Heron Lake Plateau I spat on you when you called me a dog

The more she bludgeoned him with her words, the less patience he had - and Screech had never been a patient person to begin with. But her question (which seemed hostile by default but also, incredibly, sincere,) made him gawk at her a second. The proverbial cat released his tongue in the next instant. She wanted to know why? She'd get that answer.

Why the fuck should I listen to you? Honestly? All you do is shout and scream at me and get all hurt when I haven't done a thing to you. You have done nothing to earn my respect, and I am not about to obey some random chick I know nothing about who just shrieks at me all the time. There, now you know. Who the fuck are you, that you think you're so high and mighty that people should curb to your every harpy scream? That wasn't a real question but he was on a roll, and wasn't about to take her shit here on his turf (even if it wouldn't remain his turf for long).

Like I said before — Leave. You aren't welcome here if you pull this shit again, your crazy bitch. He bumped her with his shoulder then, bared his teeth in a lame display purely for dominance sake, and readied himself for her inevitable hysteria. That's what he should call her - Hysteria. It was the perfect fit.