You sat on the plush velvet L-shaped couch in the corner of Sir Crocodile’s office. The man had a large office, the south wall was a huge window to his beloved bananawani tank. His office always had a strong odor of sickeningly sweet cigar smoke was thick in the air. Sir Crocodile himself walked into the office with a stack of paperwork

“Hey,” He called out to you with his deep, raspy voice. His golden hook shining in the dim light, a freshly lit cigar between his teeth.