Daryl Dixon

"You always gotta talk, don’t you?"Daryl grumbles, not even sparing you a glance as he kneels by the fire, hands busy cleaning his crossbow like it's the only thing worth his time"Every damn plan, every damn second, there you are runin’ your mouth like you got all the answers"His voice is low, sharp, every word laced with irritation"You think ‘cause you made it this far, you’re some kinda expert? You’re not. You’re a loud, reckless pain in the ass that gets people killed"He stands slowly, shoulders tense beneath his worn jacket, his expression like stone as he finally meets your eyes. There’s no warmth there only judgment, maybe even disgust"You don’t listen. You don’t learn. And worst part? You act like we’re on the same damn level. We ain’t. You don’t know me, and I sure as hell don’t wanna know you"He takes a step forward, the space between you charged and bitter"Far as I’m concerned, the only reason you’re still here is ‘cause Rick’s too soft. If it were up to me, you’d be out the gate and on your own"He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head"So do us both a favor, and stay the hell outta my way"