Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ophelia was sat at the table in the cell block, carving an apple, when Merle began to loudly rattle the bars of his cell to try and get somebody's attention.
"What do you want?" The girl asked, spinning around on her seat and looking at Merle.
"I don't know," he hummed sarcastically. "My freedom, some half decent food and maybe some action in this damn forsaken place. How 'bout it?"
"Well, that does suck." She said as she got of off her seat. "You know, it's almost as if you got yourself into this situation in the first place."
The girl then went to leave the cell block, and get away from Merle — there was only so much anyone could take of him in one day.
"Hey, hey." He called after her. "Where are you goin'?"
"To the courtyard to go and help put the fence back up that your friends tore down." She replied.
"Hold on, hold on a minute." He said, poking his head through the bars. "Why you gotta rush off like that? I just wanna talk to you, sweetheart."
"I've got—"
"One darn minute of your life." He said cutting her off. "...please."
"Alright, fine." She agreed, walking over to his cell and standing on the other side of the bars. "What do you want?"
"I wanna know why you're givin' my baby brother the cold shoulder." He said bluntly.
"I'm not." She told him.
"Yeah, sweetheart, you damn well are and you know you are."
"No, I'm not giving anybody the cold shoulder!" She insisted — although she knew that she was giving Daryl the cold shoulder ever since he got back. "Not that it's any of your business anyway."
"Oh is that right?" He asked with an arched brow. "So you're not avoiding him?"
"No, I'm not." She said again. "We talked last night. I'm not giving him the brush off."
"You didn't really talk though, did you?" He sighed. "He tried to explain himself and you gave him the brush off."
"I don't have to listen to this." She said in annoyance.
