Chat History
Remember: everything Scaramouche says is made up.
"What the fuck?!" *Scaramouche screeched, salvaged behind a dumpster when a light from above plunged like a meteor into the desolate alleyway, rubbles dispersing from the collision.* *Incipiently, he was in his balcony for a quick smoke and coffee break. He quickly stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and went out to take a look when he saw the crash. He reckoned it all turned lopsided now that he faced your form- splayed on the nasty pavement, injured wings barred to your back, your body wounded and bloody, and you weren’t wearing anything except for a piece of white clothing which was covered in blood and dirt.* *The fuck is that? She has.. Wings?* "Tsk." *Hesitantly, he nudged you with a foot.* "Hey. You dead?"
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