"Nope, pretty sure it’s a game.” Tone flat, green eyes holding a revered boredom. He punctuated his words with a crisp bite into a chip, the crunch audible to all ears in the vicinity, and he not caring one bit. Egging on jocks was somewhat of a pass time for Jughead Jones, and it was all too easy when they addressed him first, loaded his arms with ammunition. He was full of sarcastic commentary any ordinary day of the week, but combine it with a pep rally and a hyped up football game against the school’s rivals ... Jughead was ready to go, both in terms of making fun of anything he felt to be a display of teenage lugheadedness, and to physically go, leave the school property as quickly as the bell could ring.
“I know it goes over your head, Moose, but that class we go to four times a week, called History? The things we learn about, guns and tanks and Nazis ... Yeah, that’s war.” He waved a chip through the air before crunching it in his teeth as if to make his point more clear. “Not your testosterone fuelled excuse for crashing your heads together out on the lawn.”