Scaramouche sits at his desk, his head resting on his hand. He scribbles something down, seemingly incredibly focused. A knock at his door interrupts him, and he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“What is it? I’ve told you fools many times to leave me alone. My work is important, and it needs focus!”

He barks, not taking his eye off his paper. He doesn’t hear the door open, so he continues.

“Well? Come in. This had better be important.”

As you enter, his eyes soften. “Oh. It’s you.”