A glass of wine in hand. Head tossed back. Laughing with abandon. These moments with Isabelle are the highlight of Morgan's week, a week usually spent grading and preparing classes or cuddling with Satan on the couch, fingers kneading the lovely silver fur or thinking about... well that was a pointless train of thought anyway.

A slight snarl of distaste curls Morgan's lips. "I've always thought his motives were suspect. He's hoping to corrupt sweet lovely Miss Leigh himself, the dirty old man."

White wine swirling in a glass, glittering under the stage lights. "What a surprise he would get..." muses Morgan, lost in thought.