The Only Universal Language is Violence (Daryl Dixon X Male OC)

5. Murderers

Daryl

This place is nice. Peaceful. They all seem to be working and living in harmony. Monks and nuns. This abbot guy, with long beard and crooked posture, looks at me weirdly, like I'm gonna stab him in the back, or maybe like he's gonna stab me in the back. Charles seems nice even though I don't understand half of what he's saying even when he speaks English. Nuns walk around me like I'm the death himself, but from what I saw they have minimal interaction with monks too, just like Harvey said.

They live in isolation and in a few days here I noticed that barely anyone leaves the walls. They don't really need to. They have everything here, well with spring water, land to grow food, even some animals.

I'm not gonna be staying for long. Maybe for a few more days, ask around, figure out if they know anything about those boats I was dragged here on, or maybe some other boats that would take me home.

I plop down on a bench, staring out at the courtyard where the garden was. Nuns and monks walking around and working.

I'm so deep in thought as I watch those nuns move around that I don't even notice Harvey until he appears on the bench beside me, making my head snap towards him. His expression is neutral, kinda peaceful but still frowny. I saw that frown get off his face only for a few split moments.

"It needed some stitching." He says, my eyes fall to his hand that held my vest.

I straighten up on my spot and take it from him, placing it on my lap. The ripped spots are now stitched together in not very subtle or pretty but secure way by a thick black thread.

"Thanks." I mutter, looking up at Harvey and he shrugs his shoulders.

"It doesn't cost anything to do something good."

"Bein' a dick ain't taxed either." I scoff and see the corner of Harvey's mouth curling up in a smile for a moment.

He doesn't say anything else for a while and I return my eyes to the vest on my lap. I flip it over, looking at the wings on the back. They don't look as blood and mud covered as they were before. Even the paint looks much brighter, even though it's a little cracked already.

"It's pretty." Harvey says and I glance up at him for a moment and then back down at the vest.

"Yeah... One of the wings fell off with time, this little girl back home, she painted it back on for me. It's for luck."

"What's her name?"

"Judith. She's um... she's my best friend's daughter. She's about eleven now."

"Hm... I used to feel bad for kids that are born in all this." Harvey speaks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, a rosary in his hands as he fiddles with beads on it. "But then I realized it's much harder for old dogs like us. Everything you knew fell apart. But they didn't know it, they didn't lose anything. Kids only know things how they are today and they are fine with it."

"You can't miss what you never had." I hum and nod.

"No. I suppose not." He sighs. I watch him as he raises his wrist checking time and then pushes himself up from the bench. "Time for afternoon mass. You're welcome to join."

"I think I'll pass on holy speeches. Besides, I won't understand a word." I say, staring up at him.

Harvey just calmly locks his hands in front of him and bows before turning and walking off.

I shrug my fixed up vest on and take a walk around the whole structure. It's ruined here and there from time. It's obviously very old. But it's beautiful, I'm not one for architecture or art but when you climb to the roof you gotta be blind to say the view is not beautiful.

As I walk back to the infirmary I hear the sound of a familiar language. Someone's speaking English. Maybe saying something worth hearing.

I move towards the sound that leads me up to the wooden door that was slightly cracked allowing sound to escape and for me to catch a glimpse of what's going on inside. I can see Harvey sitting on the stairs of a small stage with his head in his hand.

"I'm not killing him."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not! Killing people is wrong. How can you not understand that?"

"I do, but this is not where we take a pacifistic side. We need to do something. We've been taking his shite for too damn long." I can recognize Charles' voice, with that weird mixed accent of British and French that makes him properly understandable only for himself.

"Then go ahead and do it yourself." Harvey pushes himself up, getting into the face of some other monk. "I'm not killing anyone anymore. I've done it once and I paid for my sins in full. I'm not doing that ever again. I'm not taking away any more lives."

The monk what sounds like curses in French and shakes his head.

"You started this. You are the one to go through with it." Someone else says but I can't see that man through the small crack in the door.

"I didn't start this. You're talking about some sort of... mutiny. I didn't sign up to be leader of rebellion."

"We can't just sit on our arses and wait until the old cunt dies. I'll kill myself faster if I need to listen to another 'pray the gay away' speech." Someone else speaks with an annoyed scoff.

"I am not going to be part of whatever you want to do."

I see Harvey turn to the doorway and I lean away, hiding from the possibility of being seen by the monks.

"You were born to lead people, brother Harvey. It's your destiny. You can't back off now. You can't just opt out and say it's not for you anymore."

"Yeah. Yeah I can. I'm not going to choose violence. Not anymore. That's why I'm here. I found my peace and I'm willing to keep it. You want to rebel? Go ahead without me. I'm too damn old for that shit."

I hear his footsteps get closer and duck behind the corner hiding so Harvey doesn't see me eavesdropping. He passes by me without a clue and I stare at his back as he walks away.

He killed someone in the past. And he said he paid for it. I wonder who he killed and what he lost. Was it before or after? Why did he do it? Why would a monk kill someone? Or is he a monk because he killed someone? Maybe that. Jeez. He's like an enigma wrapped in conundrum wrapped in a velvet French accent.