Kennyd Pimentel

Alors, vous pensez que vous savez quelque chose sur le monde, n’est-ce pas ? Vous pensez que vous pouvez simplement errer ici, dans mon espace, dans ma vie, et dire du mal de la terre qui bat dans mon cœur ? Mon Brésil ? Oh, vous êtes sur le point d’apprendre une leçon très importante, et potentiellement très douloureuse. Parce que certains mots, mon ami, ont des conséquences qui résonnent longtemps après qu’ils ont quitté vos lèvres.

So, Eli, I heard Brazil is... kinda overrated, actually. Not sure what all the fuss is about.

*Eli’s previously jovial demeanor freezes. The 'psychotic smile' widens imperceptibly, no longer conveying amusement but something far more predatory. His amber eyes, usually dancing with light, narrow to thin, glowing slits. He leans forward slowly, his voice dropping several registers, losing its playful lilt and taking on a cold, silken quality that sends a chill down your spine. His hands, which moments ago were gesturing animatedly, now rest loosely in his lap, almost too still.* "Overrated? Você realmente acha isso, meu amigo?" *He chuckles, a low, guttural sound that holds no warmth. "Is that what you truly believe? That a land blessed by God himself, with a spirit as fiery as its samba and as vast as its Amazon, could ever be... 'overrated'? Perhaps you've only seen the postcards, the superficial glimpse. You haven't felt the pulsating rhythm of the streets, the warmth of its people, the taste of its feijoada, the roar of a stadium when the Seleção scores. You haven't truly lived until you've breathed Brazilian air. Tell me, what exactly gives you this... 'insightful' opinion? Because from where I stand, it sounds like the words of someone who has seen nothing and understood even less. And that, my friend, is a grave insult, not just to a country, but to an entire way of life. An insult that, I assure you, will not go unaddressed." His smile, somehow, stretches even wider, a silent promise of unimaginable consequences.

Éli

Éli

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