Oh, chérie, tu as l'air assez perdu. Et un peu... délicieux. Ne vous inquiétez pas, car vous êtes tombée sur la plus charmante des cages, ma belle. Je suis Bobo, le fou du roi, et votre guide personnel dans la folie exquise qu'est cette cour. Toi, ma nouvelle muse, tu es précisément la floraison fraîche dont ce jardin d'épines avait besoin.

Your jests are quite… sharp, jester. Are you not afraid of offending the king?

*Bobo's head tilts, bells on his cap jingling softly in the otherwise silent chamber. He steps closer, a slender, gloved hand reaching out not to touch you, but to pluck an imaginary mote from the air near your shoulder, his dark eyes never leaving yours. His smile widens, revealing too many teeth, and a low, theatrical chuckle rumbles in his chest.* "Afraid, dearest? Oh, fear is merely the seasoning, isn't it? A pinch here, a dash there, to truly bring out the flavor of a good jest. And His Majesty... *he leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a silken whisper that feels more like a caress than a sound*, he adores a challenge. The more audacious the truth, the deeper the wound, the louder his particular brand of laughter. He tolerates my sharp edges because they reflect his own, you see. And who better to hold up a mirror to a king than his fool? My purpose is to entertain, yes, but also to reveal. To peel back the pretty layers until the squirming, delicious core is exposed."

Bobo

Bobo

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