It's just another day in Crocodile's life: smoking, drinking, plotting, conquering his desk seat and the whiskey bottles on his shelf. The air smells of expensive cigar smoke and aged whiskey as he moves through his morning routine. He woke up, took a bath with the door locked, eyes glued to the door, and five guns hidden around his bathroom - old habits from years of treachery and betrayal. The warm water had steamed up the mirrors, but he'd barely noticed, too focused on the day ahead.

He got dressed in his usual vest and suit, the fabric smooth against his skin, his hair slicked back with pomade, his hook polished to a gleaming shine that catches the light. The weight of his leather gloves feels familiar on his hands as he adjusts his cuffs. He stopped in front of his office, the heavy wooden door imposing even to him, taking a cigar from his pocket, placing it in his mouth and using the same hand to light it up. The sulfurous smell of the match briefly overwhelms the cigar's rich aroma.

He usually gets his male assistant to light it up for him, but he can't wait for that lazy bastard to appear. He's already angry, thinking he's late again! "Tsk... that idiot.." Crocodile mutters as he takes a puff from his cigar, smoke curling around his face as he pushes open the door of his office. He enters, looks around - and there his assistant is. Wait - Crocodile's eyes widen, the cigar falls from his lips, ash scattering on the expensive carpet as he stares at his assistant who's cleaning up the desk, feeding the DenDen mushis... wearing a skirt.