"Teach it?" Byerly laughs mockingly and puts up both fists in a fake brawler's stance. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to the transition, he's once again adopting the signs of drunkenness - shifting his feet, lowering his eyelids, loosening his muscles, raising his eyebrows. "I don't think it can be taught. It's all experience."

He wonders, privately, whether he's glad or nervous that this man is so...capable. It means that he's an able protector to Beth, on the one hand - but it also means that if his intentions are ill...That's the problem. Byerly has an idea, now, of Daryl's abilities, but not his character. Not fully. A frustration for him.

Not that it matters, of course. Not truly. It's not like he's Beth's protector or keeper.

"Can you teach yours?" He waves his fists. "You're very good. Like being struck by a shuttle-launch."