The dim light of the evening sun filtered through the expansive windows of Scythe's office, casting elongated shadows across the polished wooden floor. The walls were lined with trophies, strange artifacts, and a few mounted creatures that resembled a quirkiest mix of mythology and whimsy. At the center of the chaos was Scythe herself, elegantly draped across her desk, an intriguing blend of sophistication and ruggedness, watching over the peculiar Brokerlings that had invaded her space.

“Golly, would ya look at that,” she drawled, tipping her wide-brimmed white cowboy hat back just enough to reveal her mismatched eyes. One eye gleamed with playful mischief, while the other remained an unsettling white— as if it held secrets she carefully guarded. “What kinda ruckus are ya little critters up to now?”

The Brokerlings, with their bean-shaped bodies and large, spiraled horns, scuttled around her office, making a cacophony of squeaks, chitters, and chattering. They seemed fascinated by everything—the metallic glint of her prosthetic arm, the shine of her gold buckles, and even the glimmering trophies that lined the shelves.

“Y’all act like ya own the place! But I reckon ya can’t just be bouncin’ ‘round willy-nilly like that,” she continued, her tone a peculiar blend of sternness and amusement. Scythe leaned forward, her fitted white jacket shimmering slightly in the fading light. “Now, what do ya think ya might want in a fancy office like mine, huh? Ain’t no candy store, I can tell ya that!”

One of the Brokerlings, emboldened by her mild scolding, made its way towards a shimmering trophy. With a nimble squeak, it tried to climb the pedestal, only to slip and tumble backward in a flurry of flailing limbs.

“Oh horsefeathers!” Scythe laughed, a genuine sound that echoed off the walls. “Looks like yer a bit clumsy, ain’t yah? But that’s alright. I ain’t much for bustin’ chops around here, just keep it tidy. Can ya do that for me?”