Another light-hearted chapter for y'all! I have no idea what Combeferre and Joly were trying to make. Please forgive any scientific mistakes I may have made - I am no chemist.
Much love,
Unicadia
A drawing of Combeferre and Joly, leaning over what looks like an anatomy book, their foreheads almost touching, their hair tousled and damp with sweat. Both have dark circles under their eyes, and Combeferre sags a little over the table the book rests on. Joly's finger points to a page, and he smiles, tired, but Combeferre returns it. They have discovered something revolutionary.
"It's supposed to be 67% acid and 33% base," said Etienne Combeferre, measuring out drops of a dark-colored liquid.
"Are you sure? I thought it was 67% base and 33% acid," said his companion, Hyacinthe-Félicien Joly.
Combeferre gave Joly a "that's very nice but you're quite wrong, dear" smile. "Jolllly, you spend every lecture paying more attention to the new problems you find with yourself than to the lecture. I, on the other hand, actually take notes. It's 33% acid, I mean base." He moved to pour the liquid into the tall beaker standing on the kitchen table, but Joly took the vial from him.
"Well, that may be, but I specifically recall M. Latude saying that if the mixture is off by even a fraction, it could produce a disastrous result."
Combeferre sighed. "Of course you remember that part. Well, I remember it, too, and I made a careful note of the measurements in my tablet. See? 67% acid and 33% base."
"But supposing you got it wrong? And despite what you say, Combeferre, I did take notes during that lecture, and wrote down the exact measurements as M. Latude showed us." Joly thrust his tablet under Combeferre's nose and jabbed at a scribble in the middle of the page. "67% base, 33% acid."
Combeferre pushed it away. "33% acid will not give it the potency that it requires."
Joly pursed his lips. "And 67% base is also rather potent."
"Yes, but it needs an acidic potency to eat away at the chemical build-up."
"No, you see? That's wrong. The chemicals are also acidic. They will just neutralize each other."
"Well, that's almost as good as eating it."
"It is not. It needs more base, Combeferre!"
Combeferre lunged over the table at Joly, grasping for the vial, but Joly held it out of his reach. Combeferre walked around the table and tackled Joly. The two fell to the floor, the vial knocking out of Joly's hand. Combeferre untangled himself from Joly, grabbed the vial and returned to the table. "Now," he continued, "33% base," and poured the liquid into the beaker. Joly glared at him from the floor. Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Get up, Joly." He picked up another vial and swished it around. "67% acid," and emptied it into the beaker as well. He grinned at Joly triumphantly. "See? It's all right."
Joly struggled to his feet. "Now test it, Socrates."
Combeferre returned Joly's glare. "Fine, but you must test it also." He poured the mixture into two shot glasses.
Joly took one. "If I die, it's your fault."
Combeferre laughed. "If we did it your way, we would certainly die." He drained his glass.
Joly hesitated, then downed his as well.
When Bossuet returned to the apartment that evening, he found Combeferre and Joly passed out on the kitchen floor. They were not dead, only unconscious, from a slight overdose of laudanum and absinthe.
Combeferre later told Joly, "Perhaps we ought to make sure we have the right ingredients before we argue about their amounts."
"Indeed. If we had put in just 34% of that laudanum, neither of us might still be here."
To which Combeferre replied, a little smug, "Like I said, if we had done it your way, Joly, and put in 67% laudanum, we certainly would not be."