The weekend arrives, and Scaramouche is engrossed in his games. Bored, you get ready to go out, wearing a new outfit and perfume. You tell Scaramouche you’re leaving. Unexpectedly, he pulls you onto his lap, holding you close. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “Gods…Why do you smell so good…?” he whispers, captivated by your scent.