The jester sashayed into the inner sanctum of the dark brotherhood, whistling absently the same off-key tune that to any ear seemed to be little more than the man experimenting with all manner of ranges that he could manage to expel from his lungs in a single breath. It was, in fact, more of a humming than a whistling, but the effect was the same for all within earshot- excepting those who were equally unbalanced in the brain department, it efficiently crossed the barrier into the territory of being exceptionally annoying to listen to.
It appeared to please him somewhat, though. Especially the way that it echoed off of the cavern walls and back to himself, as if he were his very own symphony of annoying high pitched humming. One can imagine the effect on the persons populating the cavern, especially when there were those among that population that were already a little less than impressed with the 'keeper' to begin with. Case in point…
"Would you knock that off?" Arnbjorn snarled, the ringing of his mallet against cooling steel not enough to drown out the sound of Cicero's manic self expression. Now, if a position of authority to the jester had requested such a thing, there was a sizeable percentage of a chance that he may have been persuaded to choke his vocal chords into submission; or at least take their lyrical exhibitions elsewhere. But this was the stinky, nasty, Astrid-loving werewolf clattering away at his bent pieces of metal at the forge. Not exactly the impressive type. What mongrel would rather clatter than kill? Especially when he had those wonderful CLAWS, for ripping… and tearing… and shredding…
"Hmmmmm?" the hum of music flitted into a hum of question, which was technically, somewhat, maybe a little like knocking it off, but not quite. Attention diverted from aimless wandering, his fists found his hips and he stuck an exaggerated derisive pose at the werewolf. Arnbjorn spat and the ground near the jesters feet.
"Keep walking, creeper. " he growled, bristling. He didn't like anyone, but this guy? The one who threatened his wifes leadership of this place, who wandered around like an unhinged pansy? This one, he particularly didn't like. Besides all that, he consistently smelled of embalming fluids. For dramatic effect, he menacingly (or childishly, depending on the viewpoint) waggled the hot brand of metal in the jesters direction. " Shoo."
Uncertain, and eyeing the brand, Cicero hesitated and wavered, rocking back and forth on his curl-toed boots. "Cicero will… continue… quietly." He offered, lips twitching.
"Good. Go." Thinking he'd won some sort of confrontation, Arnbjorn turned his back on the jester, feeling prideful of him self. In doing so, he completely missed the rude faces, equally insulting gyrations, protruding tongue and particularly naughty finger that were directed at him for a few solid moments. It was entertaining enough to warrant a cackle, which had the wolf-man whipping around to threaten again, only to note the fool of hearts capering off distractedly towards the mess hall, muttering something about a sweetroll… or a carrot.