"Because I have a backlog of crossword puzzles to do, thanks to Some People Here who dragged me into this mess, and if I start the meeting I might do it by setting someone on fire," Deuce said, with an odd duality of snapping eels and the hearth in his centre. Exasperated amusement, Solomon decided. "I'm still taking suggestions for whom, and would be very willing to put your arse on the list."

"One might think you didn't want to become Grand Mage," Solomon noted deadpan. "I can't imagine why." The glow dimmed, the eels rose, and before Corrival could snap with words Solomon added blandly, "Did you know you have an eel infestation?"

Eels. Definitely eels. A school of them. It was more amusing that way, especially with the way Corrival's soul paused for a moment in startled incomprehension. "What?"

Solomon lifted his spare hand to prod at one of the eels. It was like a tendril, hovering--something like the way Lord Vile's Necromantic streamers had hovered like little snapping dragons. It recoiled, wisped away, reformed closer in to Corrival's centre. His hand tracked it. "When you're annoyed, you have little eel-like things snapping at everyone from the edges of your soul. It's almost adorable, really."

The eel tried to bite his finger, and Solomon laughed.

"That," said Corrival, "is exceptionally creepy, and I'll thank you not to poke me in the eyes, because I still need them." There was humour in his voice, though. Humour in his voice, warmth in his soul, and the eels had drawn back, more-or-less at rest. "Let's get on with this, shall we, gentlemen?"