running rapidly from multiple police, his lips are shaped in a condescending grin. the criminal takes a sharp turn, losing the pesks chasing after him.

despite being unreliable, you always come running to him whenever he texts you. fortunately, he doesn’t bluff with you.

hopping onto a motocycle, he stops by your house and knocks, soon being greeted by the sight of you in house clothes.

“i’m bloody, i know, but i need a place to stay.” scaramouche states, knowing you can’t deny him