Rage-free. This includes antagonising, sarcasm, or any other form of emotionally crippling 12 year olds (both physically and mentally).
Sticks and stones may break their bones, but words will hurt forever :(

Biography & background:
As a kid, Baxter always felt very different from the other toddlers. As time went by, he felt the growing urge of bullying the nasty, mean pieces of dirt around him. His father knew just how to capitalise on that. Oh yes, he himself indeed struggled with what he could not do himself: teach the non-innocent mentally impaired a lesson. So he figured out a way to do that: through his son. Baxter was all but young before he got taken away by his dad, whom taught him how to accurately and perfectly strike mental blows to his -at that time imaginary- victims. After a long and thorough education, Baxter was ready for it. He targeted his first victim and studied his moves and manners carefully before striking his vicious blows. He had been taught to only proceed when the world was a better place without the victim. He knew how to do it, and as time and victims went by he became better in it: one might say it became his trade. His flawless linguistic approach to decapitating (allusive, that is) his opponents became feared, nay, dreaded, amongst his enemies. His infamous work was continued long after his father had died. It was not once that his targets became pitiful, begging for his mercy. But Baxter was taught never to give in. Time passed by, Baxter grew older. What once grew as his urge, now became his soft spot. With every swing of the pendulum, he realised there was an end coming to him and his methods. It did not take long before he knew it was up to him to decide which particular end this would be. He knew he had to quit. He just could not. Years passed, his situation gnawing at him, danger enclosing his life. For a few more months Baxter embraced it, until it finally dawned on him that this day was the day he had to quit. A storm was coming that day. Clouds were gathering, his boat fighting the waves of the tide. It heaved and creaked when Baxter got on board. He fired up the engine, took one last look at the place where he had done his work. Took a deep breath and took off. Never looked back.