"What's gotten your fur in a twist, Sablepaw?"
"Him," she grunts at Nettlepaw, staring daggers at the ground. He's an irritance beyond words, a sleek pest with a pedigree, and when he sees her , he can't resist; teasing taunting, blatant harassment and she will scream if he doesn't stop. She didn't ask for this, but she's irritated anyway.
He sits and smirks across the clearing. He's small and handsome. His humor is dry, and dirty, and dark (but this he does not give voice to). His jokes remain shallow. She considers him a plague, and wonders what she ever did to deserve his vacuous torture.
take it i don't want it