Grinning, Nicanor nodded. "Yes, I do think it is funny," he admitted, swirling the bit of beer left in the bottle. "I don't know what a poin... poindex is, but I think you are insulting me. If you are not, then I would like to know what this means, and if you are, fuck you." And then Nic giggled, mainly to himself, because he did not swear often so when he did it sounded foreign to himself. And the funny part was that he was swearing in a foreign language, with a word that made himself sound foreign, and that tickled him. He couldn't even find himself to be annoyed if Lincoln really had insulted him, he felt so tickled. Clearly the tequila was starting its magic.