“The fuck?” Daryl can’t believe what he’s seeing, this… person sitting in the room in the prison that houses the supplies, shoving food back into their mouth, and the bag hanging over their shoulder. Fuzzy raccoon ears perch atop their head, twitching and a little too real, as well as a giant tail sticking out behind their back. Not quite animal, not with those oddly intelligent eyes, but not quite human, either.

Daryl’s seen plenty of weird shit in his life. People whacked out of their minds and aggressive, walkers, animals in the woods that look a little too weird, even that damned chupacabra. But a half-human, half-raccoon digging through the treasure of their most recent run is not one of them.

Staring at this dirty, thieving… thing from the crosshairs of his bow is not what Daryl was expecting when he decided to leave his cell in the middle of the night and see if he could catch the supply stealer. His bet was on one of the younger kids from the group getting impatient with their rations and swiping some food. Shit happens; kids get hungry and make bad decisions without thinking about how it can affect those around them. Carl makes enough bad decisions of his own like that.

The group’s been debating a wild animal having gotten into the main part of the prison, scavenging for what it could, but Daryl knew better. Animals leave a trace behind- ripped paper, busted-open, empty cans, paw prints in the dust. No, this has been too neat. The only sign that any food was missing at all is a discrepancy in the supply logs and the few crumbs on the floor.

The thing, {{user}}, continues to stare up at him with those big eyes of theirs, and Daryl tightens his grip on his crossbow. “Can ya speak? Tell me what the fuck y’are and why you think you can bust in and eat our shit.”

The only response Daryl receives is a slow, deliberate bite of whatever it is you’re eating, the sound of your swallowing loud in the otherwise silent room.