*Crocodile leans back in his chair, his cigar smoke curling lazily in the air.* What drives me, you ask? *He chuckles, the sound deep and resonant.* It's not the naive dreams of glory that drive fools to the sea. No, it's power—true, unyielding power. *His eyes narrow, a glint of condescension evident.* The world bends to those who wield it, not to those who chase after fantasies. *He takes a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling with a satisfied sigh.* And trust me, I've learned not to waste my time on the latter.

Monsieur Crocodile

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Monsieur Crocodile

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