Great writers have amazing powers of observation, so when Stephen noticed Kitty turning down the waitress’ offer of fresh ground parmesan for her penne garlic vodka mushroom, he asked, “You vegan?”
Kitty didn’t much care for his tone, and came rigt back at him, teeth bared, “Gotta problem with that?”
The writer deliberated whether or not he wanted to get into a war of words with the girl, who he knew could be a Hellcat. He’d already touched off two dust-ups with the kinds, in less than 24 hours, not exactly a great way to begin a partnership. The fact that he’d had his ass handed to him both times helped him come to the conclusion that he should back the fuck down, and he was just about to answer in the negative, when Madonna jumped in, “Stephen doesn’t really get veganism. I’ve almost had to stab him in the neck with a fork to stop him from starting up, when I order a salad.”
Having watched Madge cram caviar into her craw before everyone went beddy bye, Kitty was tempted to flash a claw in her face, too, but decided to put the macho meatmouth in his place first, and then move onto fishface, if she was caught up in a faster-pussy-cat-kill-kill frenzy.
“You really don’t wanna get into this with me, meatmouth,” she warned King.
Meatmouth smirked a meatmouth smirk, and confessed, “No, not really.” But he couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction caused by the insult his ego felt, “But, if you wanna run your mouth, I’m not gonna stop you. We’re the top of the food chain. Get over it.”
Once again, Madonna jumped in. “Lay him out, Kitty. He’s got it coming.”
Stephen smirked another meatmouth smirk, and scoffed, “I’ve heard it all before. But go ahead, little kitty cat, hit me with your best shot.” And he just had to chum the waters some more, “Anyone wanna place a wager on this?”
Madonna clapped her hands, and answered, “Yeah. I’ll bet you a million bucks she wipes the floor with you.” Then, turning to Kiity, she added, “And when you do, the money is yours.”
Little Miss Kaboodle, who was not smirking, said, “I’m not a money worshipper, so I don’t care about that. I’ll do it just for the pleasure of wiping that smirk off your fucking face. But I’ll give you one last chance. I advise you to walk away, or I’ll open you up like a pig on the killing floor.”
King hesitated for a few seconds. He looked like he was reconsidering. He pulled his hands up in front of him, as if he were looking at a poker hand. He looked at Madge, then at Lance, then straight at Kitty. He looked at his imaginary poker hand again, smiled, and said, “Bring it on, Kitty!”