Mercy Evans was one of those girls that didn't like to deal with to much drama, she would listen if a friend was in need, but she certainly didn't enjoy it. Actually, she didn't enjoy many of the pursuits of those females that surrounded her. Instead of going to the mall with her mother and siblings, she'd prefer to fix up the car with her step-dad. Rather then talk dresses and shoes, she talked bows and guns. She never wanted to go sit on the sand and sunbath, instead she was right in the middle of that river and jumping off the bridges with the boys. She never considered herself "one of the boys" but she never considered herself "one of the girls" either. Mercy was just Mercy, take it or leave it.
What Mercy did enjoy, was a good TV show. Just like all the rest of her pursuits, her television shows tended more towards gore and violence then romance and comedy, but that was okay with her. Of course that's where our story starts, but not just yet, right now we're actually sitting outside an office building.
"Are you fucking serious?!" A redhead screamed at the top of her lungs, straight at a man that towered over her and outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. Of course, the little redhead was only five foot five and weighed a mere one hundred and twenty pounds... on a good day, when she could actually get to that. Of course, the girl was also rather fearless so those standing at the windows watching weren't surprised in the least.
"Yes, I am fucking serious." The tall black man answered, his voice a husky Texas drawl as he stared down the woman. He wouldn't admit it, but he was quite leery when the girl got like this, and he'd known her for years. "The big bosses want you to take a few days off, no arguments."
The redhead tossed her hands up into the air angrily as she turned around so she wouldn't be tempted to deck the man that had done so much for her. When she turned back around she was a little more reasonable... a little. "He deserved what he got." She hissed at the man angrily. "I mean seriously! What kind of man does something like that to his own child!?"
The black man shook his head. "You should have dealt with it the right way... called the cops and gone threw legal channels. We don't live in one of your TV shows where you can just take things into your own hands and take care of what needs taking care of... this isn't an apocalyptic setting, nor was that man some kind of mythical demon."
The redhead huffed. "You make it sound like I think that stuff is real." She said with a roll of her eyes.
"You may not believe in zombies or demons, but you seem to take the same attitude as those pretend characters." He said, the word pretend coming out forcefully, as though trying to prove a point.
The redhead glared this time. "Just because I threatened him with a knife instead of a gun does not mean shit. He used a knife on his kid, I though it was ironically amusing." She said with a smirk, unable to help the mental pat on the back the black man saw in her eyes.
"And that's exactly why your dad wants you to take a few days off." He finally flat out admit exactly who it was that had sent down the orders. "He wants you out of sight when Mr. Walker comes in so he doesn't decide that getting you back is worth more then the money he's being given to keep his trap shut."
The redhead actually growled in the back of her throat, but not at the money comment or anything to do with Mr. Walker. "He's not my dad." She told the black man forcefully. "He may be my father, and I may be working here for a few more months, but he's not my dad and he never will be. My dad is the man who raised me, the man who took me hunting and fishing and camping... your best friend if I'm not mistaken." She hissed. "The man upstairs is just the one who donated sperm to my mother before ditching us for a younger woman and when this agreement is up, I'm going back home and never seeing him again."
"There's no one to go home too." The black man said gently. "Just try to work this out... please."
The redhead shook her head as she glanced up at an office she knew well. It was the one her father was perched in right now, ruling over his subjects and dictating to his daughter as though she was one of them. As soon as her obligatory one year was up, she was going back home to the ranch she'd been raised on. She'd settle there and live out the rest of her life blissfully free of all the drama her father had always brought to her life. If not for her mother's stipulation in her will, stating she had to work for one year with her real father before she got the ranch, she'd be there right now. Instead she'd be headed to an apartment she hated that was way to fancified for her taste, and she'd curl up in her comfortable jeans and waste away the days until she could get back to the good ol' country she loved so damn much.
"I'm going to the apartment now." She told the black man. "Let him know I hope Walker rots in his grave or becomes the undead he's named for." She finished before turning and storming off, headed to the apartment she hated.
Mercy had just started digging around for her comfortable jeans after starting some popcorn for some veg time when her doorbell rang. She sighed as she popped open the door of the microwave so she didn't burn it before heading towards the door and opening it, only to wish she hadn't when she saw who was standing on the doorstep.
"Mercedes." The redhead's father said as he stood on her doorstep, unable to step in as his daughter was planted firmly in the doorway and looking as unmoving as ever. "Let's not be rude."
The redhead ground her teeth angrily at the name. "My name is Mercy." She said firmly, her words as biting as ever with this name.
The older man shook his head. "Actually your name is Mercedes, I know this because I named you and it is exactly what I wrote on the birth certificate." The man said, his words just as they always were, condescending and clearly talking at her instead of to her.
"The one you signed three weeks before you walked out?" She asked, her voice innocent but her eyes clearly bleeding hatred. "Yeah, that matters greatly in the grand scheme of things. What are you doing here?" She finally demanded, tired of dealing with him already. The only reason she hadn't slammed the door on his face... if he fired her and actually had a valid reason, she wouldn't get the ranch.
The man's eyes narrowed, unable to help the reaction at not being in complete control. That was the thing about her father, he detested when people did do what he wished, if it was bad enough he would go into a rage. Luckily he kept it in check, this time. "I wanted to give you some papers that you need to sign." He told her, his face smoothing once more into a perfect picture of a loving father.
"What are they?" She demanded. No way would she trust him, she didn't trust him farther then she could throw him, and since he was a large six foot one, that wasn't all that far.
The man frowned a moment, barely holding back his anger at her continued disobedience to the way he saw things. Of course they'd been doing this song and dance for ten months now, since the day her mother had died and they'd heard her final wishes. She'd wanted father and daughter to get along, just once. Of course this made her father gleeful, thinking he'd finally get the impossible girl under his thumb, just as he had everyone else around him. Said impossible girl had other thoughts of course.
"They're papers agreeing to stay away from Mr. Walker." He simply replied, handing over the papers. "I'll wait while you sign them."
The redhead snorted. "I'll read over them then have them brought over tomorrow." She told him before slamming the door and cutting off anything else he'd been planning on saying. She then locked the door for good measures, not putting it past the man to simply storm back in. She'd seen it happen many times over her childhood, as well as some other things this man hadn't known she knew about him. She didn't hate him just because he'd abandoned her, oh no.
She quickly shook that thought out of her head, tossing the papers down on her expensive granite counter top that probably cost more then every surface in her house at home. Everything about this place screamed money, and everything about the woman living in it screamed the opposite.
The woman was a measly five foot five and was just slightly curvy, although she'd lost a bit of the weight she'd once had when at home and eating good food. It was kind of hard to find good fried chicken and biscuits in New York after all. She wasn't a slacker though, she had enough curve to make a man take a second glance, especially in the tight black slacks and suit jacket that she still hadn't shed yet. At the moment her hair was up in a pristine bun, giving her the air of a sophisticated woman. Of course at home it was usually caught up in a messy ponytail or braided simply down her back, but when it was loose one could see the wild curls that had made it almost impossible to keep the girl's hair looking brushed for more then five minutes when she was younger. Her green eyes also shone with that light that only a scrapper tended to get, and the numerous scars on the small woman's body also spoke of someone who didn't mind roughing it or diving into danger without a second thought.
Instead of going back to the bedroom, the woman slammed herself down on the couch and flipped on the television. She was just too pissed off at the moment to even want to continue looking threw the boxes. Ten months later and she still hadn't unpacked everything, and she damn well didn't want to. This place wasn't home, so she wouldn't be moving in, period. And yeah, she knew that was stubborn, but she just didn't care.
As she flipped threw her Netflix queue, she fumed angrily, her stubbornness not yet wanting to relinquish the anger. When she finally got to where she wanted, she started moving back and forth between the two shows she was presently watching threw, both strategically placed beside one another in her queue for this exact reason. She could either watch her favorite boys fight evil demons and drive around in a beautiful car that purred like a content kitten or roared like a beautiful beast... or she could watch her favorite redneck shoot evil zombies while fighting with the douchie cop... hmm...
Well since she was already a few episodes into the second season of Walking Dead and the third season would be starting soon and she needed to catch up before then, and she was only the first season into Supernatural and the eighth season would be over soon, she supposed Walking Dead it was tonight. Plus she'd rather liked the thought of Walker heads being bashed in, it made her day just a little better imagining bashing in her own Walker problem's head.
So she didn't even worry about her shoes, plopping her heeled feet onto the expensive couch and leaning back against the armrest on the opposite side as The Walking Dead loaded on her TV screen. She quickly went over the events of the last few episodes; Sophia disappearing, Carl getting shot, and meeting Hershel and his family as they all tried to save the boy while Daryl searched out Sophia. Sadly she was pretty sure Sophia would be the latest victim of the cruel world of The Walking Dead, but she could still hope otherwise as Daryl searched relentlessly for the girl. They'd already, thankfully, saved T-Dog... they could still bloody save Sophia!
That was her last thought as she sunk happily into a vegative state and focused on Daryl.