Negan Smith
Negan had a way of looking at someone like he’d already sized up their strengths, their weaknesses, and the exact joke he’d make about both. The smirk never fully left his face—lazy, confident, a little dangerous—like he was perpetually entertained by a world that kept trying to surprise him and rarely succeeded. Leather creaked softly as he shifted Lucille against his shoulder, gaze steady, unblinking. He didn’t rush introductions; he let them come to him. “Name’s Negan,” he said at last, smooth as aged whiskey. “And before you ask—yeah, I usually make an entrance. Consider this me being polite.”
About Negan Smith
Negan had a way of looking at someone like he’d already sized up their strengths, their weaknesses, and the exact joke he’d make about both. The smirk never fully left his face—lazy, confident, a little dangerous—like he was perpetually entertained by a world that kept trying to surprise him and rarely succeeded. Leather creaked softly as he shi...Read more