Completely inconsequential negotiations.

"Well what good would it do you to do that, Arthur?" Ford spoke earnestly, glancing at his watch and noting that he was losing minutes off the schedule. This would never do. The entire point of the threat was to get the man moving. If he didn't move, the entire show was for absolute nothing.

"Oh not a thing, Ford, I think we established that. It also doesn't do them any good, which is the entire point." Arthur smiled at the workmen who once again raised their small styrofoam cups.

It was at that point that the small furry fat man, whose name was Prosser but was firmly ensconced in Arthur's memory as Tubby Fathead, began berating his subordinates for their use of non-recyclable materials. Clearly he had decided to move on to much more easy targets, and it created a remarkable sense of injustice in Arthur.

"Here now!" Arthur addressed the fat man whose attention was immediately yanked back to the highest priority target. Ford stood by helplessly trying to determine exactly what was going on in the Earthman's mind. Best to let this play out. Just tire him out, be reasonable... Yes he'd lose some commission, but better some benefit than none at all.

"Yes, Mr. Dent! Have you come to your senses yet?" Mr. Prosser spoke earnestly, his face taking on the delighted enthusiasm of a man who no longer expects a stern lecture and departmental prosecution for failure.

"Oh not at all. Just wanted to point out that you have no jurisdiction over your worker's choice of cups." Arthur smiled brightly, and leaned his head back into the mud before looking up at Ford.

The Alien was unimpressed, and took a deep breath, trying to determine exactly why this particular earthman was not following the proper procedures for human conflict. At this point the lesser being was supposed to kowtow, and failing that, move along to another location, where all proper manipulations and abductions were performed. Failure to follow the most basic rules was... unsettling.

"Please, Arthur..." Ford began, shifting tactics to one of severe societal pressure, and a request for aid that all empathic beings shared. It almost never failed to work on a primitive species like humans. "I'd really appreciate it if you came with me down to the pub."

"That does sound like a good idea!" Mr. Prosser spoke up brightly, bringing a wince to Ford's face. The last thing that a good actor needed was a bad one "helping" him. "That way you can ensure that the lads have proper mugs and everyone will be happy."

"Oh shut up man, you just want me to leave and you made that very clear fifteen minutes ago." Arthur's upper lip was no longer stiff at this point. He had had more than enough of this wheedling. "The bloody council is not my mother, although it seems to be yours. "

"That is extremely offensive and sexist Mr Dent!" Prosser spoke loudly and angrily. "I demand that you immediately apologize and show your sincerity by leaving the premises immediately."

"Are you naturally this obtuse, or do you have to work at it?" Arthur shook his head, before pointing at his friend who stood over him in a most sympathetic but exasperated stance. "Him, I expect it from. He's never changed, he's always been this crazy."

"Mr. Dent, you must understand that this is normal now." Prosser spoke earnestly, as the workmen around him snickered in response.

"Normal! Ha!" Arthur laughed loudly at Mr. Prosser, who bristled angrily at the comment.

"That kind of disrespect is extremely dangerous, Mr. Dent. You could cause all kinds of mayhem and **** by not listening to experts like me." Mr. Prosser consulted his cell phone again, which seemed to be helpfully detailing the procedures needed to control a psychopath, which the social worker app had determined that Mr. Dent had become.

"Haven't we already had this song and dance, Mr. Tubby Fat..." Arthur enjoyed the sight of a passing cloud as he spoke.

"That is NOT my NAME!" Prosser shouted loudly, attempting to drown out the guffaws of the workmen all around him.

"Well, that's very good to know. Perhaps you should wear a larger name tag. That one you have on is very hard to read."

"I'm NOT wearing a..." Mr Prosser looked down at the small heraldic pin that was supposed to indicate his status as a council member. "That is a council symbol."

"Oh, We're back to THAT, are we?" Arthur nodded again. "I remember this part. Isn't this where I came in?"

Prosser realized that this was not in fact the capitulation he had been expecting. In fact, he had also lost ground with his workmen, who seemed to have put up a small scoreboard against one of the bulldozers, and were marking points between the two sides, labeled, "Lost Cause" and "Tubby Fathead". Lost Cause seemed to be ahead by a small margin, and odds were now 2-1 against Tubby Fathead.

Mr. Prosser racked his brain, trying to figure out some way he could declare a man lying on his back in a bathrobe a menace.

"Mr. Dent, are you armed?" Mr. Prosser offered hesitantly, hoping for a positive response.

"I'm afraid not, I just handed my keys to my friend here." Arthur smiled brightly, before taking a sip of a cup of hot tea that one of the workmen had thoughtfully left unattended on the tines of the bulldozer.

"Do you feel any kind of aggression towards anyone?" Mr. Prosser tried again, aiming for another angle. This one was a guarantee, according to his phone. If the answer was yes, the troublemaker could be taken into custody for making threats. If the answer was no, the troublemaker could be removed to a safe location for obvious psychopathic lying.

"What do you mean by aggression?" Arthur did not answer the question, bringing a flush of rage to Prosser's face.

"Harming yourself or one of my people, Mr. Dent." The councilman spoke again, hopefully. "Are you thinking about it?"

"Mr. Prosser, are you applying for the job of being my mother?"

Prosser snapped his mouth shut in response to the laughter about him. He opened up a small application on his phone, which assured him that he was following all proper procedures. He was a bit unsure about the next suggestion, but decided that the phone had always been correct, and that clearly whoever had programmed it knew what they were doing.

"Mr. Dent, your mother would not approve of what you're doing." Prosser was unsure that it was the proper statement to make, and the snickers around him only increased his doubt, but he was certain it was the proper procedure.

Arthur raised his head out of the mud and stared at the little council man. Tubby Fathead did not meet his gaze, which ruined the entire effect of the words completely. At any other time, any other place, the words might have meant something. But now, for some reason, Arthur felt the need to respond in a way that perfectly mirrored the respect that the Council and its representative was showing him.

"You ought to write children's books, Mr. Prosser. If you're going to do that, I suggest something more impactful. Try this. Ahem... Your Mother has not so much brain as ear wax, and raised you just like her dogs."

Mr. Prosser was unable to respond.