Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Drowning On Dry Land

"I don't like new people," I grumbled, stabbing a walker through the fence.

"You haven't even given them a chance," Carol accused, stabbing her own walker, albeit more daintily.

I threw my hands in the air in frustration. "I have to!"

"You either yell at them or ignore them. That's not giving them a chance." I whirled around, stabbing two walkers simultaneously with more force than the job required, severing their heads and watching absently as they rolled away like morbid bowling balls. "Things like that," Carol pointed at the two rolling heads, "Don't help people warm up to you."

I blew a strand of hair out of my face, glaring at her. "I'm going out. This way takes too long."

"Rick doesn't want anyone outside the fence."

"Farmer Rick can suck an egg," I yelled over my shoulder, heading to the main gate.

"Neither does the council."

"The council can suck my..."

"You better get a handle on your mood swings."

I flipped her off over my head, not stopping or falling for the bait. It was too early for this shit. Plus, I had a perfect handle on my mood swings. Just because my mood swings weren't like everyone else's didn't mean they should be discriminated against. Mine were unique and that should be celebrated. They didn't just swing. They bounced, recoiled, fluctuated, pivoted and even occasionally did a damn pirouette. That was impressive. Although, it was easier to appreciate my particular form of self-expression if you were quick enough to dodge a knife.

Some kid whose name I hadn't bothered to learn was manning the front gate. He was young and had glasses so thick he looked like a human Hubble telescope. I scowled as I searched his too young face, a face not even old enough to shave yet. He was so nervous he was visibly shaking.  Everyone from Woodbury was too young, too old or too helpless. His eyes bulged from behind his magnifying glasses making them look gigantic on his boyish face. He watched me warily, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, using his M16 like a shield.

"Open the gate Peter," I demanded, pissed he was holding me up, pissed he was so young, pissed he could see Pluto.

"My...my...name's not Peter."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Peter, Pablo, Preston, I don't give a shit." He backed up until he was flush against the fence. "Open the gate."

"It's Patrick actually." I shoved him out of the way, unlocking the gate. "Uh, ma'am, I mean Alex, I mean Mrs. Dixon," he stuttered.

I froze, chain hanging in my hands as I contemplated choking him with it. His face paled and his body sagged, eying me like a bomb about to explode which wasn't too far off.

"What did you say?"

"W-w-h-hat-t?"

He was shaking so hard now he almost dropped his rifle and I rolled my eyes.

"Philip...did you just call me Mrs. Dixon?" He stuttered something under his breath that sounded like "Patrick" as I invaded his personal space, using his terror to my advantage.  He shook his head up-and-down like a bobble head. Someone was due for a maiming and I had a pretty good idea who, but I was a stickler for details. "Who told you to say that?"

"Well...it was...M-m-merl-l-e." I fucking knew it. "H-h-he s-s-aid y-y-you and D-D-Daryl, I mean Mr. Dixon, were m-m-mar-r-ried."

That was ten minutes of my life I was never getting back.

I dropped the chain, swinging the gate open and stalking out without further comment. It wasn't Percy's fault my fake brother-in-law was a dick. I drew two knives from my sheath as my walk morphed into a jog. I catapulted myself into a small herd of walkers lining our fence. I was too angry for finesse and too conflicted for subtle.