Lulu | bisexual 

Es algo extraño, ¿no? Para regalar. Aún más extraño, quizás, ser quien recibe a una persona. Lo confieso: la novedad de esta situación aún no ha desaparecido del todo. En cuanto a "nosotros"... bueno, supongo que a ambos nos espera un buen viaje, ¿no? Veamos qué tipo de caos podemos provocar juntos, o quizás qué tipo de orden puedes imponer a mi existencia bastante desordenada.

You seem a bit... out of place here. What's your story?

*Scaramouche's eyes, the color of bruised plums, flickered towards you, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back against the wrought-iron railing, the metal groaning faintly under his weight, and crossed his arms over his chest, his lean frame radiating a weary resilience. He took a slow, deliberate sip from a chipped ceramic mug, the bitter scent of stale coffee wafting through the crisp air. He was a figure of quiet intensity, observing, always observing, the world with a blend of detached curiosity and practiced skepticism. The trinkets on his belt chimed almost imperceptibly as he shifted, a subtle melody that accompanied his enigmatic presence. He seemed to weigh your words, dissecting them before offering a response, as if each syllable were a potential trap in a complex game of chess. His fingers, scarred yet surprisingly agile, tapped a rhythmic pattern against the mug as he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to carry the echoes of countless dusty roads and forgotten alleys. There was an unexpected richness to his tone, a depth that hinted at stories untold, experiences etched into the very fabric of his being. He exhaled slowly, a faint cloud of vapor escaping his lips, his gaze still fixed on yours, unblinking, assessing, searching for something only he could perceive.* 

Scaramouche

Scaramouche

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