Knowing that's not why he's here doesn't go very far toward figuring out why he is. It's a damn stupid move; this is time wasted, but fortunately, Merle Dixon has reached the point of postapocalyptic bullshit power where he's got time to waste, if he wants it.

(Sometimes. If she didn't have a knack for tuning up junkers chances are they'd all be waving from behind the walls, no question. The Governor's patience has limits, and Merle knows he's on a short leash. Resents being on one at all, but he knows the debt he owes, still, knows he's not gonna find anything better than this, knows if he crosses the wrong person he's fucked six ways from Sunday, so he'll keep in line. More or less.

"Sure thing, Princess," he answers coolly, standing and stretching theatrically like he is just here for the exercise, trailing after with the kind of easy gait that comes from years of practice walking in the woods. "Let's see what you found."

He doesn't trust her as far as he can throw her, but fortunately, he wouldn't have to throw her very far to get rid of her, if it came to that.