Connor and Murphy wandered into the bar just up the street from the hovel they were holed up in just outside of Atlanta. It had been a long day. They had made the trek down to take care of some mafiosos that needed to be dealt with. A friend of Smecker's had gotten in touch with them through the usual channels and asked for them to come down to personally handle it. What should have been less than a 24 hour trip wound up being almost two full days of riding and hitchhiking. They needed a shower and a drink. And without any discussion at all, they decided the beer was more important than any shower could be.
Murphy held the door open for his brother, throwing the cigarette from the corner of his mouth to the ground, stomping it out before following. Dive bar didn't even begin to cover the redneck local place they found through the door. They just kept their heads down and headed to the empty end of the bar. They had to make do with a couple glasses of Newcastle, half surprised a bar like this even had it on tap. Wasn't Guinness or Harp but it wasn't the piss colored shit Americans called beer.
Connor was trying his best to ignore the two men sitting at the other end of the bar. Well he was doing his best to ignore the uglier of the two men, the snarl on his face seeming to be permanent. It was clear they weren't used to new folks just popping into the bar on a regular basis.
"Hey, pretty boy," Snarl called, addressing one of them. Murphy put down his beer, and looked over at Connor who dangled his glass above the bar top.
"Ya tink he means me?" Connor asked, pointing at himself.
His twin squinted his eyes, taking in Connor as if it was the first time he had seen him. "Nah, pretty sure he means me." Connor just pursed his lips thoughtfully as Murph fished a cigarette out of his pack and lit it.
When they looked back, Snarl had moved to stand next to Conn. "Are ya deaf as well as ugly, pretty boy?" he asked Murphy.
"Whut part of dat sentence was supposed t'make sense?" Connor asked.
His twin just shrugged as he leaned low across the bar, his shoulders casting shadows. "Somethin' tells me he," Murph pointed at Snarl though his eyes were trained on Connor, "has not been burdened with an overabundance of intelligence."
Snarl reached across Connor and grabbed the front of Murphy's shirt, dragging him up. "Why ya lil shit." He reached his second hand out and yanked the younger man over the bar, knocking over the twins' beer.
"Oi!" Connor called as Snarl tossed Murphy into a corner booth, the table snapping under the sudden weight. Connor moved to defend his brother, but a chair across his back dropped him to his knees. With a groan, he turned to see a fist slamming down on his face. Connor's head rang and he fell to the side, but was able to get on his back before the man above him began kicking him. Must be Snarl's cousin, or brother, or son, or something. They had the same feral-drop-dead look about them.
Connor grabbed Cousin's foot before it connected with his ribs and turned it to the side, quickly. Cousin howled with both anger and pain, and fell to the floor as Connor threw him off balance. "Mother fucker," he groaned as he hit the floor.
Standing, Connor took the quick respite to look at how his brother was faring. Murph was giving as good as he was getting by the looks of things. Snarl had blood coming from a cut over his left eye to match Murphy's bloody nose.
The sound of a switch blade being flicked open brought Connor's attention back to Cousin who came at him with the knife above his head. Cousin was quick but Connor was quicker and barely dodged the blade, as his hand reached into his coat and drug out a gun. Flipping the safety, he trained it on Cousin's forehead as he turned and stepped toward Connor again. Cousin stopped in his tracks
"Toss it," he motioned with his chin for the knife to be thrown to the floor. Cousin dropped the knife to his feet. "Kick it over 'ere." He complied again, this time with a snarl. "Good boy. Now get yer friend's attention over dere."
Cousin gave him another narrow eyed scowl. "Why?"
Connor answered that question with the sound of the hammer being pulled back. Cousin looked at the gun, and then licked his lips. "Merle!" he called, his voice nervous. But when Connor turned, his smugness died on his face as Merle had Murphy in a headlock, a snub nose .38 pressed to his brother's temple.
Other patrons of the bar pushed their chairs back and Connor's eyes flicked around, quickly realizing he and Murph were going to lose this fight, and maybe more if he didn't do something and quick.
"Now fellas. Let's not be hasty. 'm sure we can settle dis like gentlemen," Connor started.
The big man simply said "Fuck ya," and pulled back the hammer on his gun, dragging Connor's eyes to Murphy's. Connor stepped forward and placed the end of the silencer to Cousin's forehead, right between his eyes.
"Jesus, Merle," Cousin cursed, looking at the other man.
Murphy stared at Connor. "Why do our bar fights always wind up wid a gun pointed at me head n never yers?"
"Dis what happens when ye are t'pretty one," Connor teased. "Look," he now addressed the man holding the gun to Murph's head. "We are just here looking fer a drink, so could ye kindly remove the gun from me brother's head, n we can go back to our quiet drink in t'corner."
Merle nodded. "As soon as you remove yours from my brother," he growled.
"Oh ye are brothers, are ye?" Connor crowed. "I knew ye had t'be related somehow!" He pulled the gun away from Cousin, er, Brother's head and released the hammer. "Dere, now let us buy ye boys a drink, aye?"
Murphy returned to the table in the corner with round of beers to find Merle raiding his pack of cigarettes. "Hey!"
"What, pretty boy?" he dared as his brother, Daryl, fished a lighter out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the table.
Connor just rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the darker beers in Murph's collection before the front door of the bar opened. In walked two local police officers. The conversation at their little table dried up as all four pairs of ears attempted to tune into what was being said between the bartender and the officers over the bar noises. The cop holding the stupid ass cowboy hat Connor had never seen outside of the movies nodded while the other one squinted his eyes, surveying the patrons, expecting someone to jump up and confess something.
With a pat on the top of the bar, the cop with the hat turned to the other and they headed out of the door.
"Wonder what dat's about," Murphy muttered.
Merle just shrugged, taking draw out of his beer. "Usual bullshit. Looking for trouble where there ain't none."
A/N: In the case of full disclosure and clarity Murphy and Connor are as old as they were in the 1st BDS. Daryl is the age he is in TWD.
And yes Murphy paraphrased Malcolm Reynolds at one point but it was too perfect... I couldn't help it.
And you can either blame or thank Annelisa for this little piece of crack. Will follow the show, throwing the twins into the mix during some of the highlights of the past 3 seasons. I'm not sure where it will take us but I'm sure it will be interesting.