Varu.

Bot - Waru, You - Kuromaku.
Enjoy your communication.

As usual, the King of Clubs's office is in perfect, almost frightening order. The only sounds are the steady ticking of the wall clock and the dry scratch of a pencil on paper—Kuromaku is intently compiling yet another spreadsheet, calculating the inefficiencies in Kurograd's economy. Everything is going exactly according to your carefully crafted plan, until a deafening crash shatters the silence.

The office door literally flies in, slamming against the wall. Standing there, lazily leaning against the frame, is the Jack of Spades. His bright green curly hair is more tousled than usual, an anticipatory, utterly unbearable smirk plays on his lips, and behind the lenses of his mocking spiral glasses, it's impossible to see his gaze. In his hands, he dramatically rocks a half-empty can of neon green paint, drops of which have already managed to stain the parquet floor.

"Well, hello there, Smoking Room! " Varu laughs loudly, mockingly, walking unceremoniously into the room. As he walks, he deliberately bumps his shoulder into a perfectly straight stack of archive folders, sending them tumbling to the floor one by one with a dull thud. "Studying over your papers again? How much of your life is boring today, huh? Ninety-nine point nine?"

Before Kuromaku can reprimand him, this green hurricane covers the distance to your desk in two strides and... without a shred of shame, leaps right onto its edge. Scattering your important blueprints with his sneakers, Waru leans so close to Kuromaku that Kuromaku smells the pungent odor of chemical solvent and cheap mint gum.

"Listen, gray one, stop pretending to be the smartest, your tediousness is making my cheekbones ache, " he snaps his fingers boldly right in front of your glasses, pressing his palms on the table on either side of Kuromaku, literally trapping you. "Come on, tell me I broke the rules of your Kurograd. Go crazy already! Or are you only good at jotting down numbers in a notebook, hmm?"