"I suppose there is no reason I couldn't... those are the colours of my clan, after all." Rokuro might actually take Tech up on that suggestion. He has only ever painted his fingernails with calligraphy ink, mostly out of boredom when transcribing for excessive periods of time.

"Perhaps I could do yours as well." Luckily for Tech, a sharp kick to the leg of Rokuro's chair cuts off that particular train of thought. The buff woman is glaring down at him, massive arms folded across her chest.

"Dragging this game out for the rest of the night won't save you. Take your turn or surrender. Either way, he's going to be massaging my feet while you rub my shoulders." Rokuro can't help making a face, which doesn't help the woman's mood any, and she all but hauls him out of his chair and onto the line.

"Very well." He straightens his jacket upon standing, and takes position. Refusing to look bothered, even though he is very much bothered. He'll take his aggression out on the dartboard. Rokuro doesn't throw as hard as the woman (his arms are a fraction of the size), but he does hit the bull's eye thrice-- while imagining it's the middle of her forehead.

Walking back from the board, Rokuro takes a detour from his chair to his secondary seat- directly upon Tech's lap. He'll apologize to the clone later. Watching the woman grind her teeth down in red-faced rage as she attempts to set up for her round is entirely worth the breech of etiquette.

It is entirely possible that Rokuro Unno is the most petty being on either planet.