Who: Alex & Lila What: Business as usual When: May 19th, afternoon Where: His little...workshop thing (because keeping all his tools in his trailer probably takes up too much room) Warnings: This went and got NSFW, oh yes.
When he'd arrived at the Cirque, Alex hadn't had much in the way of possessions. What he did have, however, was knowledge. He's began his education under his mother as a fairly boilerplate witch: charms, potions, protection, etc. As he grew older, though, his lessons advanced. "Sometimes, Alexander, there won't be an opportunity to protect," his mother had told him. "Sometimes you must strike first and apologize later." Curses and hexes got added to his lessons, along with various kinds of talismans. His true strength, though, would always lie in the brewing of potions, and talismans for protection. That magic just came to him, as naturally as breathing.
So today, it was time to replenish his stock of various potions, since some of them were getting rather low. The hangover remedy he'd come up with had proved to be very popular, to the point where he'd gotten a big, plastic orange cooler, and filled it with said remedy, setting it out after particularly wild nights at the Cirque. Potions for pain and headache relief, alertness, sleep, and other things, they all had to be brewed, and it was going to be an affair of several days to do them all. If he had the energy, he might make a poison as well. It never hurt to be prepared.
"Round about the cauldron go," he murmured to himself, lighting the fire beneath the large, iron cauldron in the middle of his small workshop. It sprang to life and began crackling merrily. "In the poison'd entrails throw." He retrieved jars containing various roots, herbs, and flowers, some of which could be incredibly dangerous if not taken properly. "Swelter'd venom sleeping got, boil thou first i' the charmed pot," he continued, pulling on some protective gloves.
He pulled down a mortar and pestle and began adding ingredients to it. Hangover remedy first, he could do that one in his sleep, and it took the least amount of time. "Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn, and cauldron bubble." The pestle made a rhythmic knocking sound as he ground the herbs into powder. Smoke began to drift out of the open door of his workshop, left slightly ajar so his own work wouldn't smoke him out. Alexander fell into a rhythm with the ease of long practice, continuing to quote Macbeth under his breath as he did so.