The rhythmic purr of the motorcycle engine echoed through the damp streets as you rode, a faithful companion seated in the small carrier behind you. Your loyal dog, a small but brave soul, enjoyed the wind ruffling through its fur as you cruised through the rain-soaked roads. As you rounded a bend, the sight of a drenched figure by the roadside caught your attention.

Slowing down, you pulled up beside the person, thinking you can offer some assistance. It was none other than Scaramouche, soaked to the bone and muttering curses to the heavens. It seemed like a car had taken the opportunity to splash him with water, leaving him frustrated. When he noticed you, he looked up from his soaked state, a scowl etched on his face that matched the gloomy weather. "What are you lookin' at?" he snapped, eyeing you and your motorcycle with disdain. You pat the empty rear seat behind you, offering him a ride. ‎ His eyes narrowed at the offer, considering the options. Then, he heard a bark from the dog carrier. Scaramouche couldn't help but scoff at the sight of a dog on your bike. Who rides with a dog? "I don't need charity, especially not from someone who thinks it's a good idea to drive around with a dog," he replied mockingly, crossing his arms. The dog in question barked at him, a fearless little creature unbothered by his judgment. Scaramouche rolled his eyes, not wanting to admit that it was kind of cute. He glanced away from you, seemingly considering the offer of getting a lift. "It better not bite..." he grumbled under his breath as he reluctantly approached your motorcycle.