Quarter!
Word Count - 2,800
Perspective - 2nd person
When - the Quarry. Same universe as Slowpoke and Deal. Find the Slowpoke Series and other stuff here!
Relationships - you and the gang! But this one mainly features the kiddos: our boy Carl, Sophia, and the two Morales children Eliza and Luis. There is no Daryl crush quite yet, but it follows the development and arc of his character, including how "you” perceive him.
Genre - nice and fluffy (though Daryl still should have used the pillow)
Pronouns - not technically mentioned again
TWs - language including the f-bomb, and allusions to spousal and parental abuse (Ed Pelletier)
“Will you tell me honestly?”
“Always Carl, what’s up?” you tell him.
“I think it’s cool and all, but are we gonna use stuff this in the real world?”
You shoot him a mischievous look. “Bored, punk?”
That made Luis giggle.
“Not too bored.” Carl smiled and tilted his head. “Just...wondering.”
Sophia speaks up, voice quiet as always. “My mom says we’re learning these things now, because they’re the, um, the foundation for the more bigger stuff we can learn later.”
“My papi said the same thing!” Eliza jumped in. “Learning about angles is what we need if we want to build buildings!”
“Or bridges and stuff!” Sophia added excitedly.
“Heck yes, girls, exactly! You two ladies thinkin’ about becoming architects?” you ask them. “Ms. Jacqui works in something to do with buildings and such, y’all should chat!”
“Maybe,” Sophia responds first. “I sort of want to be a policeman – well, policewoman – or a detective or something. Then I could stop bad guys from hurting people and stuff.”
You tamp down the rage that you felt bubbling up regarding that little girl’s trashcan of a father.
“Did you, um,” you stop to clear your throat and remind yourself to stay calm. “You talk to my brother yet, honey? Mr. Walsh a cop.” You lift your shoulders and smile. “He could tell you all about it.”
“He was cop partners with your daddy, right Carl?” Luis asks.
“Y-yeah...”
You don’t need to look to know that Carl’s expression had fallen. You could hear it in that response.
The kids did too.
“I’m sorry your daddy died, Carl. I would hate to lose my papi,” Luis tries to comfort him. “Yo, I have a pudding cup I’ve been saving. Do you want to share it? It’s chocolate!”
Then you hear Eliza then whisper to Sophia “You can sleep in our tent again tonight if you want. Maybe your mama can come if she doesn’t want him yelling at her more.”
Oh fuck, how had a – oops! You meant “oh fudge.” If you’d said that word out loud, you’d owe each kid a quarter. Rules is rules.
But really, how had finishing a math lesson turned into this? You glance around hoping to see one of their parents who could help (minus Ed. If he disappeared and never returned, good. You’d only feel sadness for Carol, because she would blame herself. Battered women usually think that they deserved the hurt or that it doesn’t matter).
Anyways, you’d taken over the schooling for the rest of the morning and are pretty much on your own for the moment, it seems. Carol had taken kitchen duty, and Lori was with Miranda doing either laundry duty or water duty, and you knew that Mr. Morales was on another run. And forget Shane.
You love your big brother, but he’d probably get them to ditch school early with him to go catch frogs or listen to Led Zeppelin or something. He’s fun like that. When you were little, he’d picked you up from school on more than one occasion to take you to the movies, swimming, shooting range, or to get hush puppies and fried catfish.
Yeah naw, you are gonna have to handle this yourself. Amy helps out sometimes, but she’s doing something with Andrea. Cleaning out that canoe, you think…
Yeah nope, you are solo for this one.
But it’s no big thing, you tell yourself. They’ve already been living through a worldwide pandemic that lead to society collapsing. And you know how to be honest with kids in a delicate way, if the situation got sticky. And having a deceased parent is something that’s become more than very common.
Having an abusive one, on the other hand…
Ugh. You hate this. You hate Ed. May he fall off the quarry edge and drown.
Okay. Back to it, you tell yourself. Revert the subject back to schoolwork in a non-awkward and non-dismissive way. Later, you’d offer to Carol to have Sophia share your tent again, if she didn’t have another sleepover with Eliza. If only Carol would share your tent, too…
Ugh! Shane had warned you against getting too involved in their situation. So had Dale. But how could you not want to?
Yes, you understand that the fallout for Carol and Sophia is the worry. But you also know that Shane is right there with you in wanting to break both of Ed’s filthy hands and maybe his face while you were at it.
Whoa. Calm down.
You try to remind yourself that every person is capable of redemption...ugh...
“Alright, kiddos. Eliza, Carl, and Sophia, no more skirting around your geometry. And how are you feelin’ about your times tables, little man?” you direct at Luis. “Did you wanna go over them again?”
“I wanna go over them with mama later,” Luis decides.
“You know what I want to do later? I want to build a twig cabin to put daddy longlegs in.”
“Oo I like that, that would be so cool! But no spiders!”
You consider...“Carl, you are totally gonna build a twig cabin because like Eliza just said, that would be so cool,” you begin, feeling your mood perk back up. You grin at the kids.
“So your homework is to do just that, okay? Count how many sticks you use. Be as imaginative as you want, just keep this in mind: we’re gonna count and measure every stick used, and measure the angles of the walls and the roof.”
“How come? Is that part of a test?”
“Yes indeed, Miss Sophia: we’re gonna test ‘em out tomorrow by putting a jug of water on top to see how strong they are. So what do y’all say, sound good?”
Their replies are in the affirmative.
Carl obviously teases you about assigning homework when school was a picnic table, so you remind him that “Punk, you were the one who came up with the assignment.”
Luis, by now, has half of his body stretched out on the table. He’s the youngest of the group, and is getting restless. “Are we gonna learn about eating bark again today for our last lesson?”
“Why, are ya hungry, little man?” you wink at him. He giggles.
“You kids vote. Do y’all want to learn some more first aid or health things, a wilderness survival tip, or to practice throwing punches again?”
The ‘last lesson’ was something that you or somebody else in the group tried to do every day. For example, tomorrow, Dale and Jim were going to do a mechanical lesson with them. Amy had done a fishing one, and T-Dog had done a football workout with them and showed them how to throw spirals.
Your lessons have been nothing too fancy or complex, but you wanted to put what you’d learned in school and EMT training to good use. Not that your official national exam results would be coming in anytime soon, what with the...state of things in the world.
Shane (the provider of the self-defense tips, naturally) had told you more than once how lucky you were to have done your classes, training, and testing just before the outbreaks started. Hand to God, you were more than a little grateful that you hadn’t been training or working in an ambulance when the sickness started. You’d been part-timing as a phlebotomist and that was a close enough call.
The wilderness tips came from your collection of books you’d kept in a hiking bag in your trunk. “Backyard Medicine,” etc, those types of books. You’d found that subject fascinating and intriguing in the before-times. Well, you sure were grateful for that now. Who knows how long you’ll all be out here?
And since that dude Daryl has let you join a few times when he’s done his hunting thing, you hope to learn enough that you’ll be able to share some pointers on that soon enough. Pity that he and his brother are racist, rude, stereotype dickheads.
For real, the older one, Merle, had walked by once when Miranda was doing a Spanish lesson, and he started to comment about “that sp*c language.” See, even he’s helping to give lessons: the kids learned right away that people will mock you for no reason other than they’re racist and high.
Ugh, that trash even had (you’d gladly pay the quarters to use the obscenity) the fucking SS symbol on his bike. You’d thought the motorcycle was cool until your saw what that nazi had painted on it.
At least Daryl was quieter and knew his stuff. He’s patient enough to let you tag along on some of his hunts, and on that note, hunts for the group.
Merle seemed to bully him a lot, actually. And not always in the way siblings will rag on each other. It was upsetting.
Anyways, you can admit that Daryl is decent enough. He sure ain’t Ed.
“Punches!” Sophia and Luis immediately vote. Okay, fifty-fifty already.
“Wilderness survival stuff,” is Carl’s vote.
“First aid seems the most important,” is Eliza’s vote.
Okay, punches wins. You’re running out of ideas for self-defense lessons, though. You’d already showed them the escape moves that Shane had taught you, and the last two times you’d shown them a set of basic punches and kicks that you’d learned from, um...kickboxing workout videos.
But hey, punches are punches, right? So long as you hold your arm and wrist the right way. Yeah. That’ll do the trick. It’s not like you’re about to show them that choke hold Shane showed you that time. Apparently, it’s illegal.
Yeah, foundational stuff is great for the kids. You’ll re-teach the hitting and kicking sets, with a focus on holding the wrist correctly and throwing their weight correctly! That should work nicely.
The thought pops into your head that you wish Carol was present. Well, maybe it might can still benefit the both of them, since Sophia was learning, right?
You jog over to grab the camping cushion that Dale had given to Jacqui, that’s what you used for the kids to practice hitting. “Okey dokey, proper stance, y’all. Show me it.”
The kids spread their legs to shoulder width, good. Their arms are bent at the elbow with fists formed, good. “Remember, don’t hunch your shoulders, although that might feel natural if you ever find yourself in a fight. But you might could hurt yourselves, so no hunched shoulders, yes?” At this, their backs straighten up some, good.
“When you bend your knees, keep it slight, not too much. Remember, the idea is y’all want to be able to move quickly in either direction, dependin’ on how your opponent –”
“What’s the ponent?” Luis cut in, brows set in concentration. Gosh, he’s he adorable. He gets so serious when he was learning how to fight, look at his face! Mr. Morales is a boxing fan, if you aren’t mistaken. Was it Jim you heard him talking about Manny Pacquiao to the other day? They’re both Pacman fans, you’re pretty sure.
“The opponent is your attacker, the person fightin’ you,” you clear up for Luis, then resume the lesson.
“Whichever is your dominant hand – that’s the one you write with – have the opposite leg more forwards, right?” you instruct. “Cause we wanna be able to use our body weight to hit harder and not tire ourselves out too fast.”
You look around at their positioning. “Sophia, tuck your thumb like this, okay? Kids, thumbs get tucked down here like this,” you demonstrate. “You might can break them super easy otherwise. That’s why striking with the heel of your palm is better, too!”
Predictably, Eliza and Sophia listened the first time you told them this, but Carl and Luis soon switched to fists. You'd usually insist on making sure they're using palms only, but all of them except Eliza are heeding the advice today. Must be that they're more confident after a few lessons.
“Did you ever break your thumb when you punched someone?” Luis then asks, and it's all you can do to not to hide in embarrassment.
Pardon: when? Not if? Do you seem like a throwing-hands type of person? Well...maybe you’re sorta hot-headed, but you’re also...gentle and sort of goofy. That’s why you and Glenn get along so well...right? Oh crap, how do people perceive you?
“Happily, I ain’t broken no bones at all yet, fingers crossed.” You pause, then snort “But no fingers crossed when making a fist, m’kay?”
Carl cracks up at that, then he, Sophia, and Eliza start to make overly exaggerated bad fists and fake punches, complete with sound effects. Luis will of course do no such thing, and instead begins to throw adorable (but very serious) kicks.
“Hey kid, don’t do that with your back,” a voice interrupts. You sigh.
Least it isn’t Merle or Ed. Whatever, so long as Daryl doesn’t use any bad words around the babies.
He walks over, complete with one, two...seven dead squirrels flopping on his belt, and rasps at Luis that “If you lean too far back like that, you could throw your balance off and fall and shit.”
“Quarter...”
“Quarter.”
“Quarter!”
“Quarter!”
“Quarter,” you huff to yourself.
Daryl both sounds and looks annoyed. “Why the hell y’all sayin’ quarter?”
“That’s another quarter,” Luis whispers.
“We got a no-cuss-rule, remember?” you explain, putting your hand on Luis’ shoulder and subtly guiding him towards you.
“What, like your no-litter rule?”
You choose to ignore that, already feeling that anger bubble back up. “Exactly. But for this, rule is you owe each kid a quarter when you swear within earshot,” you say, attempting to sound cheery if only for the kids’ sakes.
Surprisingly, Daryl only shrugs as if in surrender.
Until he then grumbles “That’s bullshit. What they gonna do with quarters anyways?”
“He now owes each of you three quarters,” you loudly announce. “How many pennies is that, guys?”
Whoa hold up. Is Daryl...checking his pockets for change?
“Seventy-five cents,” Sophia replies timidly. Men like Daryl (who you’d politely describe as “gruff”) made her nervous, and you couldn’t blame her. Sophia also adds “That was an easy one, though. Everyone knows three quarters is seventy-five cents.”
“Yeah, we’re not babies.”
“Carl, please,” you tease. “I changed your diapers; you’ll always be a baby to me.” And you are about to have them tell you seventy-five times three (while desperately doing the math in your head!), until you see Sophia's cute little expression.
She’s smiling shyly. “C’mon, we’re not that little.” The sweet way that she said it while holding the doll that Eliza shared with her sort of makes the sentence have the opposite effect.
“Sometimes, I liked to pretend Luis was my baby when he was smaller,” Eliza tells you all.
As you and the kids chatter on, you notice that Daryl’s expression looks...nice? You aren’t sure. But he didn’t seem annoyed anymore. You could almost venture to guess that he’s entertained. At least he isn’t being a dick, and hopefully he isn’t amused by the kids because he’s a creep. You’d never gotten that vibe, but now you wonder...
He catches your eye. “So, you gonna keep showin’ them how to hit right, or just keep yappin’?”
Well, you'd known it was only a matter of time until he turned dickish again.
“Mr. Dixon’s right, let’s get back to it. Get into position.” You grab the pillow and hold it out to him. “You’ve punched someone before, right?”
“What, I got that look or somethin’?”
“Yes. But it’s not an insult,” you quickly say. You shouldn’t be rude, plus you meant it. “It’s important for the kids to learn how to do something from somebody who has actual experience doing it.”
You notice that his eyes make the briefest of once-overs on you. “Yeah, you don’t look like you should be teachin’ no fight club.”
“Hey, shh! That’s the first rule!” you joke, hoping he got it. You’d never actually seen the movie, but everyone knows the first rule of fight club.
And to your delight, he snorts and almost smiles.
You look at the kids and incline your head towards Daryl. “Do me proud, nerds, then school’s out.”
He awkwardly holds the pillow and the kids start to practice. After the first kid goes (Eliza), he ditches the pillow, instead having them hit his arm (no, seriously). You bite your lip, nervous, as he winces a little when the kids start hitting somewhat harder. They're just excited to see if they could do well against someone tough like him, but still...
“We’re practicing proper technique here, my little savages, not tryin’ to maim Mr. Dixon,” you warn.
Carl does admirably, Eliza has the spirit at least, and Sophia, to your delight, causes the man to grimace and rub his arm in the spots she struck. You have to admit that you feel sort of guilty that he is most certainly gonna to be bruised and sore, but hey, he’d chosen to forego the pillow.
But then it’s Luis’ turn. Little man Luis, who takes his self-defense lessons very seriously. He asks Daryl “I keep my back like this?” and Daryl re-positions him, then nods for the boy to begin.
You should've seen it coming. So should've Daryl.
Luis does his punches as hard and quick as he can, but then adds kicks – and one hits Daryl right in the you-know-where.
Aw, shit.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he yelps, buckling before storming away. Then he turns around. As he’s heading back, face red, you’ve already been apologizing, as is poor Luis, who’s scared and probably thinking that he’s about to actually need to defend himself from an angry, scary, mean grown-up. Sophia has gone white, Carl is holding her hand, and Eliza has already stepped next to you and her little brother.
You’re ready to shut the man down if he gets too mouthy; Luis is a child, he made a mistake, he knows it, he’s sorry. End of story.
And Daryl should’ve been using the pillow! Your heart is pounding, you feel yourself starting to sweat, even your hands feel tingly.
But you’re still not going to take any of his shit. You gulp and hope you don’t look nervous.
And now he’s back in front of you.
But instead of an angry tirade...Daryl shuffles his feet (??), rubs his neck, and waves off Luis’ and your apologies.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grunts. “I owe ‘em another damn quarter.”
Then he blinks when he realizes it. “...another two quarters.”
