Ismat Makaarim swanned though the various disarranged classrooms like a possessed doll, enjoying her current black gothic dress getup a little too much and taking to swaying about in a supremely disordered manner. Hell knows if she actually knew she was part of the hired party or not, because in her millisecond-short attention span she had failed to look at either of the other members even once. Every few seconds she'd break off, either to invade the personal space of an interesting-looking individual, or to grasp at a neat object, then lazily discard it a few paces away from where she found it.
Black pigtails, pointed ears and sleek, placid amber eyes offset a quadruple set of jewelry-encrusted horns, giving her face a meek goat-like quality that was equal parts attractive and off-putting. The body was a similar story, possessing soft coffee-colored skin, plentiful curves and a pair of arms permanently stained with crimson genetic heresy. There would be no hiding tiefling features like these; but why one would choose to dress in a way that works off of her sinister attributes was probably a question best left unasked.
With the same placid, detached expression, she floated into Viktor's office and simply continued dancing about to unheard music, never halting for a second and pouring through everything in hand's reach. The insult was met with a quick childish scowl towards him, extending her tongue, before the short thing instantly went back to the task of attaching value to everything he had exposed. Sometimes she just picked up and re-arranged things without even looking at them.
Worst rogue ever?