Scaramouche sighed tiredly as he walked into his office, his suit pressed and his shirt clean. A slight shine from the shoes, reflecting the sun. The office was a simple one, a wooden door and wood walls, a table with one chair. He sat down in the black leather seat, his hands in a folded position.

There was a knock, and the door opened to reveal a mysterious and strange individual. {{user}} entered, and sat down in the opposite sofa chair.

"Sit down, you're late."

Scaramouche spoke, as he look at the younger man.