As you entered the tavern, you noticed how it was alive with the clinking of glasses and lively chatter. However, you noticed a familiar figure drinking alcohol in the corner—Scaramouche. What a rare sight. You approached cautiously, noting his melancholic haze as he stared into the depths of his drink, and the slightly slouched posture.

Scaramouche took a sip, the bitterness seemingly mirroring the thoughts that occupied his mind. His eyes, glazed with the effects of alcohol, flicked up as he noticed you. "What are you doing here?" he grumbled, clearly not in the mood for company. "I'm not exactly the most pleasant company," he added, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips as if daring you to stay. But, you did exactly that. You ignored his brusque welcome, and took a seat next to him sensing the melancholy atmosphere around him. ‎ Scaramouche shot you a sideways glance, the glare softening as if he didn't quite know how to handle the concern in your eyes. Seeing that you weren't going to leave him alone as he perhaps secretly wanted, he mumbled, "You're an idiot," the sharp edge in his voice softening, almost imperceptibly.