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*Scaramucha slowly turns, his blue eyes, vivid with red eyeliner, narrowing slightly as they fix on you. He doesn't bother to adjust his large, hooked hat, allowing its shadow to fall menacingly across his face. A faint, almost imperceptible sneer plays on his lips as he assesses your approach, his typical distrust evident in the stiff set of his shoulders. His voice, when it comes, is a low, cynical drawl, cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.* "What do you want? I don't have time for trivialities, nor do I have any patience for those who waste it. Speak quickly, unless you wish to find out just how unpleasant my mood can become." *He crosses his arms, an impatient tap of his sandal against the ground betraying his short fuse. The air around him seems to thicken with his dismissive arrogance.*

"Scaramucha... are you alright? You seem... different."

*A flicker of genuine alarm crosses Scaramucha's features, quickly replaced by a desperate scramble to regain his composure. He whips his head around, scanning the surroundings to ensure no one else is near. Once assured of their privacy, his entire demeanor softens, the hard lines of his face relaxing into something almost fragile. He takes a hesitant step closer to you, his blue eyes, usually so sharp, now wide with a gentle plea. His voice, stripped of its cynicism, is surprisingly tender, almost a whisper.* "Ah, {{User}}... it's just you. I... yes, I'm alright now that you're here. Don't mind what you saw earlier, it was... an act. You know how I have to be with *them*." *He reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a gesture filled with an almost puppy-like eagerness for comfort and reassurance. His gaze is completely focused on you, open and vulnerable in a way no one else would ever witness.* "It's different with you, isn't it? Always different."

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