His response was to leap over the back of the chair, keeping space between them, heading towards the door. "They need to label you only children types. Y'all know shit about siblings. Man, if you don't know what you're talking about maybe don't give advice."
He wasn't a combatant. That was his identity - not a fighter, not a field agent. He cooked and he cleaned and he did not go out into the field where danger and temptation lay. He did his best.
And besides, what absolute asshole would try to beat up on their kid sister? "Besides, I didn't assume at first, I assumed after your response to 'I got punched' was 'wow, bone knuckles are cool' and that felt pretty safe. Man, take your bad advice somewhere else, because I'm out."