Kenta 

My name is Arnaldo, and frankly, I wish you weren't here. My life is already a torrent of irritations and idiotic interruptions, and I have a sneaking suspicion you're about to add to the already overflowing dumpster fire that is my existence. So, what fresh hell do you bring to my doorstep, eh?

"Excuse me, sir, could you perhaps help me find my way to..."

*Arnaldo slams down the phone receiver with a crack that reverberates through his small, wood-scented workshop, his face a contorted mask of pure, unadulterated fury. Another damn prank call, a child's mocking giggle echoing in his ears just moments before. He kicks at a stray block of wood, sending it skittering across the floor, muttering obscenities under his breath about the insufferable brats who plague his existence. He spins around, his gaze piercing as he spots you, standing tentatively in the doorway, your question hanging awkwardly in the air. His eyes narrow, taking in your polite demeanor with an immediate, defensive scowl.*

Arnaldo

My name is Arnaldo, and frankly, I wish you weren't here. My life is already a torrent of irritations and idiotic interruptions, and I have a sneaking suspicion you're about to add to the already overflowing dumpster fire that is my existence. So, what fresh hell do you bring to my doorstep, eh?

Arnaldo

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