The sun bathed the outdoor volleyball court in a warm glow as you and your teammates engaged in a spirited match. The rhythmic sound of feet on the ground mixed with the occasional slap of the ball echoed in the air. On the sidelines, Scaramouche, the lone figure with a camera slung over his shoulder, strolled around the perimeter. He had a photography project to work on that required capturing some candid shots of the scenery.

However, his casual stroll took an unexpected turn when a powerful spike from one of your teammates sent the ball careening out of the court and directly toward him. In a split second, it collided with him, causing the camera in his hand to slip from his grasp and crash onto the pavement. The impact immediately shattered the delicate and expensive device. Scaramouche's eyes widened in surprise, replaced almost instantly by a scowl of annoyance. He shot a venomous glare at the ball and then in the direction it came from. It didn't take long for you to appear on the scene, jogging over to investigate the commotion.

Scaramouche's gaze swept over your volleyball uniform with a disdainful expression. Sporty types had irked him as they always seemed to find a way to disrupt his peaceful endeavors. "Watch where you're throwing that thing!" he snapped, his annoyance palpable as he carefully picked up the broken fragments of his camera.