Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise

Jupiter had made up his mind. He was gonna be the best fighter ever. He was gonna fight monsters, and bad guys, and good guys. Basically, he was gonna fight everybody and be the best at it. And how did he go about being the best? By practicing an awful lot and getting into fights, duh.

Upon realizing what it took to be the best fighter ever, he'd set off on picking his first fight, but the monkey on his back had literally stopped him from doing it. Said it was dangerous or whatever and insisted he would screech at the top of his lungs for Artemis until the boy gave up the pursuit, which he did, but only because he didn't like being harped at.

So instead of fighting his first fight and being an awesome winner, he was standing in a clearing practicing his defenses like a chump. Every once in awhile he peeked up at Amadeus, who was sitting in the branches of a nearby tree grooming his mustache. If their eyes happened to lock the tamarin would pause what he was doing to shake his finger at the boy; the threat clear: behave or I'll tell your mother.

"Fine," he snipped to himself. His expression sulky, Jupiter dropped into a crouch and stalked forward a couple steps to commit the move to memory. He felt stupid, but what else could he do with the mustachioed warden eyeing him like a hawk?

"Jupiter"   "Amadeus" ”You”