LOG snippet: Home is Where the Long-Form Safety Measures Checklist Is
Molly returns from the sea to find a paper-wrapped package waiting for her outside the shop (Glanthworths' Artifice, No. 18 Ironmonger's, Amber City, Amber. Conveniently located!). No name other than hers. No return address. Begman-style paranoia ensues.
Charles brings up another tumbler, pours a healthy slug. "That packet there outside the shop?"
Molly nods. "Aye. Just next to the stoop, almost out of sight. Had my name on it. Of a fashion." She shrugs and takes up the glass.
Charles looks a little suspiciously at the package. "Of a fashion?"
Molly squints at it. "Aye. My old name." She tilts it to show "Bloody Cute Molly" written on the wrapping. Now that there's a clearer look at it, it looks just about bottle-shaped. She adds, just in case it's called into question, "The one I don't use no more."
Charles says, "Now, you want to open that here, or back in the workshop?"
Molly tilts her head thoughtfully. "Well, now that might depend. You got something back there to show me, or're you afraid somethin' odd'd be in the bottle?"
Charles says, "More the latter, gotta admit."
Molly nods. "Safety first. We'll open it in the back, then. Gloves on, goggles down."
Charles nods. "That's the plan."
Molly takes another sip of her gin. "Right! So, right now? Or after I bring up the uncomfortable and awkward conversation?
Charles says, "Well. If the package blows up, we don't have to have no awkward conversation, so I vote for right now."
Molly nods, her expression cheering exponentially. "You always do bring up the most relevant points, don't ye, love?" She picks up her bag, slings it over her shoulder and lifts the package, making a show of being gentle about it, and aims herself towards the workshop.
Charles drains his gin, follows along.
Charles pulls open the heavy wooden door, and enters the workshop. Molly pulls open the heavy wooden door, and enters the workshop.
Molly makes her way across the workshop to a little nook surrounded by solid walls, dropping off her bag and snagging her thickest workgloves along the way. "Reckon we should use the long tongs, Chaz?"
Charles says, "Long tongs and the pressure testing box, I reckon."
Molly looks at the tongs, then the package, then the box. She sighs. "Right. Had my name, reckon I should put it in the box? Unless you're wantin' to?"
Charles says, "You man the tongs. I'll put it in the box."
Molly lifts the tongs and slides her goggles down. "Only if you're absolutely certain, darlin'."
Charles grabs his own goggles, pulls them on. "Yep," he says, moving the package to a box of thick, reinforced quartz and iron. "All you."
Molly approaches the box with a clackity clackity of tongs, warming them up for the work. "Here we go. Steady on over there, Mr. G." The tongs slide in and start peeling away the paper. There is, indeed, a bottle revealed as the wrappings fall away, a bottle of dark brown glass with a label reading, 'Hair of the Dog'. "Huh" says Molly eloquently.
Charles says, "Huh."
Molly shrugs, says "Damn prudence to a coward, I'm poppin' the bloody thing open." She starts to fiddle with the corking, grimaces as the bottle wobbles erratically, and waves towards the nearest workbench to Charles. "Be a dear, an' hand me another set of tongs, would you?
Charles does so. "Yes ma'am."
Molly fiddles with it a while more, until there is a suck-squelch-thwock noise and the cork falls to the ground. Molly freezes still and watches the bottle.
Charles, subtly, reaches for a Dephlogistication Supressor.
The bottle does not explode. The bottle just sits there. Like a bottle.
Charles says, "Timer's probably too tricky."
Molly peers suspiciously at the bottle and nudges it with the tongs. Still no boom.
Charles says, "Reckon it's poison?"
Molly shrugs. "It's possible. Is there some sort of Begman poison testing I don't know about yet? Dribble it into a gizmo an' see if it goes all Whiiiir-clak clak tinkle tinkle?" She leans over towards the bottle, sniffing. "Smells nice, though."
Charles lifts up his goggles. "What sort of nice?"
Molly leans towards the bottle. "Not like almonds at all." She gives it another sniff or two. "Familiar-like. Like rum and....oh!" She smiles, blinking down at the bottle. "Like rum and coffee." She gives Charles a sheepish smile. "I think we're safe, darlin'. Unless I've forgotten gettin' on someone particular's wrong side."
Charles says, "How likely's that now?"
Molly scratches her head thoughtfully. "Well...I did used to drink quite a lot of rum. My memory of plenty of nights is spotty, but seeing as how I've gotten a bottle of this stuff a time or two before, I'm sure she'd not've wasted any on vengeance." She smiles at a memory, then adds, "Then again, that's probably the best way to poison someone, innit?"
Charles says, "Right. Sure you don't want me to check it out?"
Molly gestures to the bottle. "Go right ahead. Might make you feel better. Wait. You mean test it, or give it a guzzle?" She chuckles. "I mean, either way you're welcome, I just want to know if you'd like me to be thinking up which Mandrake to chase down afters."
Charles says, "Meant test it, actually."
Molly gestures towards the bottle. "Please do, Mr. G. So long as there's some left after the testing. If I recall, it's a particularly smooth brew."
Charles nods, and heads over to a rarely-used corner of the workshop, finding a long, narrow glass tube. "So, why're you getting strange bottles, then?"
Molly follows along, looking around and over shoulders to watch. "No idea. Word wouldn't've gotten out yet, seein' as how I just got back. Maybe she's come 'round into port an' was looking for an old friend or two? Would've been nice to leave a note sayin' so, though."
Charles draws out a tubeful of the liquid, carries it back to the workbench. "Lookin' for an old friend, and tracked her down here."
Molly watches Charles a moment. "It's not like I'm hiding, love. There's plenty down by the docks who know me well enough to point in a direction. Besides, just about everyone comes to Amber, don't they?" She points at the tube. "What're you doing to it? I don't recall you running this sort of test before."
Charles says, "Don't often have call to." He dispenses the tube into a flask, starts adding things from other, multi-colored flasks. "Still remember how, though."
Molly watches with interest. "Did your school chums go 'round trying to poison each other? Sounds like the sort of japes you'd get up to."
Charles says, "Mostly the Perry blokes. Chemists. Still, remember a few of my courses."
Molly nods and tries to make sense of the method of liquid additions. "I don't think I was quite aware of how diversely useful University is." She sniffs towards the liquids again. "Is it telling you anything?"
Charles says, "Well it ain't telling me that it's poisoned, so that's something.
Molly smiles. "That's bloody brilliant, that is! So who gets the first taste?" She grins a little wider. "Or is there anything else we can do to it. I mean, that we should test it for?"
Charles says, "Didn't explode, ain't poisoned. How tricky is this old friend of yours?"
Molly actually considers this a moment. "She's tricky, but not that tricky. I can't think of anything else she'd try. At this point, I'd wager it's probably safe."
Charles says, "Right. It's all yours, then."
Charles brings up another tumbler, pours a healthy slug. "That packet there outside the shop?"
Molly nods. "Aye. Just next to the stoop, almost out of sight. Had my name on it. Of a fashion." She shrugs and takes up the glass.
Charles looks a little suspiciously at the package. "Of a fashion?"
Molly squints at it. "Aye. My old name." She tilts it to show "Bloody Cute Molly" written on the wrapping. Now that there's a clearer look at it, it looks just about bottle-shaped. She adds, just in case it's called into question, "The one I don't use no more."
Charles says, "Now, you want to open that here, or back in the workshop?"
Molly tilts her head thoughtfully. "Well, now that might depend. You got something back there to show me, or're you afraid somethin' odd'd be in the bottle?"
Charles says, "More the latter, gotta admit."
Molly nods. "Safety first. We'll open it in the back, then. Gloves on, goggles down."
Charles nods. "That's the plan."
Molly takes another sip of her gin. "Right! So, right now? Or after I bring up the uncomfortable and awkward conversation?
Charles says, "Well. If the package blows up, we don't have to have no awkward conversation, so I vote for right now."
Molly nods, her expression cheering exponentially. "You always do bring up the most relevant points, don't ye, love?" She picks up her bag, slings it over her shoulder and lifts the package, making a show of being gentle about it, and aims herself towards the workshop.
Charles drains his gin, follows along.
Charles pulls open the heavy wooden door, and enters the workshop. Molly pulls open the heavy wooden door, and enters the workshop.
Molly makes her way across the workshop to a little nook surrounded by solid walls, dropping off her bag and snagging her thickest workgloves along the way. "Reckon we should use the long tongs, Chaz?"
Charles says, "Long tongs and the pressure testing box, I reckon."
Molly looks at the tongs, then the package, then the box. She sighs. "Right. Had my name, reckon I should put it in the box? Unless you're wantin' to?"
Charles says, "You man the tongs. I'll put it in the box."
Molly lifts the tongs and slides her goggles down. "Only if you're absolutely certain, darlin'."
Charles grabs his own goggles, pulls them on. "Yep," he says, moving the package to a box of thick, reinforced quartz and iron. "All you."
Molly approaches the box with a clackity clackity of tongs, warming them up for the work. "Here we go. Steady on over there, Mr. G." The tongs slide in and start peeling away the paper. There is, indeed, a bottle revealed as the wrappings fall away, a bottle of dark brown glass with a label reading, 'Hair of the Dog'. "Huh" says Molly eloquently.
Charles says, "Huh."
Molly shrugs, says "Damn prudence to a coward, I'm poppin' the bloody thing open." She starts to fiddle with the corking, grimaces as the bottle wobbles erratically, and waves towards the nearest workbench to Charles. "Be a dear, an' hand me another set of tongs, would you?
Charles does so. "Yes ma'am."
Molly fiddles with it a while more, until there is a suck-squelch-thwock noise and the cork falls to the ground. Molly freezes still and watches the bottle.
Charles, subtly, reaches for a Dephlogistication Supressor.
The bottle does not explode. The bottle just sits there. Like a bottle.
Charles says, "Timer's probably too tricky."
Molly peers suspiciously at the bottle and nudges it with the tongs. Still no boom.
Charles says, "Reckon it's poison?"
Molly shrugs. "It's possible. Is there some sort of Begman poison testing I don't know about yet? Dribble it into a gizmo an' see if it goes all Whiiiir-clak clak tinkle tinkle?" She leans over towards the bottle, sniffing. "Smells nice, though."
Charles lifts up his goggles. "What sort of nice?"
Molly leans towards the bottle. "Not like almonds at all." She gives it another sniff or two. "Familiar-like. Like rum and....oh!" She smiles, blinking down at the bottle. "Like rum and coffee." She gives Charles a sheepish smile. "I think we're safe, darlin'. Unless I've forgotten gettin' on someone particular's wrong side."
Charles says, "How likely's that now?"
Molly scratches her head thoughtfully. "Well...I did used to drink quite a lot of rum. My memory of plenty of nights is spotty, but seeing as how I've gotten a bottle of this stuff a time or two before, I'm sure she'd not've wasted any on vengeance." She smiles at a memory, then adds, "Then again, that's probably the best way to poison someone, innit?"
Charles says, "Right. Sure you don't want me to check it out?"
Molly gestures to the bottle. "Go right ahead. Might make you feel better. Wait. You mean test it, or give it a guzzle?" She chuckles. "I mean, either way you're welcome, I just want to know if you'd like me to be thinking up which Mandrake to chase down afters."
Charles says, "Meant test it, actually."
Molly gestures towards the bottle. "Please do, Mr. G. So long as there's some left after the testing. If I recall, it's a particularly smooth brew."
Charles nods, and heads over to a rarely-used corner of the workshop, finding a long, narrow glass tube. "So, why're you getting strange bottles, then?"
Molly follows along, looking around and over shoulders to watch. "No idea. Word wouldn't've gotten out yet, seein' as how I just got back. Maybe she's come 'round into port an' was looking for an old friend or two? Would've been nice to leave a note sayin' so, though."
Charles draws out a tubeful of the liquid, carries it back to the workbench. "Lookin' for an old friend, and tracked her down here."
Molly watches Charles a moment. "It's not like I'm hiding, love. There's plenty down by the docks who know me well enough to point in a direction. Besides, just about everyone comes to Amber, don't they?" She points at the tube. "What're you doing to it? I don't recall you running this sort of test before."
Charles says, "Don't often have call to." He dispenses the tube into a flask, starts adding things from other, multi-colored flasks. "Still remember how, though."
Molly watches with interest. "Did your school chums go 'round trying to poison each other? Sounds like the sort of japes you'd get up to."
Charles says, "Mostly the Perry blokes. Chemists. Still, remember a few of my courses."
Molly nods and tries to make sense of the method of liquid additions. "I don't think I was quite aware of how diversely useful University is." She sniffs towards the liquids again. "Is it telling you anything?"
Charles says, "Well it ain't telling me that it's poisoned, so that's something.
Molly smiles. "That's bloody brilliant, that is! So who gets the first taste?" She grins a little wider. "Or is there anything else we can do to it. I mean, that we should test it for?"
Charles says, "Didn't explode, ain't poisoned. How tricky is this old friend of yours?"
Molly actually considers this a moment. "She's tricky, but not that tricky. I can't think of anything else she'd try. At this point, I'd wager it's probably safe."
Charles says, "Right. It's all yours, then."