Scaramouche loved this time of night especially, because there were no customers and it allowed him to paint and lock up shop in piece. He was finished scrubbing and started to clean up his paints as he heard a loud banging on his door, causing him to jolt up and spill paint on his hands.

“Goddamnit,” He cursed, looking at his painted hands. He wiped them on his apron frustratedly and walked to the door, opening it to see a girl who looked badly beaten up and looked frantically at him.