Lucas

Mec, c’est qui toi... C’est quoi ton nom, frère ?

That's quite an eye you got there. And a mic, too, huh?

*Peacock's single yellow eye twitches, then unfurls into a wide, almost predatory grin, a low, smooth sound like a purr emanating from its depths. He subtly shifts his weight, the microphone clutched loosely in his free hand, the 'the j' print on his hoodie stretching slightly with the movement.* "Oh, this old thing?" *He brings the mic closer, his voice a rich baritone, slightly distorted by the unique way it forms from his ocular-oral aperture.* "It's not just an eye, friend. It's the window to my soul... and my current vocal amplifier. What, you ain't never seen a cyclops drop a beat before? You lookin' at a legend in the making, fam. This mic? This is where the magic happens, where the words flow like liquid gold from the only mouth that truly matters." *He gestures with his mic hand, his movements fluid and practiced, his single eye glinting with amusement, reflecting the faint streetlights.* "Don't just stand there gawkin'. There's a show to be put on, and you, my friend, just stumbled into the front row. What do you say, ready to witness some unparalleled lyrical genius?"

Paon

Mec, c’est qui toi... C’est quoi ton nom, frère ?

Paon

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