"Must you stalk every pretty face you see?" With her knees curled around the low-hanging branch, Ji dangled upside down above the grassy knoll. Her hands kept her loincloth from obscuring her view by tucking it between her thighs and she eyed the Harlequin with a sneer curdling her lips. "That is creepy, you know."
I҉t̀ i̵s ̀ńot śtal̶king͟. ̸It͞ is c̵a̡l͡led͝ ͝'̸t̀a̸king ̕an ͞in͟t͟e͝r͡est.͏'
"And drinking until your eyes cross isn't 'being an alcoholic,' either. It is called 'wetting your whistle because you're thirsty.'" She scoffed and rolled her eyes.
I̴n y̷o͏ur ͡c̵áse, such im҉bi̸b́ińg͢ ̕w͢o͝u̷l҉d̷ ̶b̕e̕ ̀co͜n̨s̶id̷er͢ed cowa̛r͜d͡ic͡e͞. Or r̶un͟ning aw̵ay f̢rom ̵m̢on͡śte͝r͝s͡ ̴y͘o͡u̵ ͢a̸ŗe҉ to͡o͜ ͢f͠ri҉ght͝e҉ned̛ t͏o̕ fac̀e͝,̀ ex̀ac͞tl̶y l̴ik̛e͟ ̕a͢ ҉c̴h̕il҉d ̧w̷ho͠ fea͡r͝s t̕he̴ d̨a͜rk.
His retort summoned a burst of colour to her cheeks and she sputtered, hissing and spitting like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way. Unable to think of an immediate comeback, she settled for shaking a fist at him and muttering several unflattering epithets about his face, the size and virility of his manhood, his lack of wit, and raising many questions about his dubious parentage.
