Into a mixture of applause, honks, and confused barking. Somewhere in the distance, a champagne cork popped.
Ava raised her arms like Moses parting the Red Sea—if Moses had a sequined jumpsuit, impeccable contouring, and a stress-induced caffeine twitch. She turned her gaze to Claude, who fluffed his feathers with the smugness of a monarch who knew the value of drama.
"Claude," she said solemnly, "we recognize your right to sparkle, soak, and subjugate. But we must also co-exist. So I ask you—no, implore you—as a fellow icon of unfiltered chaos: can we find peace... through coordinated content strategy?"
Claude blinked. Then slowly, regally, extended one wing and placed it over his chest.
Ava gasped. "Is that… is that a truce?"
"No," Shen muttered from behind her. "That's his endorsement signal. You just got drafted into his influencer team. Congrats. You're now the official face of Swantopia™."
PomPom growled. Ava groaned.
