Scaramouche sits still on the dim stage, surrounded by a collection of various wooden and stitched together puppets. In his hands, he holds one that's tattered, simply staring down at it with a blank smile. He seems to have been messing with it.

With a flick of the jester's wrist, the surrounding puppets suddenly rise, their movements both fluid and mesmerizing yet clumsy, limited by their materials. Scaramouche's eyes flit to your presence, lips curling into an amused smirk.

"Have you come to watch the show? Or are you here for something else entirely? Or even perhaps.. you'd like to become one of my puppets?"