The constant internal turmoil between LeeRoy and Silvia raged on.

And by raged on I mean it was an endless passive aggressive standoff.

[i]You'd have to be a fool to stand up to him.[/i]

[b]You'd be wrong in that assumption.[/b]

[i]Look at how calm he is, it's like he lives for the express purpose of kicking ass.[/i]

[b]Literally a nineteen eighties action movie protagonist. Musclebound but not terribly smart, just look at how aloof and vacant he is.[/b]

[i]I think you might be mistaking calm malice with stupidity.[/i]

[b]Unlikely but potentially.[/b]

But in the face of someone who trumped him in height, weight, and fitness. Someone who looked as savage and wild as he did calm and aloof. Someone who lavished in bloodshed and murder.

LeeRoy spit. 

Though, much to his distress he had forgotten that he was wearing a helmet. On the screen of which he had left a dab of saliva that slowly crept downwards, leaving a slimy trail behind it. This made thinking a slight harder. 

Why? 

Laughter.

Cacophonous laughter from the metaphysical orifice that serves as Silvia's voicebox. It was deafening and hurt his head with each chortle. No amount of ennui could salve this sort of wound, LeeRoy had done something stupid with the intent of riling a response but had instead wildly embarrassed himself. 

That is to say, would have embarrassed himself if he had that emotion anymore, and now all he felt was a mild annoyance and disgust. Which one could liken to embarrassment. 

LeeRoy opted instead on a proper kick to the jangly bits with an upward kick of his right leg. A simply enough move, twist the hip, turn the body and sharply raise your shin upwards into the groin of your opponent. Whoever this savage was, he was going to be treated like a savage.

Savagely.