"You, my good sir, are a pompous stick in the mud."
"You, child, are an impudent weakling."
Dexter smirked. "Moronic rabbit."
"Puny human."
Mr. Herriman and Dexter stared at each other with steely glares from sides, fists trembling and paws crossed. The two were engaged in a serious affair. Who would get Frankie's services for the weekend?
Dexter needed someone to clean the lab; normally Computress would do it, but she was undergoing updates on her system. Mr. Herriman needed Frankie to keep the Imaginary Friends in line, especially those that were being imagined these days. There were more Extreme-a-sauruses than ever because of nightmares. It was a horrible sight to look out onto. Foster's had been such a nice, kind place before the war started. They had even started to welcome the Fusion monsters into the home when Bloo and Mac realized what they were and did the smart thing that everyone seemed to do: run.
Both needed the red-head for something.
The red-head herself was currently sitting on a chair behind Mr. Herriman, ignoring them pointedly. Every time an insult was passed, a susurrus would go over the crowd like a tide, and she would sigh and roll her eyes. Needless to say, her eyes were getting tired from circling so much.
The crowd was slowly getting larger as more and more people realized that the two were fighting verbally and tried to see the two opponents more clearly. Frankie was filing her nails when everyone gasped and whispered among themselves. She looked up.
There was a red mark across Dexter's face, which was currently touching his cheek and glaring vehemently at Mr. Herriman, who was holding a glove.
Mr. Herriman had slapped the boy genius. Frankie stood up and rushed over, holding his shoulders and rubbing his back comfortingly, but he brushed her off. His eyes were flashing dangerously, and he slapped Frankie's hand away when she tried to touch him again.
"Rabbit, I assure you, that if you ever consider doing that again, it will not go without consequences. What you just did was like hitting your creator, Madame Foster." Dexter could only smirk. "I see that, unless you want Mandy to know that you just hit me for calling you an insult, you have no choice but to give me Miss Francis' services. How would our beloved leader react, do you think if she found out, that you hit me over something as simple as a verbal fight? I hadn't even sworn, or said anything as crude or violent as your action. The sophisticated leader of Foster's hitting a child, one of the people that his 'aim is to please with the help of Imaginary Friends'?"
Mr. Herriman recoiled. "I-Uh-Um-"
"Exactly, rabbit. She'd make sure that would be the only thing you'd ever say, spluttering and stammering your life away. Now, either you give me Miss Francis' services, or Mandy finds out. Which would you prefer?" Dexter's lips were graced with a sadistic, evil smile, and his eyes were narrowed. "I know which I'd choose."
A scared silence settled over the crowd, until Mr. Herriman reached up and adjusted his monacle with a gloved paw. "You may have Miss Francis."
Dexter grunted. "Thank you."
He turned and stalked off, lab coat swishing behind him. Without a second glance, he left the room. No one moved until Dexter peered around the door again and called out to Frankie, who obediently followed.
"That boy is one of the most frightening things I've ever encountered," Mr. Herriman mumbled.