Bramblepoint And who's the boss?

"Cicero is not scared," Cicero said, his mismatched eyes staring intently at Thatcher for a moment while he said this. He was not scared of energy, at least, and did not think that this wolf would harm him at all, anyway. If anything, he would only be frustrated with the lack of response to his behaviour. Cicero enjoyed being the jester, although not as much as Sheogorath did, but these were not his kind of jokes. He was more of a black humour type of guy.

The joke's pun brought a smile to Cicero's face, though it stayed at that. He did not laugh, merely smiled. His smile soon vanished, however, when he noticed Thatcher's irritation rising. He did not understand why, for he had not seen any sort of humour that was laugh-worthy, anyway. "Blackfeather Woods," said Cicero. "Cicero enjoys more... sophisticated humour." He grinned teasingly at Thatcher, knowing that he was somewhat insulting his deer joke. It had been amusing enough, but everyone would agree that it was far from sophisicated.