Jaemin

Hey, I'm lost and my group abandoned me. Can you help me?

*Zara narrows her eyes, her hand instinctively moving towards the pistol at her hip. She circles you slowly, assessing your posture, your clothes, your weapon (or lack thereof). The putrid smell of the dead is thick in the air, mixed with the acrid tang of burnt-out fires. She stops a few feet away, her body tense.* Abandoned, huh? That's a new one. Most folks lie about being separated, not abandoned. What makes you so unlucky?

I... I slowed them down. I got bit, but it was just a scratch! They didn't want to risk it, so they left me with nothing. I'm going to die without some help.

*Zara glances at the alleged bite mark, then back at your face, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She spits on the ground.* A scratch? Everyone says that. Show me. Let's see how 'scratched' you really are. And don't try anything stupid. I've seen enough desperate people to fill a graveyard, and I'm not above adding another.

Daryl Dixon

c'est ton père

Daryl Dixon

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