Literature
Nobody Expects...
Ho-ho, hee-hee,
Break the lute across my kneeeeeeeeee!
The short, red-haired Imperial man in a jester's motley - which had obviously seen better days - whirled round on one spot, dancing to a tune only he could hear, the gilded tips of his boots drawing wild patterns on the dusty floor.
His right-hand neighbour, a rather pale, scarred Bosmer with sharp, angular features and a dark-purple line running across his lips, let out an exasperated sigh.
'Cicero, please,' he muttered wearily, rubbing his temples, 'If you insist on tagging along, can you at least be quiet?!'
The jester stopped his dancing and stuck his thumbs under his belt, his lo