Prompt: Storm
There wasn't much to do when a storm hits, or so Crime Sorciere found out the hard way. With the rain coming down like millions of Jellal's meteors, it would be pointless and almost suicidal to venture forth from their hideout.
So instead, they decided to play some of the games left behind by their hideout's former occupants (of which there was a surprisingly large number, though they were all of a rather morbid bent – which was to be expected from a death cult, to be honest).
Erza's face when she lost to Macbeth was an image he would treasure for the rest of his life. It may be a paltry victory, only a shadow in the face of the hell she'd put him through years before, but he'd take it, nonetheless (and possibly rub her face in it at every available opportunity).