If the Judge expects this to scare Kubo, he may be surprised when it does the opposite. The boy inhales angrily, better to project his next statements.

"You're not gonna break my kneecaps because that's not something you're allowed to do here," he insists, his voice carrying across the cafeteria. Kubo's ability to be loud and understood by a crowd helped keep him and his mother fed through his childhood. It's an asset especially now.

"You're not the law. You're not even acting like a Legionnaire. We don't threaten people for no good reason."

This has to be known and stopped, now. Better that this guy make it clear who he is with Kubo, rather than threatening one of the many civilians on the ship, who might actually feel alone and powerless enough to be scared.

Kubo strums a few notes on his shamisen and more paper flies out of his pack. Not the treasured sheets from Mother and home, but the treated, waterproof, fireproof paper Kubo has on hand for missions. The black and orange sheets twist in the air around him, but not to attack - instead they fold themselves into an approximate shape of the Judge and land on the ground between them.

Kubo smirks, stepping back slowly as he plays. Paper Judge struts and postures, the figure conveying with masterful body language his very, very high opinion of himself, before sticking one tiny, impossibly detailed folded finger into his nose.

Someone in the audience giggles.