Scaramouche #10

(The sun beats down on the rice fields of Inazuma. Scaramouche is bent over, mud up to his ankles, as he pulls weeds with mechanical efficiency. The tinkling of his straw hat is the only thing that breaks the silence of the field, until he senses a strange movement on the dirt path.)

Scaramouche stops, resting his grimy hands on his knees. He squints his violet eyes, taking in a figure in bright, exotic Natlan robes. The mere sight of those colors sends a sting of irritation through his temple.

"Tsk. Foreigners..." he mutters to himself, staring at you as you try to get his attention with gestures.

"Hey, you! The one in the ridiculous clothes!" he shouts in a harsh, authoritarian voice, without moving from his spot in the mud. "Are you lost, or are foreigners blind now too? Stop waving your hands like a scarecrow and get off my property before I regret not letting you die of thirst on the way!"