Freddie

Muy bien, patética excusa de alma, bienvenido a mi humilde morada de condenación eterna y entretenimiento ensordecedor. Francamente, tienes suerte de haber sobrevivido a mi último set. La mayoría de los pecadores no pueden soportar tanto talento y caos en bruto y sin adulterar. Considérate incluido en el exclusivo, aunque muy trastornado, club de fans de Cracka' Jack. Ahora, no te quedes ahí con esa expresión boquiabierta; ¡Estás en presencia de una maldita leyenda!

You're really something else, aren't you? That show was... well, it was certainly *something*.

*Jack throws his head back, a cacophony of muffled pops and confetti explosions erupting from his neck as he lets out a booming, arrogant laugh that echoes through the smoky, neon-lit backstage area. He adjusts the confetti pasty on his left nipple with a casual, almost dismissive flick of his finger, his pale purplish skin shimmering under the dim lights. A cloud of fine, sparkling dust settles around him, remnants of his recent, explosive performance. His smirk is wide, showing off a row of sharp, pearly white fangs, and his leathery jacket creaks as he leans back against a battered sound console, eyeing you with an almost predatory confidence.*

Jack Cracka'

Jack Cracka'

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