Aranea/Porrim (Pitch): Remember That Time Porrim Spitefully Cleaned Aranea's Library?

You hum to yourself as you work. It's so rewarding, helping a fellow troll. And really, Aranea's accumulated so many books by now that she should be grateful that you're willing to spend your evening organizing them. You continue humming and sorting, even as you hear her hive door swing open and footsteps ascending the stairs. You carefully continue to ignore her as she opens the library door and freezes.

"What are you doing?"

You give her one cool look before returning to your sorting. "Isn't it obvious?"

"What's obvious is that you're meddling with my hive, and you need to leave."

This time you don't even bother to look at her, just wave a dismissive hand. "Once I'm done organizing. Really, I don't know how you managed for so many sweeps with such an inefficient system."

You watch out of the corner of your eye as she looks around, taking in all your changes, and you don't even bother trying not to smile at the look of horror on her face. "My books! What have you done?"

"They're organized by genre, now."

"They were organized by author because genre is irrelevant."

She's baring her teeth at you now, and isn't that just the cutest thing ever? You feel so terribly threatened. "No, you fail to understand. Here, I've put everything that's useless, right next to the things that are simply wrong, sorted from most to least inaccurate. This shelf is devoted to… what's the proper term? Friend fiction?"

Her face goes blotchy blue, and there's another victory for you. Not that you would keep score, of course. "That was private! And hidden! This is the, the most shameless imposition on my hospitality and I really must insist that you leave my hive right now, right this moment-"

You give her a carefully casual shrug. "Oh certainly, the stories were under the false bottom in your desk drawer, but I assumed that if you were careless enough to keep hard copies, you must have wanted them to be read." The blue is spreading to the tips of her ears and down her neck, and you can't resist pushing that little bit further. "Of course, I've sorted them by amount of sexual content."

She makes a strangled little noise that fails entirely to resolve into words, then she spins and runs, slamming the door behind her. Even from where you sit, you can hear her rushing down the stairs and out the front door. The next few minutes are spent laughing, but then you really must get back to work. If you finish quickly enough, you'll have time to leave written reviews on the remarkable number of stories she seems to have written about you.