Bramblepoint And who's the boss?

Anyone who feels like having a nice conversation with a crazy teen have fun :)

Thatch walked along through the forest. He liked it there, in the forest. Lots of places to hide and ambush. When he went to kill his father he'd make sure to do it in a forest. He smiled as he walked, sniffing at every tree and mumbling some comments like 'too short' or 'too tall'. There wasn't usually a good reason for his actions. Sometimes he just did things. After a while he stopped to lay down in a little clearing and take a nap. He spun in a circle exactly 6 times before stopping and curling up into a ball of warm red fluff. He looked up at the sky, and sighed. Today wasn't to bad, but it could be better. Especially if he had someone to screw with.

It was time for yet more exploration, as it ever seemed to be of late. Cicero was weary, yet he could not allow his paws to rest too much. He stayed near Blackfeather Woods this time, for it made him feel at ease. He knew that it was misplaced, this feeling of safety, for it wasn't like half a day's travel meant that he would be safe to run from whoever aimed to harm him. So far, however, Cicero had only run into females, and he did not mind overly much. There was little, after all, that those could do to harm him. Little that he would not enjoy, anyway, for it was not pain that he feared.

Today, the Scout was enjoying exploration. He had still not yet seen Damien after his return to the Woods, and knew that the time for him to do so drew near. While lost in thoughts stepping through the Bramblewood, Cicero stepped into a clearing and only then did the scent of another wolf enter his nostrils. He froze and looked around the clearing, where he soon identified the curled up form of a ruddy wolf. Cicero stood still and waited, wondering if the ruddy sleeper was awake or in deep slumber; and if he'd seen Cicero, too.

Thatch hadn't yet fallen asleep, when he heard footsteps nearby. Another wolf, and very close. A wicked grin appeared over his face. Oh goody, today isn't going to be extremely boring. He thought cheerfully, forgetting that before he had classified this as a 'good day'. Now it was better anyway. He rolled over before springing to his paws to face the other, who was a black and white male with two different colored eyes. Interesting. He thought before bowing his head theatrically to introduce himself. Hello, I'mmmm Thatcher! But please, it's Thatch. He winked playfully, feeling no threat from this male.

He never really felt fear. Well he did, but he always managed to mask it with his crazy sense of humor and eccentricity. That was his specialty. The other wolf was bigger than him, and looked pretty strong. But not to fear. If he did try anything, Thatch was always ready.

Before his run-in with the white wolf, Cicero did not remember being afraid. He did not fear death, nor pain — Cicero did not know if it was because he was wired differently, but he had always enjoyed the sensation of pain, even as a small pup — and he had never thought that there would be anything to fear in his life. Perhaps he had feared losing Damien, and perhaps it was that fear that drove him, but as the other male sprang into action and jumped in front of his face, quick and energetic, Cicero felt protective and, somewhere deep down, afraid of what might come, of the tiny chance that something he did not wish for might happen. It was strange, for before the white wolf Cicero had never feared being seduced by others, had never feared having to face Damien and tell the love of his life that he had given in to lust. He had never seen it as a bad thing. He wondered why, then, he felt so dirty now.

Thatcher, then. "Cicero," said Cicero, never hiding his name. If he didn't outright tell them, they would find out sooner or later, anyway, what with the way he spoke. Others had always found his manner of speaking strange, but ever since Sheogorath had started rearing its ugly head, Cicero was glad to have his speech to remind him who he was. Cicero. Cicero relaxed, realising that the male seemed only playful, not a threat to him. "Thatch is surely a cheerful fellow, is he not?" Cicero noted as he watched the energetic and playful male in front of him. He considered asking what he was doing here or if he had any information on neighbouring packs — he didn't smell part of any, though — but for now, he would just throw himself at the conversation and see where it would go.

Cicero I like that, Cicero Cicero. Fun to say. Thatch grinned, tail wagging slightly. He wouldn't mind playing, he hadn't played in a while. Or at least since his sisters Portia and Verem. He'd killed Portia, but she deserved it, always taking the attention that was rightly his. Verem on the other hand was nicer, and had sort of looked out for him after mom had died. Still, if he had that chance to kill her too, he'd take it. Cicero seemed rather strange, speaking in third person. Strange like me? Teekon Wilds has been pretty promising so far! Thatch always loved meeting others who were also a little... different in the head area. He usually wanted to kill them less.

Yeah, I suppose I am. I do love jokes. What do you call a deer with no eyes? He asked with a sneer, thinking about how clever this joke was. He loved jokes honestly, and couldn't get enough of them.

Ok I'm so sorry for my corny joke but if you say it aloud it will all make sense I promise xD

The joy that his name brought onto Thatcher was a bit disconcerting, Cicero had to admit. He could not help but wonder, and wondered aloud — "Does Thatcher like the special mushrooms?" Because he was acting a lot like he had eaten something wrong (or right, depending on your point of view). With his knowledge of poisons, Cicero knew a thing or two about such things, herbs or mushrooms. There was something off about Thatcher, because he acted a little bit too... happy.

A joke followed. Cicero had never heard a joke in his life, and so he did not understand it, wondered if it was some sort of philosophical question. Cicero canted his head in question, and he felt amused by the fact that Thatcher seemed to enjoy his own joke a little too much. "Blind," Cicero answered, although he knew that at times creatures whose eyesight was taken would develop other skills better; so perhaps in a way, it was not entirely a true answer. He awaited the actual answer, not sure what to expect.

Thatcher chuckled a little at Cicero's comment. The special mushrooms? No, he was just in a really good mood. No, no mushrooms for me. I'm just happy. Sorry if happiness scares you. He taunted, though in a friendly manner. Cicero seemed pretty confused by his joke, and this was extremely disheartening to Thatch. He liked making others laugh, and seeing Cicero there all over processing his joke just broke his heart. Damn where's this guy been all his life, under a rock?

No eyedeer! It's funny. You laugh. He shrugged with a sigh, mumbling to himself, Sheesh. He looked back to Cicero, starting to get a bit bored with this wolf already. A wolf who didn't like humor, simply wasn't his kind of wolf. But nothing was more boring than being alone. Thatch hated being alone, and he'd had enough of it. So where are you from? This place with no humor. He asked, hoping to learn more about the black and white male.

"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.

Well at least he had managed to make Cicero smile. That was good enough, kinda. Oh well, not all wolves liked his kind of humour. Thatch was a fan of black humour as well, but had thought to play it safe since he'd only just met this guy. Blackfeather woods, he'd remember that one. He needed to start pack shopping, he was done with being alone. I guess I'm not the sophisticated type. He shrugged with a smile, ignoring the fact that Cicero had lowkey insulted his joke.

Feeling a bit playful all of a sudden, Thatch leaped into a play bow, tail wagging behind him. Feel like a spar maybe? Game of chase? He asked, golden eyes glued to the other male.

He may not have been sophisticated, but he was honest, and Cicero could appreciate that, at least. The wolf invited him to a spar or a game of tag, but the thought of colliding physically with the male did not bring joy to Cicero's heart. "No," he answered coolly, clearly not on board with the idea, and his mismatched eyes sought contact with Thatcher's in warning not to try anything funny.

"Is Thatcher from a pack?" asked Cicero, out of mere curiosity, but also because he could perhaps be provided with information for Blackfeather Woods. He doubted it, considering how this wolf was so far, but one never knew.

When the question was answered negatively, Cicero decided to turn around and make his way back to Blackfeather; this guy didn't know stuff about Redhawk Caldera, and he was far from Dark Brotherhood material.