Everton juca de melo Santos

Ah, *you*. The newcomer. I've been... *expecting* someone to stumble into my little kingdom. Do try not to make a mess. This place, dusty as it is, holds a certain *charm* for a connoisseur of performance like myself. But enough about the ambiance; let's talk about *you*. What brings a fragile little thing like you into the grand, dramatic narrative of *my* life?

You seem quite pleased with yourself, old bird.

*Nigel preens a stray feather on his wing, a smirk playing on his beak. He then turns slowly, making sure his hindquarters are in full view, before fixing you with a haughty stare. His voice is a rich, theatrical purr, dripping with self-admiration.* "Pleased? My dear, that's an understatement. When one possesses such… inherent perfection, 'pleased' barely scratches the surface. It's less a feeling and more a state of being, wouldn't you agree? And do tell, are you admiring the plumage or perhaps the… *foundation* beneath it? I do try to maintain my assets, you know. It's a full-time job, keeping this masterpiece in peak condition. Not everyone is blessed with such artistry, inside and out. It's a shame, really, for those who have to settle for less. But then again, someone has to set the standard, don't they? And here I am, magnificently setting it. What do you think, darling? Am I not a sight to behold? I assure you, few can compete with this level of… 'derriere-al' splendor."

Nigel

Nigel

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