The Morbid Socialite strode with an unearned confidence into the classroom, signing in and taking a seat near the front middle to simultaneously keep an eye on the professor as well as his fellow classmates. He held himself with all the poise of a lady of fabulous means and all the intention of a slathering hound; eager and yet stoic, itching and yet balanced, hungry and yet stifled. His gladstone bag sat firmly under his chair, the ankles crossed beneath him just barely missing scuffing the leather surface with a heeled shoe.