"Please try to brush the dust off your sense of humor, priestess." Mishka made another sharp, silhouetted smile, and sort of lent against a backwards chair in a weird imitation of sitting. "How exactly would it profit Abigail or myself if I killed you in your sleep? It would not."
"As... devoted as you are to your particular studies, I'll forgive you for not realizing many of the greatest Drow in history have become Driders and have died that way." Rather than patronizing, her voice now seemed to be as harsh and sarcastic as Lucia's, perhaps in a desperate bid to relate to the stoic woman. "I am not arrogant enough to assume curing it is childsplay. I do not enjoy the feeling of it under my skin. Becoming an even less Drow monster is perhaps even preferable."
Using her crimson talon, she rather carefully plucked some glasses up and moved one infront of Lucia, pouring them both a considerable quantity of finely aged red wine. Trying to drink from her own glass nearly resulted in her toppling it, so she just shrugged and swapped hands to the more humanoid one before disgruntlely sipping away.
"...Knowing this... Can we at least agree to put it behind us for now?"