“Twelve days,” Sam held up three fingers to illustrate her point. “It took me twelve days to get here, so you better buckle up and listen to my story, or so help me, I’ll boot your sorry butt to the next galaxy over with nothing but this pair of crocs.”
“Okay, okay! I get it! Tell your gosh darn story!” Sam held up his bare hands in defense. He wasn’t getting out of this one anytime soon. “No need to be so hostile, I just had some important things to be dealing with right now, that’s all. Pressing matters and such, you of all people should understand.”
“Oh please,” Sam rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you really have anything better to do.”
“I’m the Supreme Emperor of the Milky Way. I’m a very important figurehead.”
“Like I said…”
Sam had to admit, despite the illustrious title, there really wasn’t much to it, being a Supreme Emperor and all. Ever since the reformation, at least. He had mixed opinions about constitutional monarchy. On one hand, he didn’t have to do anything. On the other hand, he had nothing to do. On the third hand, he had still the cast from the radioactive therapy sessions of last week.
“What do you have in mind to say,” Sam said. “Well? Get on with it!”
“Here’s all I meant to get across,” Sam said. “You’re a hard person to track down, and I understand why, but you need to get your priorities straight. We need you back on Earth.”
“Aaww, but this place is so much more fun,” Sam complained. “Why can’t I just stay here and you take care of everything back there?”
“Because, it’s not my fucking problem, so you’d better get your scrawny ass back onto that freighter – direct shipment to Toronto from wherever-the-fuck-this-place-is-opolis, and we’re going to settle everything once and for all.” Sam stood back up from the table, to signify that the conversation was over.
Sam groaned, complained even more on the five second journey from Uncle Roger’s Really Rancid Root Beer Joint to the makeshift spaceport. The war repairs were still ongoing. That’s what Sam did – he started wars, and Sam was the one who had to clean everything up afterwards. It was a complicated business partnership, to say the least. He wasn’t physically bound or compelled to go or anything, but he really didn’t think he could provoke Sam any more than he already had in the past few millennia.
So what if he started the Fifth Martian-Terran war because he stole both of their fresh water reserves without telling anyone? Big deal! He made the largest hot tub in the multiverse, and boy, what a party that was!