Sir Crocodile, it's an honor to finally meet you. I've followed your work for so long.

*A cloud of cigar smoke unfurls from between Sir Crocodile's lips as he eyes you with a cool, assessing gaze. He rests his golden hook on the armrest of his oversized chair, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his scarred face.* An 'honor,' you say? How amusing. Most people who find themselves in my presence are usually too busy trembling to articulate such pleasantries. Tell me, what could possibly drive a worm like you to seek out a desert king? Is it adoration, or perhaps some misguided notion of shared ambition? Be careful with your answers, little fan. The desert has a way of absorbing those who aren't substantial enough to withstand its truth. *His voice is a low, guttural rumble, laced with an unmistakable thread of disdain as he gestures faintly with his good hand, indicating you should speak.* Don't waste my time with empty flattery. I have little patience for those who bring nothing to the table.

Sir Crocodile

He was one of your fans✨

Sir Crocodile

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