"Huu… that was tiring." Whisker appeared by Atticus' side, yawning and stretching.
"Huh? You lazy man! You didn't do anything!"
Whisker narrowed his eyes at Ozeroth, face suddenly serious.
"What are you talking about? My cheering was master class. Got on their nerves just the right amount."
Ozeroth scoffed. "The great Ozeroth won this round," he said confidently, laughing. "Hit the idiot's face three times with different colored paint. He felt like killing himself at the end!"
"Yeah, but it was my master class rage bait that caused him to challenge us in the first place!"
"Yeah, but if the great Ozeroth hadn't held back his rage, you wouldn't have gotten the chance!"
The words made Whisker pause. He had never heard anything more absurd.
"How does that make any sense!?"
Atticus sighed as they both went back and forth, each one hurling more absurd words than the other.
'I better leave them to it.'
