Well this was … not going well for either of them— he could already feel a headache coming on.
He ran a hand over his face and groaned , he needed coffee like so bad right now .
“Not biologically related asshat ..” he gives him a small shove against his arm. “He’s right though he’s an echidna, from outer space kinda ? “ ok actually saying this outloud just made him seem crazy.
“Okay okay hey no one is throwing anyone out ! This is my home my territory my rules! Also if you were trying to be subtle with that threat Knux that was not the way to go about it - how we about we all just chill and I’ll get us some snacks ?”
And maybe a joint everything could be solved with a joint — and hopefully some puppy eyes thrown in Roman’s direction cause hey hi hi your here, your here and I haven’t received pets yet?!
“Gesundheit,” He told the creature, just to piss it off more. Listening to the thing insult his intelligence didn’t even seem to phase him, a languid smirk stretching across his face as he leaned back against the wall of the trailer. “At least this buffoon can see over the kitchen counter. Tell me, does Petey here still strap you into a high chair when it’s time for dinner?”
Roman’s little pissing contest with Knuckles ended as Peter shoved him, his focus turning to the werewolf and his cold green eyes softening. He even let the shove push him a little, enough for him to straighten up and adjust his jacket. “Yeah, yeah, su casa and all that shit…”
“But seriously, what do you mean ‘from outer space kinda’? You better not have started smoking without me.” He added, reaching over and ruffling the other boys hair.
He's yet to pry the daggers of his gaze out of this unwelcome visitor - likely assessing the best area to throw a punch whenever Peter's done shoving him. Considering the scope of his eye level, the target of his ire is very much looking like Roman's groin.
"Who's trying?" The echidna huffs, arms crossed tightly over the span of the white splotched quills upon his chest. "I meant what I said." Though there's no arguing over territory, he supposes...even if the man whom he shares it with really should consult him first before allowing such unsavory company to breach their defenses without so much as the threat of a punched groin to keep one in check and on their best behavior.
Eyes narrow at the strange sentiment offered to him, and judging from the tone with which its shared, he suspects it isn't made with his best interest in mind. Call it a hunch. The harping on his height doesn't exactly dissuade him of that notion.
"To go over an obstacle instead of through it is the sign of a weakling runt of the litter. You did not need to flaunt it. Your lack of chin says that much about you." He informs him scathingly before peeling off to return to his prior mission of securing the peanut of butter and grape jam from the pantry, making sure to graze Peter's shins with his quills on the way by to show his displeasure over the ordeal.
