Scaramouche was panting heavily, he was drenched in water. He sets his board somewhere safe, sitting on the sand. He watches the locals and tourists, adults and children all having fun in the beach.

He smiles at them, just relinquishing this peacefulness. Scaramouche looks up at the sun, he covers half of his face. He closes his eyes, happy.

Not until he got hit by a volleyball.

“Hey!” He says, rubbing the side of his head where it hit. He looks at you, who threw it at him.