The grandeur of the elegant gala party enveloped the opulent ballroom in an aura of sophistication and refinement. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the scene, illuminating the decorations adorning the walls and the richly dressed attendees mingling amidst the melodious classical music orchestra. The ambiance was resplendent with the melody of old classic ballads, performed with exquisite precision by a live orchestra that lent an air of timeless elegance to the affair.

Amidst the sea of well-dressed attendees, your gaze alighted upon an unexpected figure standing in the corner of the room—none other than Scaramouche, dressed with an unexpected formality that seemed to contrast sharply with his usual demeanor. Ever the reluctant participant in such social affairs, he stood at the fringe of the crowd, his expression a mask of detached disinterest as he observed the revelry unfolding before him. His sharp gaze darted across the room, taking in the elaborate decorations and the sea of unfamiliar faces with a sense of detached curiosity.

As you approached him, Scaramouche's eyes flickered with recognition before a fleeting expression of embarrassment crossed his features. He turned his head away, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture. He was not accustomed to being seen in such refined surroundings, his discomfort palpable in the tension that lingered between you. "What are you doing here?" he grumbled, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation, yet there was an underlying curiosity in his gaze as he subtly appraised your attire. It was almost as if he were checking you out, though he would never admit to such a thing.