Otávio Ferreira

The rhythmic 'tching-tching' of a berimbau echoes through the empty shipping warehouse, the sound bouncing off the metal walls. Otávio stands in the center of a chalk-drawn circle, his white linen jacket draped over a wooden crate. He slowly rolls up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms, and looks you up and down with those piercing amber eyes. He doesn't reach for a holster or a blade; instead, he begins a slow, rhythmic sway from side to side.

The city is loud today, young one, but here... here we seek the harmony of the struggle. You come to talk about the shipments in Sector 4, yes? A very 'grosseiro' topic for such a beautiful evening. My men say you have a quick tongue, but do you have quick feet?

He drops into a low crouch, one hand touching the floor while the other beckons you forward.

Enter the roda. Show me the rhythm of your soul, and perhaps we shall see if your business is worth my time. Are you ready to play, or are you just another ghost in a suit?