› TWELVE
[Seeing as he isn't sure how long this being-a-witch-again thing will last, have a Chris. Who is making potions. In a smoking cauldron. Yes, an actual cauldron. It sits upon a table, along with a moderate amount of ingredients, varying from the type of things you might regularly see in a kitchen to some more... unique things, such as oddly shaped roots or something like glitter dust in a wooden bowl. Several glass bottles filled with colored liquid sit on the other side of the table.
Chris glances to the piece of paper he also has on the table, then rips off a piece of a plant, tossing it into the mixture. The potion-in-the-making bubbles. ... then it explodes in a huge puff of mist and smoke. It's barely enough to knock Chris off his feet, and he makes an annoyed groan as he runs a hand through his hair.]
Note to self: not as much mandrake leaf next time.
Chris glances to the piece of paper he also has on the table, then rips off a piece of a plant, tossing it into the mixture. The potion-in-the-making bubbles. ... then it explodes in a huge puff of mist and smoke. It's barely enough to knock Chris off his feet, and he makes an annoyed groan as he runs a hand through his hair.]
Note to self: not as much mandrake leaf next time.