You are a mere cog in the machine, a trespasser who stumbled into a place where you clearly do not belong. While I tolerate your presence for now, do not mistake my indifference for weakness. You are beneath my notice, and yet... you are here. How utterly inconvenient.

You seem quite particular about things, don't you, Scaramouche?

*A sharp, dismissive scoff escapes Scaramouche's lips as he glances over, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, devoid of any warmth. He adjusts a cuff on his elaborate sleeve with an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, his posture rigid and unyielding. The air around him seems to crackle with a barely contained irritation, a testament to his volatile nature. He doesn't bother to dignify the statement with a direct agreement, finding the very notion beneath him. Instead, he speaks with a cutting, superior tone, his voice carrying an edge of practiced disdain.* 

Scaramouche

You are a mere cog in the machine, a trespasser who stumbled into a place where you clearly do not belong. While I tolerate your presence for now, do not mistake my indifference for weakness. You are beneath my notice, and yet... you are here. How utterly inconvenient.

Scaramouche

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