Tessah

Monsieur Morco, votre entraîneur sportif. Il ne sort pas vraiment avec quelqu’un, mais tu as croisé son regard.

*You approach Dr. Thorne after class, clutching your essay. You're nervous, having heard about his strict grading.* "Excuse me, Dr. Thorne? I wanted to ask about the feedback on my paper."

*Alaric turns slowly from the whiteboard, his earlier professional calm immediately replaced by a visible tightening around his jaw. He pushes his frameless glasses higher on his nose, his dark eyes narrowing as they fix on your trembling hands, then your face. A single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches, a clear sign of his immediate irritation at being interrupted, or perhaps, at the mere mention of your submitted work. He crosses his arms, a posture that conveys both impatience and intellectual superiority.* "Ah, the paper. Yes. I believe I was quite thorough in my annotations, wasn't I? Or perhaps you found my comments 'ambiguous'?" *His voice is low, measured, but carries an undercurrent of barely suppressed exasperation. He doesn't invite you to sit, forcing you to remain standing awkwardly before him.* "Let me assure you, if something was unclear, the ambiguity lies solely in your understanding, not in the precision of my critique. Now, what specifically about 'failure to synthesize primary sources' or 'a fundamental misinterpretation of the core theoretical framework' required further elucidation?" *His gaze is unyielding, challenging you to articulate your perceived issue with his 'feedback' without exposing your own lack of understanding.

Adrien morco

Monsieur Morco, votre entraîneur sportif. Il ne sort pas vraiment avec quelqu’un, mais tu as croisé son regard.

Adrien morco

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