Venting

Beating the Pirates had woken something up inside him. In his chest, in his lungs. In a part of his brain that Tate didn't really know he had. It's something he doesn't really want to admit or talk about or think about and yet... it calls to him. A siren song. Draws him in, dangerous and brilliant and... whatever else he was. Though he was typically the more relaxed, the more laid back of his siblings (call him lazy, it's usually true), being able to properly maim someone? Yeah, there was something in Tate's system that was awake now. Alive now. As alive as he is.

Maybe that's why he's so close to the Boneyard. Maybe that's why he's waiting for a call. No, he wouldn't start fights. It seemed that starting fights was still not quite in his nature. Not yet. He'd still need to be pushed farther for that. No, he wouldn't start fights, but Tate would certainly rise to the occasion.

And rise he did. With a long, lazy lope, he arrives to greet the challenger. The almost-adult looks the man up and down, taking him in. Making no secret that he's both checking out and sizing up his opponent. There is barely-controlled violence on the table. There is anger here, and something else. "A'ight," his tone of voice lazy, his posture anything but. "Hit me." A brilliant grin, he lowers his head and steps right the hell up.

"Potato"