"Speak up. What is it you want to ask? Ask and then get lost. Your skin is thick; I can't compete with that. I still have a reputation to maintain."
Natasha stopped walking, leaned against a vehicle, and looked at Wesley.
Hearing some of the remarks from those around her, Natasha felt an urge to walk over and slap each of them across the face.
What kind of nonsense were they spouting? They were just talking without thinking, weren't they afraid of biting their tongues?
And this stinky little brother, it was all his fault! What did he mean by saying she wasn't responsible for him? She hadn't done anything to him, so what kind of responsibility was he talking about?
Natasha glared at him, thrust her long blade into the ground, and continued:
"Also, wipe that grin off your face. What's this about being responsible or not? Explain yourself clearly."
"If your skin is itching for a beating, just say so. My hands happen to be itching too!"
Natasha cracked her knuckles.
