
"You swiped the purple one, didn't you?" Carol said with trembling voice. The hunter's delicate scent tickled her nose, his body heat surrounded her.
Daryl gulped as Carol moved her hands through his hair, stroking the bangs behind his ear.
"Should I cut it tomorrow?"
Daryl could only nod. His chest got so tight. "I...I missed you, t...today."
"Me, too," Carol replied, before her lips met Daryl's cheeks and forehead and chin and then everything swirled around and a blue scarf fluttered slowly to the court.