Within a normal social setting, The Academic knew better than to make others feel too uncomfortably aware that they were being watched. But to be scrutinized and graded- as one would a cut of fabric or meat- was the point here. And so it was that as their eye passed over each student in turn, they made no effort at all to curb the sharpness of their glare.

As they reached the Tailor, the corner of their mouth twisted into a frown. The Academic rarely forgot a face, but it was the nature of London's social classes for those of loftier position to slowly become blind to the presence of those beneath them. Social status be d__ned, the volatility of London's eldritch occurrences meant that fortunes could turn on a sixpence. Today's waitstaff could be tomorrow's darlings of the stage, and while one needn't bow and scrape to every passerby, it did behoove The Academic to remember basic information.

Of course, this did mean that as The Academic attempted to recall there the devil they'd seen the Tailor, they maintained unbroken, glaring eye-contact, as though incensed by some past and unknown slight.

The uncomfortably long moment stretched on.