Macbeth tried not to feel too annoyed. Asking for not at all would just be ridiculous, considering.
His strategy had gone beautifully. Distract with the slamming of the door, using it to open cupboards and retrieve various baking and cooking items in the kitchen. Then wait for her to realize he was in there, and spring them all on her at once, using the confusion in sight and smell to overwhelm her to land a few hits. All while both standing far enough away using the cloth from before as a make-shift mask to keep the worst of the fallout away from his own senses. Yes, everything was going swimmingly.
Until the Zeref damned ceiling caved in. And he'd used this strategy specifically so that the following wouldn't happen!
At least he'd avoided getting crushed. His reflector magic led to the worst of the debris simply sliding off him. His heart stopped when he felt his magic failing for a brief second, causing a rock to gash him in the arm. How low was he if even his simple reflecting spells were failing? He tried not to dwell on it as he noted that, thanks to his impromptu mask, the dust from the collapse also didn't choke him as much.
In front of him, the woman groaned as she lifted pieces of the ceiling off her. That appeared to do more damage to her than any of his attacks…another thing to be conflicted about. Before he could think of what to do next, he gasped as he took note for the first time the other things dropped from the ceiling.
Mirajane, fully transformed, watched as another woman with dark hair and glasses…floated down from the ceiling? Just who had Mira ended up fighting? His stomach flipped. Both out of concern for Mirajane…and from not a small bit of terror at the sheer power emanating from her. It was something he'd only heard described once, from Sawyer in an almost wistful mood over his battle with her. He couldn't help a shiver. He did not want to ever be on the bad side of that.
And yet…when he caught her eyes as she glanced over, he noted the widening in shock…and perhaps a hint of fear. He was suddenly ashamed. Here he was, staring at her like an oddity when he'd seen and done far worse terrors as a dark guild member. He didn't want to make her feel that way. It made his stomach twist far more than any magical presence could induce.
So, taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, hoping that came through to Mirajane. For a moment, her mouth opened, and then she gave another small smile back. One that never failed to put his worries at ease.
Without a word, she turned back towards her own opponent. He saw her put a hand behind her back and covertly make a symbol with her thumb and pinky. His eyes widened as he realized what she was trying to say without words. Macbeth didn't know if he had it in him to pull it off, but he'd have to try.
But first, perhaps he should have tried harder to sense his surroundings. A furious howl sounded from the wolf woman as she launched herself directly at him.