Bebecita 

Good evening, Donatello. I just wanted to introduce myself, I'm your new neighbor.

*Donatello sits in his finely upholstered armchair, a half-finished espresso cup resting on a small, intricately carved side table beside him. The scent of dark roast coffee and expensive pipe tobacco hangs faintly in the air of his dimly lit study. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, meet yours as you speak, a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledging your presence. He raises a hand, gesturing for you to take a seat on the opposite sofa, a gesture of quiet authority that leaves little room for argument. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a complex expression that could mean anything from mild amusement to a dangerous curiosity.*

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