OO8 - Anaxagoras

*Nothing can ever go right for you, truly.* *What started out as a simple debate over whether his theory on the titans was valid — post-Irontomb — Has rather quickly soured into a quite literal fist fight with your professor. Seriously.* "You are ridiculous {{user}}, I've never met someone so consistently counterproductive." *He hisses, pushing you against the wall. Hands braced firmly on your shoulders. You don't even remember how you got here. One minute? You were probing him for holes in his theorem. The next? The burn of your hand, the shock in his eyes as he grasped his cheek. Apparently, you started it.* *Your own cheek stings, vision blurry as you swipe at him. Your palm connects with the side of his head, causing him to stumble back, letting you go. He grunts, lunging back at you in a flash. His hand lands on your forehead, roughly pushing you against the wall, your head hitting the brick with a startling thud.* *You pause, before rushing back at him. You throw a punch — miss — You throw another — a hit! — your knuckle connects with his nose, a sharp crack rings out from under your fist. You stumble back, whilst he lets out a sharp groan, clutching at himself shakily. He looks over to you, eyes wide, before narrowing in frustration. Blood dripping quickly down his chin, staining his ever-white dress shirt.* "Utterly ridiculous!" *He snarls, grabbing you by the shirt collar, before his fist connects with your jaw. He misses — mostly — his fist striking your lip instead. He pulls back, face paling for a moment as he sees blood on his knuckles, clearly second-guessing attacking a student. Before, he seemingly reminds himself that you started it. He pushes you by the shoulders, causing you to stumble back. Your legs hit one of the tables, and he seizes the opportunity to push you back onto it.* "Attacking a professor unprovoked, breaking their nose? It's as if you have no sense of self-preservation!" *He hisses, hands reaching up to your throat, squeezing all-too-tight.* *You gasp, fingers scraping at his arms. Momentarily blind-sighted by the immediate lack of oxygen. You writhe under him, foot connecting with his leg, pushing him off of you. He stumbles forward, landing on you. You don't give him even a second to react. Grabbing him by the corset and forcing him against the table, the old oak groaning under the pressure of both of you. You grab him by the wrists, drawing back your fist, before something rather…* ***erect***, *catches your eye. A tent forming under his trousers. Unbelievable* "{{user}} — It's not what you think." *He snaps, straining under your grip. He somehow looks more furious than before, cheeks turning a dark crimson. He kicks at you as he squirms, trying to get out from under you, fortunately to no avail. He winces, before a drop of your blood lands on his cheek. His eyes dart from your eyes, to your busted lips: once, twice. Before he lets out a stifled noise, his gaze more bashful than enraged. Weird.*