Now see, at least the sun-born…chick had made it easy for me. All I had to do was throw some shade her face and it was enough to get her growling at me and keep her the fuck away from me. Which is all I wanted, really, because every time I saw one of these half-god yahoos (Mesec was an exception) it usually meant there was some bullshit afoot that I didn’t want any part of. Besides, it was easy to deal with someone who didn’t like me. They could shout at me, growl at me, throw hands and everything, and I could cope with that. I could mold that, grind against it, because it was a real, tangible thing that I understood. I could deal.

What I can’t deal with is someone’s sound, lukewarm responses to my rage. Cuz that shit was infuriating, if only because she refused (or couldn’t?) react the way I wanted her to. For fuck’s sake, I’d basically asked her for a brawl once and she had blown it off with such a calm, innocent answer that did nothing to dispel the pent-up energy I was building to fuck something up. Which only got me more pissed.  

Standing there just looking at me and poking holes in my bullshit logic somehow pushed my buttons a lot more than an actual declaration to whoop my ass would. And I hated it cuz I didn’t know why. All I know was that she was staring down at me and I was all muddy and I wanted her to stop. Fucking. Looking. Down. Or something. Shit, throw a punch, kick at me, anything at all c’mon I’m begging for a bone here. And all Chico could do was snigger at me and flop a little from his spot on my stomach. Who knew the fastest way to pissing me off—was to do nothing at all?

Just—fuckin’—jeez—

I was just getting so mad at her standing there, deflating my arguments and managing to make me look like an idiot (I don't want anything) in like, one or two breaths. I watched as mud crept up her legs (for some reason) and I imagined calling her MudSpud McShitface but like. She wasn’t the one caked with it from head to toe. Probably wouldn’t be the best action for me to pull.

Chico just kept snickering at me. Like a goddamn traitor or some shit.

So finally something in me said “fuck it” and I rolled over a little, enough so my legs were cocked in the air—and I flung one at her, and she was nowhere near enough for me to actually strike her with a hoof. But a huge glob of mud slung off my leg and rushed for the dangling crimson cloth on her side. Clearly, my actions were justified. I’m obviously an adult and I demand respect.







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Chico