She doesn't exactly seethe, just watches, bored and alone. High society types, the self obsessed, people who in general collapse if someone doesn't find them charming-- it's all beige paint over the backdrop of betrayal broiling in her. This little creature, all fluff and fairy-dust, isn't even her concern. Why did she put so much effort into striking out at her?

Worry. Simple worry, deep in her gut-- she needed someone to strike out at. She'd forgotten the simple fact that talking to people like this is pointless.

She stands tall, like a mage should, and remembers that the only weapon this woman has is words. If she were capable of intrigue or influence, that would be obvious by now. "Are you asking me for help with demons or not? I tire of this frippery."

And she steadies herself, ready for a tide of condescension.