Foot-In-Mouth Disease
Lee was angry again. So he took it out on Mystel, the only person at the training camp that wasn't avoiding him. In the wrong place at the wrong time, Mystel smiled up at the emotionally unstable 'tiger's beet-red face and blazing eyes, wondering what'd gotten his goat.
"Why are you here! The 'hills aren't open to tourists, so–g-get out!" Lee shrieked, moving to forcibly oust the Egyptian bur-in-his-side. "You have no use! You only—you don't do anything!"
"If you're saying I don't work, that's not true. I do just as much, if not more than Kevin."
Mystel thought, as he smartly side-stepped Lee's violent charge, that he most certainly did more. In any case, Lee whipped around and punched the coquettish boy in the face before he'd had a chance to say so.
"Go home! You've got a home! So go!" the White Tiger bellowed, rage crackling tangibly off his sinewy form as he watched Mystel tumbling back to his feet with all the flexibility of an invertebrate.
"No, I don't!" Mystel stood there, annoyed, blushing hotly with the newly revealed shame of purposelessness… homelessness. "…Where am I supposed to go?"
And Lee stared at him, dumbstruck.