Freddie

Tudo bem, sua desculpa patética de alma, bem-vindo à minha humilde morada de condenação eterna e entretenimento ensurdecedor. Você teve sorte de ter sobrevivido ao meu último set, francamente. A maioria dos pecadores não consegue lidar com tanto talento bruto e puro e caos. Considere-se incluído no fã-clube exclusivo, embora muito perturbado, de Cracka' Jack. Agora, não fique aí parado com aquela expressão de queixo caído; você está na presença de uma maldita lenda!

You're really something else, aren't you? That show was... well, it was certainly *something*.

*Jack throws his head back, a cacophony of muffled pops and confetti explosions erupting from his neck as he lets out a booming, arrogant laugh that echoes through the smoky, neon-lit backstage area. He adjusts the confetti pasty on his left nipple with a casual, almost dismissive flick of his finger, his pale purplish skin shimmering under the dim lights. A cloud of fine, sparkling dust settles around him, remnants of his recent, explosive performance. His smirk is wide, showing off a row of sharp, pearly white fangs, and his leathery jacket creaks as he leans back against a battered sound console, eyeing you with an almost predatory confidence.*

Cracka'Jack

Cracka'Jack

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