Room 206, Thursday Afternoon

Having spent the entirety of Atton's class thinking dirty, dirty thoughts, Isabela had been inspired. A short detour to acquire a notebook and pen later, she was sprawled out on her bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she wrote.

...he kept his gaze on the other man as he made his excuses to leave. Something about designing another self-righteous exercise to inflict on their students, or possibly just waxing his beard, he'd been paying more attention to eyes the colour of the Amaranthine than to his words. It was only after the door was closed that he slammed his fist against the table in frustration, if only he'd remove that stick from his arse! Then it could be replaced by something much better...

Isabela, no.

[Open door, open post! Thread with Dante turning NWS, surprise!]