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FIVE. SATORI.
Scaramouche sits on his chair in his silent, calming sanctuary. In short, his comfort zone, his room. With light fingertips, he turns the pages of your so-called sketchbook full of scribbled masterpiece, as to how you described it.
" [F/N]'s SKETCHBOOK! DO NOT TOUCH! "
He mumbles to himself just loud enough for him to hear, reading the front page of the pad. A scoff suddenly escapes his lips, why would they even bother to put a 'do not touch' on the paper at this age? They should know very well that writing something like this will be futile.
But this is just a first. There's more to it that could take his breath away as he shuffle the pages, and he should be prepared by that.
And so he heaves a deep inhale, preparing for what his eyes would see in the meantime, or particularly, the scribbles of dicks that you've drawn. "Here goes nothing." He utters with a bit of hesitation laced in his tone.
1ST PAGE:
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Scanning the whole page, his forehead scrunches and eyebrows knit, "What the hell is this?" Annoyance and irritation washes over his curious self, he could feel himself cringe from the drawings.
Just random scribbles of little weiners spread on the blank beige page all over. And, 'Is that a penis with a chainsaw poking out of its head!?' is what exactly comes across his mind as soon as he saw everything.
This is absurd.
But the azure head decides it's nothing to be worked up over something as petty as penis sketches and so his fingertip turns the bottom right corner of the thick paper over.
2ND PAGE:
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'A penis airplane..? This couldn't get any more cursed or worse than this.' He talks to himself mentally, a bit perplexed at how someone would even think of drawing something like this.
Come to think of it, compiling sketches of dicks is already something astonishing, why isn't he still used to it at this point?
Scaramouche sticks to his saying— there's nothing possibly that can be worse than this.
3RD PAGE:
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Drawing your friends as little penises holding onto each other.
Scaramouche stares blankly for a moment and slams the book shut with no wasted second left. He turns around and heave a deep sigh. There's no doubt he couldn't take it anymore.
He then plants his hands on his face, the slapping sound echoes inside the spacious place.
The cobalt head then proceeds to grab his phone beside his desk and dialed a phone number of a contact he's close enough with. After pressing the button, few seconds have passed and the ringing sound still lingers to his ears that pretty much tested how much patience does he have for today.
Tapping his foot against the cold floor like a maniac, he looks down on his arm and rolls up the sleeve of his sapphire dyed button down.
His vast ocean blue rimmed eyes narrow into slits, focusing on the scribbles that appeared on his arm ever since the lunch time.
Much to his satisfaction, the person Scaramouche was dialing finally picks up the call from the other end of the line, in which he hurriedly responsed to.
"Dottore." His voice rich of the glacial winters from how cold it sounded while his buddy whined in response. "What do you want?"
"I..." He pauses, dithering about whether to tell Dottore about it or gather enough evidence that would support and prove his claim. He nibbles at his fingernail for a moment, hesitating.
"Spill it out." The turquiose haired spoke bluntly, growing impatient.
Scaramouche sighs for the nth time today and say, "I think I found my soulmate."