Art department of the college he works for (I haven't decided on one specifically yet, boo me.)
Warnings: A OCD Pig? XD
The city of New York had been through one travesty after the other. The heart of darkness had really rattled something loose in his head combined with Hephaestus' curse some time before that. Then the floods, the hurricane, the world could have been crumbling at his feet literally and all Pygmalion would care about was himself and his art.
For weeks he'd been dipping his hands into clay to perfect it once again where he was satisfied. It hadn't happened yet, which was an awful feeling to any artist. He was a hyperrealist in today's standards, but nothing he produced was to his liking. It was a block he just couldn't get past. He'd had blocks before, but nothing like this. Luckily Galatea was there when he left work to remind him how wonderful he really was, but when he was away from her he became his old, cranky self.
His frustration was put into his students now, some of which had dropped the class because they could not handle his nit-picks. The ones left sat with open books and wide eyes. No one fell asleep in Pygmalion's class. He was yammering on about 17th Century Italian sculpture (because they would learn art history in his class whether they'd signed up for it or not) when one of the kids looked at his watch. He was already ten minutes over. The kid raised his hand. "Sir...uh class is over now?" Pygmalion whipped around giving him a look of pure disgust. "This class is over when I say it is. Your parents throw your miserable little shits in school for you to learn not run off to play hooky all day." He fidgeted with his fingers, repeating his last sentence again. He had to finish his lesson or he would feel the class incomplete. Pygmalion did not like to feel incomplete.