Daxter's own eyebrow, or, more accurately, what had once been an eyebrow and was now a spot of orange fuzz to match all of the other spots of orange fuzz, twitched upward slightly, and Dax had to take a moment to set down the red, crunchy, fruity thing and to cross his arms over his chest, and to stand up proud and tall(ish) and indignant, because that was just what Daxters did.

It was their calling in life, really.

"I'll have you know," he said, enunciating every last syllable with the slow, deliberate clarity that one might use while speaking to a small child, "that I take exceptional care of myself, Jak."

He did. Also, he had to finish his apple now. Preferably from a perch on Jak's shoulder, so that he could make loud, obnoxious crunching noises into his ear.