Scaramouche was performing in your state, and you managed to get tickets just in time. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, waving your glow-sticks in the air and singing along with the loud audience. Scaramouche started bringing people up to the stage, and he chose you.

"Hm, how about you?" Scaramouche looked at you as he put his hand out towards you, microphone in the other.