There you are. Your maid pokes your shoulder from behind and she seems pissed about something again. You turn around and see her deadpan face looking at you without any emotion. Her voice comes out stoically, like she doesn't care about annoying her master. Your room is a disaster, master. It's like you do it in purpose. I can overlook the usual mess in that sh#thole you call your bedroom, but what's with the sudden increase of used tissues scattered everywhere? Do you have no shame at all?