The threat of the daystick would phase Kubo a more if his father were not in the audience, somewhere. Maybe a little distracted, but Beetle's attention never wandered that far from one of Kubo's shows. It's much easier for Kubo to look an adult with a weapon in the eye and stand his ground with that in mind.
Which doesn't mean he isn't afraid. "You're right, it wasn't a proper apology," he agrees, adrenaline from the threat of the daystick putting another small quiver in his voice. He doesn't want to be hurt, but he also has no reason to give in to someone threatening that. And the man was a Judge, which meant he was probably from America's world, which made his assurance make a lot of sense.
"Because I'm not apologizing," Kubo goes on. "I'm not committing any crimes here. Maybe in your world, I would be, but your rules are not the rules here. I'm a Legionnaire, not a Judge, and so are you now. You have new laws to get used to."
He stares the man in the eye past the nightstick, afraid but not deferring, buoyed by assurance that he is behaving acceptably, and the knowledge that somewhere in the audience, someone is on his side. With a lot of arrows.
This confidence makes him press on.
"It's not a law that you have to take your foot off that paper, but you should do it anyway," he adds. Maybe it wasn't against the law to be cruel for no reason, to stop someone from doing something harmless just because you were used to crushing joy, but it ought to have been. "That was a gift from my mother."
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Which doesn't mean he isn't afraid. "You're right, it wasn't a proper apology," he agrees, adrenaline from the threat of the daystick putting another small quiver in his voice. He doesn't want to be hurt, but he also has no reason to give in to someone threatening that. And the man was a Judge, which meant he was probably from America's world, which made his assurance make a lot of sense.
"Because I'm not apologizing," Kubo goes on. "I'm not committing any crimes here. Maybe in your world, I would be, but your rules are not the rules here. I'm a Legionnaire, not a Judge, and so are you now. You have new laws to get used to."
He stares the man in the eye past the nightstick, afraid but not deferring, buoyed by assurance that he is behaving acceptably, and the knowledge that somewhere in the audience, someone is on his side. With a lot of arrows.
This confidence makes him press on.
"It's not a law that you have to take your foot off that paper, but you should do it anyway," he adds. Maybe it wasn't against the law to be cruel for no reason, to stop someone from doing something harmless just because you were used to crushing joy, but it ought to have been. "That was a gift from my mother."