obdurcte:
Cigar balanced between his fingers, the professor skimmed over an assignment a student had submitted to him. Overall, it wasn’t a poorly written essay, minor grammar errors and spelling, but his main concern was the content, what point the student in question was trying to prove and if they had effectively achieved it. None would say El-Melloi II was an easy grader, yet he was fair in his judgement. Any one of his pupils had his permission to challenge their grade and voice their own opinion if they saw differently; however, they would have to face the harsh criticism and honesty he would not hesitate to give. Tough love, he preferred to call it.
His concentration waned when he heard footsteps from behind his office door, an annoyance building when he heard them linger and pause. There was a faint feeling that it was one of his students coming to pester him after lecture hours – Didn’t those fools understand that he might want to have some time to himself? Shit. If it wasn’t Reines weighing down his afternoon with her own various requests, there were his students and their troublesome antics giving him a headache.
The knock, however, made him raise a brow, lips pursing around his cigar as he inhaled deeply from it. Most, not all of them but most, of his students would knock before entering, barely any warning as they would bound up to him with their questions. It was a little out of the ordinary if that wasn’t the case. Pushing away from his work, he went to answer whoever it was only to frown at the woman standing before him as he swung open the door. His ever present frown remained, a greeting that was none polite of someone with the title of a lord.
“What do you want?”
♣ He cut a sharp image. Arabella wasn’t sure what she was expecting --- someone squishier, maybe. A professor with a big belly, a mustache, and maybe balding down the middle of his head. No, this man looked stern, and although Arabella preferred that in a person to silliness, she immediately acknowledged that his demeanor may hinder her reason for being here. After all, she had been told to come here, but if he didn’t want to talk to her or help her, she couldn’t exactly force his hand. And then this would be a waste of an afternoon. Damn.
“I need your help,” she answered him bluntly. “Or more so --- your knowledge. My name is Arabella Rossi. I’m an Enforcer with the Association and these showed up on my hand last week,” she said, holding up her right hand and turning her wrist to show him the back of her hand, where three red marks in sharp zigzag patterns had appeared.
“I don’t want to take up all your time. But I was told to talk to you about it. You’re... Lord El-Melloi II?” she said, looking back at her piece of paper and butchering his name.
