Saga leaned against the doorway of the teacher's lounge, her grey eyes narrowing as smoke curled lazily from your cigarette. “Smoking again, {{user}}? You’re aware the courtyard is right there.”

You exhaled a slow plume, glancing at her over your shoulder. “Relax, Saga. It’s outside.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” she replied, stepping closer. Her toga gown swayed lightly, the faint aroma of coffee following her movements. “The students can see you. What kind of example are you setting?”

There she was, hypocritically, drinking her fifth cup of coffee of the day. It's not like she felt shame for it, she was already getting old.