“Now, where did those powders get to...?"
As Cilla crouched down to search through the lower shelf of the cellar, a lock of her reddish-brown hair fell in front of her eyes. Blowing it away and wishing it wasn't too warm to just wear a cap, she slid several glass and earthenware jars around, being careful not to knock any of them together too forcefully. This potion was getting to be more trouble than it was worth. If she hadn't needed that chubby Bobbit's help with dipolar equations…
“Ah!" The jar, covered in what seemed a century's worth of dust, still displayed exactly the contents she needed: solid lichor, extracted from tinted sapphire, in a suspension of inert oil. A quick shake confirmed the viability of the substances within, and she stood to make the climb back up to the laboratory.
The alembic was already at work, the heat from the sand bath gently evaporating the sunflower oil and dripping the condensed fluid into the wax pot, one drop at a time. As the mage set the jar of lichor on the workbench, she peered at the molten wax and wafted the scent toward her nose, smiling
softly—perfect concentration. A small silver spoon dipped into the pot and scooped out some of the wax. Pressing with the tip of her little finger, she made a tiny indentation in the wax; a quick drop of the lichorric suspension, and she scooped the rest of the spoonful around it into a closed bowl shape, squeezing out as much air as she could without spilling the oil.
“Well... Here goes nothing."
With a sigh, she gently dropped the warm capsule into the small glass vial of vitriol. Covering it with a cork, she watched as the acid began to slowly eat into the wax, with a bubbling and hissing that reminded her more than anything of her aunt's favorite bubble-wine. The tiny bit of reactant she had added to the acid began to change with exposure to the sunflower oil, turning an inky, opaque yellow that slowly spread through the fluid—like blood in the veins of a Morlock.
A knock at the door broke her concentration, and she turned her head halfway around in annoyance. “Just a moment!" Returning her gaze to the vial, she saw the vitriol eat a deep enough hole in the capsule to release the lichor. The bluish, gritty mixture sucked one of the yellow strands in like a lodestone, and with a tiny flash of light, the entire solution began to turn green.
The young warlock grinned—a result worthy of an expert alchemist. She set the vial down on the workbench and went over to the door. Opening it halfway, she saw someone whose arrival at this time was actually desirable.
“Haldo, Miss Proudfoot."
“Miss Amell." The short woman sniffed the air. “Ah, you're using sunflower oil? An interesting choice."
As the Bobbit walked into the room, the mage gestured to the vial, its transmutation in progress. “I thought it appropriate, considering the changes the flower makes in only a few months. Seems to be working beautifully."
“Indeed." Fuzz looked at the vial closely, though being careful not to touch it herself. “Damme if that isn't an absolutely ideal emerald green."
The compliment, coming from someone normally reserved with strangers, settled warmly on her heart. She picked up the vial and sat down on the nearby stool, holding the potion in her hand; noticing the cork starting to come loose, she quickly pushed it back down with her thumb. “It should be ready in an hour or two. Though I still don't understand what you need with a g-"
Without warning, the vial shattered, its contents spilling onto the mage's bare hand and arm. She gasped, but kept her wits about her, setting what remained of the glass down on the bench and standing up as Fuzz grabbed the nearby bottle of cool water. Amell held her arm towards the drainage grate in the floor as the Bobbit slowly poured the water over it, looking up at the warlock with genuine concern.
“How's it feeling? Any sting?"
She shook her head. “Not really. I suppose the wax and the oil neutralized a lot of it."
With the cool water washing away what remained of the vitriol, her skin was only slightly more red than usual.
“Let's have the nurse take a look at it," Fuzz suggested, opening the door that led to the hallway.
* * * *
After a cursory examination by the nurse failed to turn up anything more than a mild burn, Fuzz offered to buy Cilla a beer. The two of them sat at one of the smaller tables (actually an old wine cask) in the back corner of the Wolf & Wyvern, sipping from frothy mugs.
“I really don't mind providing the other supplies. I mean, it is my fault that this one was spoiled."
Fuzz shook her head. “Nonsense. Could've happened to anyone. You already used up some of your own fluids on a project for me, so it's unfair of me to ask more of you than your time."
Cilla shrugged her shoulders and took another swig of beer; despite her usual distaste for hops, she was enjoying what seemed to be a bit of honey or beet-sugar in this batch. “Thank you again, Miss Proudfoot."
“No trouble."
“All right." She heard a gurgle from her stomach and held it gingerly, noticing that her belt seemed a bit tight. “Uff... must have swallowed too much foam."
The Bobbit looked at her a moment. “Maybe you should take it slow. You didn't swallow any of that potion, did you?"
“No..." An even louder internal groan made Cilla wince. “I need to lie down, though..."
Fuzz helped her to her feet as best she could. She might have been seeing phantasms, but... was the mage's robe shorter than before? Another wince from the Human woman snapped her back to the present.
“My feet... oww..."
The lay alchemist's blood ran cold. “Um... Let's get you to lay down, uh, outside, love..."
Awkwardly helping a woman almost twice her height hobble out of the front door, Fuzz laid her down on a nearby wooden bench. She quickly unbuckled the mage's shoe, and the taller of the two sighed in relief.
“Um... Cilla?"
“Y-yeah?" The warlock was trying to loosen the belt that circled her blue-green robe.
“You're, uh... You're growing."
The word took a moment to sink in. “Growing? Like..."
“...Like the potion would've done, only it wasn't finished. I suppose it soaked in through your skin..."
Lucilla's eyes widened. “Shite... How, uh... How big am I going to get?"
“No idea."
The two of them sat there in silence a moment, before the mage coughed. “I, um... I suppose we'd better go back and
see the nurse again."
“Yeah... If we're lucky, she'll have something to reverse this pretty easily."
“And if we're not?"
“If not, then I might have to call my old teacher Seamus tomorrow…"