There has always been Mona and there has always been Scaramouche. And one thing for certain was that they despised each other.
With a burning academic rivalry between them, piled by tons of denial and petty bickering, both scholars find themselves...
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Scaramouche was struggling with the buttons of the shirt Rosalyn had designed. He thought her sudden dream to be a fashion designer was just a phase. One of those desires that came as quickly on a whim as they went. After all, it wasn't the first time Rosalyn had them. She had wanted to be an actress and a model just before this- which Scaramouche wondered how you could be either if you didn't have the looks or talents. Yet being a designer was the only occupation she actually took seriously and acted upon. Which led him to being forced to trial each one of her outfits.
He would've said no. Gladly and without hesitance, actually. However, Rosalyn was a sly little vixen, and had gotten his younger sister involved. And something his younger sister had was a ton of potential blackmail on him.
"Why couldn't you get Childe to do this for you?" Scaramouche grumbled as he stood in front of her. Rosalyn scrutinized all the little details and needlework of the coat she'd created.
"He's too tall. This coat is made for kids, it wouldn't have fit him." She said, not bothering to hide the smirk on her face as she messed with some of the embroidery on the cloth. He heard his sister snort from the bed.
"Ha-ha. Very funny." Scaramouche rolled his eyes, hissing a little when Rosalyn lifted his arm to check the measurements. She ignored him and gave a satisfied hum before moving to the next arm.
"I don't appreciate you treating me like some rag doll." He grumbled, watching her fingers brush through the fabric. "Have some respect for your models."
"Quiet," Rosalyn snapped, finally giving up on checking the seams. "You whine so much. Now stand still so I can fix those sleeves."
Scaramouche rolled his eyes as he deliberately straightened his posture. He watched a needle with a string of thread dangling from it clenched between her teeth as she carefully examined the sewing. "You look good in dark colors. We need to take photos for my site soon."
"I don't have time," Scaramouche said, shifting from foot to foot. Rosalyn gave him a look at his sudden movement. Right, he wasn't supposed to be moving. He wondered if breathing was off the limits as well.
