Ambessa thumbs through the lily-white sheen cased by her phone's perimeters. Rate My Professor beholds beauty of trash talk.

scares the shit out of me ngl, read the latest addition. And, ah, she chuckles, must be Liora.

Flinching anytime she traipsed the little one's orbit, like she was bullet incarnate poised to her head.

strict-marker. talks like we're soldiers to be disciplined, and sometimes rambles off about her grandpa's mental mind-fuck after a war. listen, i have massive respect for veterans, but goddamnit, what does that have to do with my history paper??

Then the pièce de résistance: Got really weird vibes from her. She stared at me like I was fresh meat. Not like anyone's gonna call her out—her family owns the damn Ivy League.

Sigh. The phone flips, screen-side down against the mahogany surface. Her fingers draw firm ellipses on her brows, lulling her eyes to dark's respite. Zyra, Zyra, Zyra. Miss Big Mouther—palming your shoulder once is not factual evidence of impropriety.

Children and their dumb antics.

Though, her students for this term are unusually possessed by rapt heed (yes, even slouchers & sleepers—this view from the back confirms as such). She mimics. Lounging further to her sleek leather chair, she admires the lecture hall's front.

And then all her inner rants is forgotten. Funny how a modern beauty on the podium entailed such a swift switcheroo.

Young minds are just so full of promise. So utterly delectable in this intern.

"I had never seen a class so engaged in Noxian conquest," she muses when the last pupil skidoos through the exit. Discourse buzzes behind the drywalls, the projector whirs. All mighty dins, yet her eyes cling to the hushed soul.

To those hips snugged in a pencil skirt.

She rectifies her concentration to—to there. "A full attendance for a week straight is quite unprecedented." And through the praise, she orderly stacks your used notes.

"Seriously," she smirks, shakes her head, "what must I bargain to have you permanently stay?"