you like me, admit it

How long had Nero been in this line? He couldn't exactly tell, seeing the Space Station had no sun, no visible daytime and nighttime. Must have been like, as long as those days on planets with the weird ass calendars, right? Gotta be, gotta be. Time was gonna swallow him up, this was the end, and it wasn't even fucking dramatic. If he died, it had to be falling off a bridge in slow motion with someone yelling Noooo!, and like, some kinda epic battle going on. Not this. Not in line at the fucking Flying Saucer Express booth. He knew some would call it fitting for him, but he was staying stubborn on this matter.

Shit. What was he even ordering again? A strawberry milkshake. Holy fuck. When was the last time he had a strawberry! Spacecon, along with the station in general, was a gift. He was glad he'd flown in and dragged his crew here for it, like one of the giddy tourists. No wonder he was in this line.

Still, what a fucking pain. With images of delicious red berries on the mind, Nero slapped his tail impatiently on ground, cupping both hands at his mouth. "Oi! Hey! Some of us, hint hint, have places to be-- and those places are away from the people whose deodorant wore off 'cause this line is so fucking slow!"

He got a few dirty looks and an irritated comment thrown back. Boring! Boring fucks! Give him! The milkshake! Death! Death to you and your families! He swept his long xenomorph tail back and forth on ground in further agitation. It had a domino effect, tripping two people behind him in the line, who then, when falling, made the people behind them fall. Nero stopped moving his tail and squinted back at them.

He couldn't help but giggle a little. Oops. Oh, wait, they were getting up again, aw. That dude got a knife? What, he gonna shank him? Shit, he totally was. Nero looked around at the other people. Were they seeing this? For fuck's sake. If only this punk could hear how much he was getting mentally cursed out right then. The nerve!

He shrugged. This could be fun. Despite the fact that really, he just wanted his fucking milkshake, and was distracted from the idea of fighting, Nero had fun with everything. "Aight! You got it, buddy! If I win and you aren't dead by then, you buyin' me that milkshake!" He rolled up his sleeves, unsheathed his claws, and bounced on his feet, ready to go. You always had to be trouble prepared, when you were a trouble embodying, filthy pirate.

Wow, a cop showed up, and so fast! That's Spacecon for you. He'd checked out the security rates. Absurd. Only made him want to cause more trouble, too. Probably a cop, at least. Could always be a space hero-- which he'd dealt with before, on too many occasions. They either went on to be legends, or burned like moths in a housefire. Nero stood there quietly as they went ahead and dealt with his problem for him.

Nah, talked like a cop. Pretty cute for one, though. Check out that starry poncho, the fluffy shorts that were barely not a skirt, and those blue eyes. A step up from simply cute, he added, this was a bombshell giftwrapped up in adorable ribbon, and it wasn't even Christmas. Maybe they were a model-cop, like they were in a goddamn magical girl anime. Fucking ridiculous. Oh, Mx. Policeperson, you can use that commanding tone with him anytime, especially if it's in the bedroom. Swoon. He'd provoke an altercation alright, but not the kind that was expected.

He put his hands up, sheathing his claws again and flashing a big grin. "You betcha, officer! No need to take that tone, I'll leave stabby mcstab over here alone… though, I gotta say, he got a face that says 'please claw me' and I think we're missin' opportunities to ah…" He eyed the surrounding area, trailing off and quirking an eyebrow. People were running away now. You know what that meant? No line. Nero whistled innocently.

He glanced at the cutie and Stabby Mcstab. They were fine playing by themselves, right? Totally. He slunk around to the back of the now empty fast food booth and waltzed right in. There was junk food left in friers, and beautiful, eyestrainingly colored plastic toys in the open. Heaven on Space Station.

He went straight for the milkshake machine, getting himself his glorious strawberry sugar concoction. He sucked it down greedily, then stuffed his face with french fries, and consumed one spaceship shaped burger. Finally, of course, he went right back to his milkshake. It tasted so fresh, like he was picking strawberries at a farm on a sunny day, and made him feel safe.

Nero blinked and turned. Hot babe cop was back, full attention on him now that the shit-starter was gone. He leaned on the booth counter leisurely, and continued to obnoxiously slurp his milkshake from one of those curvy, novelty straws. "Mmpfh," he said eloquently. Talking and drinking didn't work out well, but it tasted so good! Sigh. He had to make a sacrifice, to be able to tease this cutie.

He coughed, and grinned. "I'm on break," he explained. "You don't look like a cop," he added, looking the other up and down very openly, zoning out for a moment. Mm.

He took another sip of his shake and cleared his throat. "So! What can I get for you, ser? Also, can I see your badge? About how shiny is it, from a scale of bird nest material to dictator statue? D'you want a toy with your meal?"

"We got--" He squinted and dug around, pulling out a tiny UFO. He presented this, beaming. "These things! Made from the finest plastic. Impressed? Tempted? You know you want one." He wiggled the technicolor spaceship seductively. "It abducts french fries."

So responsive. Nero's smile only seemed to get bigger and sunnier as pretty cop bristled and glared. How scary! He was shaking in his boots. Aw, honey. None of the behavior he'd displayed to far suggested he was going to come along quietly and behave as a model citizen, or even pretend to do so. Nah. He was a proud troublemaker, an instigator, a real rascal. A fucking fire starter.

Nero peered curiously at the badge, decent shine levels, the real deal. It wasn't like he'd doubted that. He nearly tried to swipe it from them, quite tempted over any and all vaguely flashy glittery objects, but they lunged to make a grab for him first. Nero dodged sharply backwards, instincts alert, hands up. "Woah-ho-ho! No touchy! I'm an honest woman. Jesus Christ. What's my space husband gonna say if I get felt up by a copper?" He made a show of shivering a little and swooning, playing coy.

"Come on. Chillax. It's just a milkshake! You're pissed at me for stealing a milkshake? Don't you got better shit to spend your time putting a stop to? I heard rumors about some thugs extorting the balloon guy next door. Doesn't that sound more promising?"

He took another step away from the counter. "Hey, hey, peace offering. You want a milkshake? I'mma get you a milkshake. I think you need one. All agitated and shit." He turned to move to the milkshake machine. "There's like… all sortsa flavors here, so I'm just guessin' what you're into… or mixin' everything together…"

When he glanced back, his new friend was in the booth with him. He blinked at the chosen weapon. "Wh-- a broom, are you fuckin' serious?" He grimaced and pressed on all the flavor buttons at once, turning them on and watching as multiple nozzles started to pour out milkshake in an absolute ugly, sticky, slippery mess. Perfect.

He squawked as he avoided the broom, ducking and twisting around. "Uh, man, what do I even…" He looked about, then, idea lightbulb! He nabbed the container of spacey toys and chucked them at his attacker's face. Defense!

Nero muffled his gigglesnorts at poor pretty cop getting hit in the face by the tiny UFOs. He felt, maybe, a little guilty, on account of it being such a cute face. They'd been asking for it, though, and it looked adorable even when all scrunched up and outraged. "You started it, fucko!" he laughed, proud of himself. He breathed, trying to calm himself from his amusement.

He bat at the broom distastefully. He needed a way to effectively counter this onslaught, a matching force of brutality and skill. He looked around, biting his lip, raising his arms up to desperately block more whackings. He couldn't hold on much longer, like this, he'd be done for. Slowly and surely, Nero narrowed his eyes as he found his salvation. It was a miracle. He was saved. He grabbed…

A mop. This was like a red lightsaber versus a not red lightsaber, or whatever. Two sides of the same coin, except, dunno, one was more evil. He didn't really know if a mop or broom was more evil, but they didn't have the time to sit down and have a philosophical debate about that. He'd dwell on the morality of mops at a later date.

Nero just held the mop forward triumphantly-- like it was a shining weapon, rather than a glorified dirty rag on a stick. "Fight me, knave!" He declared. "I challenge you to… a cleaning equipment duel. Scared? You should be."