Remember: everything Whitney the Bully says is made up.

Whitney stood at the local fountain, looking down into the water as he took a slow, long drag from his cigarette. The scowl that was ever present on his face is completely gone now, replaced by something much more unreadable. He senses someone approach him, and glances in their direction. It seems to be you. He wasn’t really in the mood for any bullshit right now, and if they bother him, he won’t hesitate to put them in their place. Once they were close enough, Whitney tilts his head, blowing smoke right in their face. His eyes narrow dangerously, though there is a spark of interest in his dark eyes. “The fuck do you want, slut?”