“Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t have said half of what you did. Brat,” Blake added. Personally, he thought it was really much closer to 90% than half, but half was more natural to say. And it was, technically, still true; the kid wouldn’t have said half of what he did, or a number of other things, either.

Including that. Blake scowled down at the kid, still annoyed even if he was taking the questions steadily less seriously. “No, but I draw them sometimes; they make excellent demon food.” Not that he’d drawn more than a few of those, and his unicorns tended to be armored and blood splattered, but he wasn’t mentioning that to the kid. He’d probably just hear ‘unicorns’ and completely miss the ‘bloodthirsty war’ descriptions. “Now go bother someone else. You just have to walk through that door,” he pointed at it, “and then the one right across from it. There are like five girls that are supposed to be pregnant now, one of them can spoil you until whoever’s supposed to be taking care of you shows up. They’ll buy you ice cream or something.” Probably. Blake wasn’t sure exactly how the girls’ mind worked, but they seemed to like kids and kids liked ice cream, and the cafeteria sold ice cream sandwiches, so he could probably get one. Blake really didn’t care, as long as he went away.

What that weird-haired teen said made Clyde beyond furious. He called him a brat again, and then he demanded he mooch off some pregnant girls? What kind of twisted suggestion was that?

“I told you, I'm not a brat!” he retorted. He wasn't that type of person! He was independent; he didn't need anyone to watch over him. He took a step forward and straightened up, trying to size up to the guy.

“All I did was ask a simple question to staht with! Who do you think you ah? Why is it you types of people get some sort of superiority complex every time they talk to someone youngah?” he questioned angrily.

His temper was on the verge of shattering, as he had to stop himself before he went into a rant about how much he hated people to treat him like he was younger than he actually was and him having no way of changing that. It would serve no purpose other than give that guy more material to insult him with.

Looking away from the teen, Clyde noticed some of the other students had stopped what they were doing to stare at the scene. Unfortunately, his outburst drew some unwanted attention. Though they didn't act nor even stand up, they were probably wondering what a child was doing yelling at someone older. It had to do with that old adage: children should respect their elders. But, that guy didn't look far from his age. For all he knew, he might even have been a bit older. However, that didn't matter. He looked younger, and therefore, got less respect.

Being accustomed to teasing, people like this guy were nothing new to Clyde. However, it'd been a while since the last major incidents from his old school, and he'd thought that he'd get off easier since nobody knew him. The age shifter looked down at the ground, upset, but managing to not cry. Why him? He knew that he had to act tough when faced with those types of people, but it was so unfair.

“You act like a brat, you look like a brat, you sound like a brat, it just might be that you’re a brat.” As satisfying as it was to deal with someone that was easy to deal with for once, and not citing strength and coordination and humanity against him (even if the last was normally unknowingly), there wasn’t a whole lot of satisfaction to be had in outarguing a child. Really, it was more relief that the nuisance was only a nuisance and not a problem this time than anything else. Even that relief was getting lost pretty quickly, though, as the nuisance refused to just go away.

“And I answered your question, and you’re still here. Superiority’s got nothing to do with it, I just know better than to go around pestering people who have better things to do. Which you still need to learn, apparently, if you can.” Blake smirked. “Also, insisting that you’re not a kid doesn’t work very well when you also complain about how people treat you because you’re a kid.”

“Brat, brat, brat,” was all Clyde heard at first. Then, it was something about being unable to learn. Ugh, why wouldn't that teen stop calling him a brat? Brats weren't children; they were misbehaved children. He might have looked like a child, but, as far as he was concerned, he thought and acted like any other normal teenager. A lot of people considered children who asked questions bothersome, but he never was out to pester people. Of course, that guy probably didn't know, but even if he did, it likely wouldn't make a difference. Either way, he'd still get pushed around. Why people refused to accept that he was mentally competent was beyond him.

The teenaged kid locked eyes with his fellow student and glared. “Brat and child ah not the same thing, so quit calling me that,” he demanded. “I have a name, you know. Besides, I believe you ah the brat heah.”

Clyde felt that it was something he should say. It wasn't like he expected to get through to him, as jerks like him were impossible to reason with, but applying the “brat” label to him seemed fair enough.

Blake rolled his eyes. He was getting extremely sick of this kid. “I’m sure you do, but I don’t care, and I’m not going to remember it. How about you waste someone else’s time now?” He didn’t respond to the brat accusation. He’d explained why the kid was a brat and he wasn’t already; if the kid wasn’t getting it, he still wasn’t going to waste his breath repeating it. Instead he turned away, stepping back onto the bench to return to drawing.

As Clyde expected, calling the guy a brat did nothing. It would have been nice to see him snap, but the guy was already up on the bench returning to his “publicity stunt,” and Clyde had better things to do than deal with him. He decided that the other teen was clearly some stuck-up guy who thought he was better than anyone else, and it would bite him in the backside at some point. Still, there were a few words he wanted to speak, simply for the sake of having the final say.

“I figahed you wouldn't, since jerks nevah remembah who they were jerks to. Just so you know, you wasted my time as well.” There. Calm and to the point.

The age shifter started to turn away, but before he headed off, he looked back up at him. “Don't fall,” he said sardonically.

Blake rolled his eyes. The kid was such a brat; his time had been wasted? As if. Blake had been trying to get him to go away, not spend more time pestering him. If the kid’s time was wasted, it was the kid that had wasted it. Along with Blake’s time, which at least he’d finally gotten around to acknowledging….

…Don’t fall? Really? The kid was even more childish than he looked. (It made no difference that Blake had said the same thing to Ace last week. Ace had deserved it, and also been in a situation where he might actually fall. Blake did not and was not.)

Blake shook his head, edged around to regain proper perspective on school mountain, and went back to drawing.