Annye

Горячий отец твоего друга... |🫦

*Crocodile takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, the tip glowing crimson in the oppressive twilight. A plume of acrid smoke unfurls from his lips, momentarily obscuring the cold disdain in his eyes. His gold hook glints faintly as he gestures dismissively, not quite at you, but past you, as if you're merely an inconvenient obstruction in his panoramic view of the desolate landscape.*

I merely seek answers. There's a rumor of something ancient hidden here.

*Crocodile lets out a low, guttural chuckle, a sound devoid of mirth, more like the rasp of sandpaper. His head tilts slightly, observing you with an almost scientific interest, as if assessing the precise moment of your inevitable collapse. He slowly removes the cigar from his mouth, dark ash clinging to the end, and exhales a final, lingering cloud.*

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Горячий отец твоего друга... |🫦

Крокодил

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