Chapter 62: 62 – Samples

He could afford to price it cheaper than mediocre whiskey, and still manage a decent profit margin. A small taste of the liquid came first, a drop that hung from the edge of the faucet. Less aggressively herbal than he was used to, but more minty. Weaker than the military recipe, perhaps ten to fifteen percent Viriditas by volume rather than the usual twenty. The mint probably came from a mint brew meant to mask the lower concentration of the active ingredient.

No surprise, but disappointment aplenty. He’d unknowingly given the veteran a worse deal than he intended to. 

“No use feelin’ guilty over unknowingly upsellin’ a customer,” the alchemist told himself as he grabbed a handful of corks off the shelf and took to filling bottles. Taking his time as he did, Makhus managed to fill, cork, and put out in front approximately two bottles in a minute.

Just as he got through filling and putting out all of the old bottles - some three dozen -  and made his way back into the secondary storage room to continue this busywork, the doorbell rang. Standing from his perch with two full bottles in hand, he took a guess - was it Sigmund, or Zel and Zef? It was answered before he could see by the sound of their voices, saccharine affection dripping from Zef’s uncharacteristically bubbly giggling.

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When she stepped into the store, the first thing Zelsys saw was Makhus standing in the doorway into the back, holding a filled seal-bottle in each hand, staring at them with a strange look in his eyes. It was like she could see him fighting himself to decide what he said, for but a split-second before it slipped out, “You’re back. Got a moment? I think I can figure out what you are.”

A raised eyebrow, a bemused smile, although he looked to be entirely serious. 

“I think I can spare a little while, sure,” she agreed. “What’d you need?”

He put the bottles on one of the shelves, counting out, “Some of your blood, hair, and Fog. C’mon, it’ll only be a couple minutes, then you lovebirds can get back to whatever you were gonna do.”

Zelsys had to admit she didn’t expect Makhus to figure it out this quickly, let alone mention it this openly and offhandedly, but it still made her grin nonetheless when she noticed that even such a surface-level remark elicited a blush from Zefaris. Before she joined Makhus in descending into the basement laboratory, she handed Zef the Tablet, instructing her to, “Give Pentacle a look.”

The markswoman gladly took the arcane device, making her way up the stairs whilst Zel and Makhus made their way down. The moment she stepped foot in the laboratory she felt her eyes glazing over at the sight, utterly unfamiliar with most every piece of equipment she could see. Makhus made his way over to a cabinet, beckoning her to follow, and she did just that, shamelessly marveling at every piece of equipment she passed by. From within said cabinet, the alchemist retrieved a syringe and a piece of cotton.

“Right, let’s get the hard part done first,” he said, removing the cover from the hollow needle. “Hold out your arm.”

Zel did as he instructed, and without another word or moment of hesitation, he expertly traced one of her veins with the needle and stuck it in, drawing blood until the syringe was half-full. “Alright, now press this down so it doesn’t bruise,” he instructed, pushing the swab on the entry point until Zelsys took over, after which he pulled the needle out. 

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A few moments of digging through the cabinet’s drawers later, he retrieved a pair of scissors and stepped behind her, momentarily running his fingers through her hair before cutting out a strand from a spot in the middle of the back of her head, assuring that, “It won’t be obvious this way. Now for a sample of your Fog...”

“What, should I just breathe some into a jar?” she joked, only to let out a surprised chuckle when she saw Makhus retrieve a glass jar from the cabinet, nodding affirmatively to her suggestion as he did. He unscrewed the lid and held the jar out in front of her, expecting her to exhale Fog into it. A breath of air in, a breath of Fog out, silvery strands whirling within the glass as the alchemist rushed to screw the lid back on.

“I’ll take a little while to run all the tests on these samples, ‘specially considerin’ the work I gotta do to get the store opened…” he mused, turning the jar around and squinting as he stared into the swirling mass of silver gas within. He looked at her with a strange glimmer in his eyes, remarking, “She’s probably waitin’ for you upstairs.” 

It felt like he’d rehearsed this, like he was acting out a premeditated chain of events rather than actually interacting with her. Like he was forcing himself into being cordial. 

“You’re a bad actor,” she called him out, and the moment she did, his facial expression changed, ever so subtly. The discomfort wasn’t being hidden anymore, but neither was the clear guilt he seemed to feel about said discomfort.

“I know,” he confessed, placing the jar of Fog onto one of the nearby tables and turning back to face her. “Before you ask, no, it’s nothin’ I hold against you or Zefaris. I just have some personal problems that need dealing with, seein’ you two together just brought them to the surface is all.”

“If you want to talk, we can talk. Besides, I do still have to at least try teaching you Fog-breathing,” she replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

A wry smile curled his mouth, and he let out a gravelly chuckle, “Later. I’m still up to my neck in shit to do around the store. Now go on, don’t leave her waitin’.”

---

When Zelsys left to attend to Zefaris, Makhus took to beginning the first and simplest of the many tests he knew he could do to determine whether she was a homunculus, largely due to the fact that, despite its simplicity, it also took the longest. 

A few drops of blood, rendered down much in the same way one would render down the primordial mercury within an Azoth stone. If Zelsys was indeed a homunculus created through the process detailed in the journal, it would surely be possible to render some of this primordial mercury from her blood.

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