Bob rolled his eyes, twisting to reaching into a cabinet and pull out a small, ceramic pot. "If you wanted cream, you could've just asked," he sniped, tossing the pot of acne cream to Lazzara.
He wanted to ask how Lazzara knew Polyjuice wouldn't work. As far as Bob knew, no one had been seriously experimenting with what could and could not be done with this spell, whatever the fuck it was. Well, Brian was looking for a way to reverse it (and wasn't Bob glad that Brian hadn't been one of the victims suffering from amnesia—if he had been, fixing this would have fallen on Bob, and Bob might be good at charms, but he wasn't sure if he was that good). As it was, it wasn't like it was Bob's fault that he was focusing on the things he knew how to fix rather than the things he had absolutely no clue about. Pulling himself together, Bob crossed his arm in front of his chest and leaned against the cabinet, glaring at Lazzara. It was a move that had served him well in the past and he hoped would work now. "I'm sorry your hormones are bothering you, but I can't actually do anything about that, unless you want me to start focusing all my attention on coming up with experimental cures. I'm not a researcher, I'm an emergency room healer. There's a fucking difference," he growled.