I roll my eyes at her, because she was a baby— she was months behind me in terms of age. I was the eldest, the idol she should be admiring and looking up to (she would never be anything near my level, but she could dream). My belief that her brain got jumbled around is backed up by her statement, ears falling back slightly as I look upon her with distaste. "If anyone's the baby here, it's you." It was a fact, she was a baby in all sense— physically and mentally she was a child, and nothing could tell me otherwise. And I was so obviously older, noticeably more developed than her, with a taller stature and thicker build— I was more mature in every aspect.

"It's called a rhetorical question." I tell her plainly, knowing her lack of vocabulary originated from how young she was— not from how simple minded or purely stupid she is, although that may have played a part. But I didn't hold it against her, because I'd had much more time on this world than she had (and hopefully ever would)— so I let it slide with a subtle shrug. Maybe she'd get lucky and stay here long enough to be a worthy opponent in a serious match, but for now she was a quick warm up for the world beyond her, the world I saw in lost detail and smudged hues.

The little mongrel throws down a foot, ears flat and face twisted. Easy to anger, I make this note subtly. If I'm ever to run into her again, I will remember how easily upset she becomes, and with this knowledge I will pull her down. One less bitch in this world. So I sit back, witness her thrown her tantrum and smile at how wonderful it is to upset a child (like stealing candy from a really angry toddler), especially one who can't do anything. It was a warm up, the beginning of something far beyond just her, soon I'd move up to bigger, smarter opponents— ones who actually posed a challenge rather than a target.

A coy smile graces onyx lips, smugly looking down upon the little girl before me.
"What gave it away?" Sarcasm was my weapon in this conversation, wielded recklessly with my mocking glare settled on the ashen face of the child. Our banter was a childish matter, it was falling from our tongues in rapid succession— had we been older there would be no words exchanged but hooves and blunt teeth, threats of destruction and ruin. Perhaps it's better we meet now, when our bones are still developing and our bodies are not physically capable of carrying out physical blows just yet.

The hollowness in her voice makes me question what thoughts are churning in that head of hers, whether she was mentally sound or her father's beating rattled up her brain a little too much. It's unsettling, the dullness in her eyes that swallows her up almost instantaneously (is this her way of getting back at me?) "Well aren't you a ball of sunshine." I comment, assessing the expression worn on her face with observant bubblegum eyes. Her distance wouldn't frustrate me, it was a challenge now— a challenge I'd been waiting for.

"Talk."

kid