A/N: Plot bunnieeeeeeeeeeees!
That was the sound of my sanity dying.
What do we say in these? Yep, you said it.
Scurrying off to write various Christmas/Other PC Holiday gifts. Fanfictions. Meh.
Forsaken gatherings were never exactly tranquil, but this one topped the list of memorable ones, Mesaana decided. Face hidden behind her book, she couldn't help sniggering at the others, arguing across the room. Semirhage, the notorious torturer, the one who people killed themselves rather than face, was looking distinctly harassed.
It had begun about five minutes ago, when a gout of flame blazed up from perilously near to Graendal's human chair. She yelped and jumped up, drawing her precious streith gown away from the flames. Semirhage had jumped up, scowling at the fire and making no move to put it out, though she had clearly been the one to set it. Finally, Lanfear doused it with a gush of water, and demanded to know what Semirhage thought she was doing.
Semirhage trained her Death Glare on Lanfear, refusing to answer. Graendal supplied it for her. "Trying to burn me to a crisp, that's what!" she huffed. Semirhage glanced at the offended party and spoke reluctantly.
"There was a spider."
"A spider!" Laughed Moghedien wildly. "You nearly burned poor Graendal for one little spider?"
Semirhage's eyes hardened. The Death Glare turned on Moghedien. "I don't like spiders," she said coldly.
Mesaana filed that away for later use. Semirhage the Merciless, Terror of the Age of Legends, did not like spiders.
