"Maybe I wanna fight," Ulysses returns, petulantly. But he lets his hand drop, turns around, and slowly, painfully, trudges the long miles couple feet back to his bunk. Head hits pillow. "I could take him." A boldfaced lie; Casper could one-two punch Ulysses into the dirt on his best day. Given that he's now face-down and sprawling half off his bed, Ulysses' claim seems like a statistical improbability.