She was going to say thank you for wasting that demon. But then she remember she’s angry at him for getting angry at her for an honest mistake she made.
“Well now we don’t know where the rest of them are,” she mutters, glancing away from him as soon as he looks at her.
Way to just charge in there and mess up her routine.
Mia moves past him, and Daryl studies the signs on the ground. If she hasn't gotten, by now, that he can find anything that leaves a footprint, he isn't in the mood to remind her.
"You're a real asshole, sometimes." He doesn't even know what they're fighting over anymore. It'd be nice if she'd tell him.
“Thank you!” she yells in response, throwing her arms up in the air dramatically. She doesn’t bother looking back at him. He can just follow her for a change.
“Thank you for finally admitting it! I’m sorry I was an asshole to you!”
Her arms flop down to her sides. She truly has no idea where she’s going but she figures if the demon came from this way it’s a good place to start.
“Just accept my freakin’ apology already!”
Also accept the fact that she just found a rundown-looking shack in the middle of the woods without even trying.
Daryl would contend that he lead them both to the shack-- the tracks were leading there-- but even he can tell it doesn't really matter. A battered house in the middle of the woods is gonna get walked in on at some point. Daryl tries to orient it within the map of the area he keeps in his head. He's passed this way before. They must be near Route 7.
He looks to Mia. "We go in slow." This is not a suggestion.
“I wasn’t asking you to,” she snaps in response, then lets out a huff of annoyance.
She takes a few steps toward the shack. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. The locale is entirety new though.
Without a word, she does a bit of her own surveying. It seems quiet enough. Innocuous. But there’s something about the way the breeze is going through the trees that she doesn’t like. And she looks over at Daryl once he speaks again.
“Nah. I’m getting tired of this. I just want my book back already.”
And she, in all her pint-sized rage, heads to the porch and goes up the stairs, swinging her blade in her hand to get a better grip on the handle.
“Alright you fucks. You took something that doesn’t - belong - to - you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your fucking choice.”
With her last word, she kicks at the door with her boot - and it actually gives way. It’s nothing too impressive, but she’s barging inside the place like she owns it.
"Mia!" That is a full-on yell, anger ripping through his voice in a snarl. He rushes forward, intending to shield her, trying to keep her from bearing the brunt of whatever's about to hit her. Rushing in is fool's tactics, a great way to get killed, but what other option does he have when all she wants to do is paint a target on her goddamn forehead?
Nope. Forget it. It's her turn. She's annoyed and frustrated and nothing can stand in her way when she's like this - not even him.
"Look - you already got one. I can handle this."
There's a loud bang from inside that causes her to instinctively push him away with her arms and hopefully out of harm's way. Turns out it's just the cellar door being ripped open, but she had no way of knowing ahead of time.
The biggest one - the brick shithouse she mentioned earlier - isn't there. He's most likely gone down the stairs. Which just leaves her newest friend blocking her. He's tall and burly and has too many muscles. If he's actually paying attention instead of striking first, Daryl will notice... this guy doesn't look good. Or normal. At all. His fingers are elongated and claw-like with gnarly nails at the tips. The features of his face are unlike any person or zombie he's likely seen before. He's bloody and gross with exaggerated bone structure, long, sharp teeth, and the eyes - they're sunken and pure white.
"This little bitch doesn't know when to quit," he snarls.
"Stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here, dipshit," she replies, sounding unamused.
The banter is part of it, okay. You can't rush things like this. There's an order to things.
The trucker demon launches himself into the air, and she reacts accordingly. They end up circling each other, Mia not daring to take her eyes off him as he floats with his clawed hands extended.
"That's cheating and you fucking know it," she mutters, rolling her eyes. For someone so petite, she definitely knows how to rush forward and tackle. She thumps the handle of her machete into the guy's stomach, once then twice - then wails on him to get him to hit the floor.
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no subject
“Well now we don’t know where the rest of them are,” she mutters, glancing away from him as soon as he looks at her.
Way to just charge in there and mess up her routine.
“You got something on your shirt by the way.”
And then she trudges past him.
no subject
"You're a real asshole, sometimes." He doesn't even know what they're fighting over anymore. It'd be nice if she'd tell him.
no subject
“Thank you for finally admitting it! I’m sorry I was an asshole to you!”
Her arms flop down to her sides. She truly has no idea where she’s going but she figures if the demon came from this way it’s a good place to start.
“Just accept my freakin’ apology already!”
Also accept the fact that she just found a rundown-looking shack in the middle of the woods without even trying.
“Well fuck me I guess.”
no subject
Daryl would contend that he lead them both to the shack-- the tracks were leading there-- but even he can tell it doesn't really matter. A battered house in the middle of the woods is gonna get walked in on at some point. Daryl tries to orient it within the map of the area he keeps in his head. He's passed this way before. They must be near Route 7.
He looks to Mia. "We go in slow." This is not a suggestion.
no subject
She takes a few steps toward the shack. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. The locale is entirety new though.
Without a word, she does a bit of her own surveying. It seems quiet enough. Innocuous. But there’s something about the way the breeze is going through the trees that she doesn’t like. And she looks over at Daryl once he speaks again.
“Nah. I’m getting tired of this. I just want my book back already.”
And she, in all her pint-sized rage, heads to the porch and goes up the stairs, swinging her blade in her hand to get a better grip on the handle.
“Alright you fucks. You took something that doesn’t - belong - to - you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your fucking choice.”
With her last word, she kicks at the door with her boot - and it actually gives way. It’s nothing too impressive, but she’s barging inside the place like she owns it.
no subject
no subject
"Look - you already got one. I can handle this."
There's a loud bang from inside that causes her to instinctively push him away with her arms and hopefully out of harm's way. Turns out it's just the cellar door being ripped open, but she had no way of knowing ahead of time.
The biggest one - the brick shithouse she mentioned earlier - isn't there. He's most likely gone down the stairs. Which just leaves her newest friend blocking her. He's tall and burly and has too many muscles. If he's actually paying attention instead of striking first, Daryl will notice... this guy doesn't look good. Or normal. At all. His fingers are elongated and claw-like with gnarly nails at the tips. The features of his face are unlike any person or zombie he's likely seen before. He's bloody and gross with exaggerated bone structure, long, sharp teeth, and the eyes - they're sunken and pure white.
"This little bitch doesn't know when to quit," he snarls.
"Stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here, dipshit," she replies, sounding unamused.
The banter is part of it, okay. You can't rush things like this. There's an order to things.
The trucker demon launches himself into the air, and she reacts accordingly. They end up circling each other, Mia not daring to take her eyes off him as he floats with his clawed hands extended.
"That's cheating and you fucking know it," she mutters, rolling her eyes. For someone so petite, she definitely knows how to rush forward and tackle. She thumps the handle of her machete into the guy's stomach, once then twice - then wails on him to get him to hit the floor.