"What're ye up to, then?"

Peering over Nathyrra's shoulder, Phenalope watched the drow's slender hands as she worked, holding the vials up to the muted light. They gave off a soft, almost palpable green glow, and a faint odor of burning bread.

Nathyrra spared barely a glance for the other woman, her attention instead focused on tipping a single glimmering droplet of fluid from the larger of the vials into the smaller. A fine wisp of vapour arose almost immediately, but vanished when she pursed her lips and blew on it gently. "I'm making a poison, if you must know." she said finally, now picking up a twisted root from the table top's selection of ingredients.

"Oh, aye?" Phenalope said in interested tones. Her eyes tracked the drow's movements curiously as she leaned on the table, folding her arms across her rumpled leather tunic. "For the purposes of . . . ?"

"Well, I wasn't intending to use it to season my cooking." the drow replied cooly. The root powdered in her hand as she clenched her fist, trickling down into the vial; the liquid immediately turned a somehow sinister milky blue.

"Mmm, I s'pose not." Idly scratching the underside of her chin, Phenalope paused for a moment, then said in cavalier tones, "So I'm wond'rin', then, didn't ye promise me last week that ye were done with any sort of 'evil'-type business that might hamper our grand quest by bringin' the local constabulary down on our heads, love?"

"I did?"

"Mmm. T'was a Tuesday, I b'lieve."

"Ah." Nathyrra hesitated a moment, then swept the entire surface of the table clean with a sweep of her arm, spinning about to block the resulting minor explosion with a brilliant smile. "So!" she declared cheerfully. "I know a certain waela jalil who looks like she would like some elg'cahl cookies!"

"I know what that means, ye ruddy great twat." Phenalope said dryly.

"Nonsense! You're hearing things, my friend." Clapping an arm around the woman's shoulders, Nathyrra pocketed the vial behind her back, deftly stoppering it one-handed. "You'll love them, I promise you. They taste like chicken!"

"Ye don't even know what a chicken is. And ye ain't helpin' yer case."

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For non-drow heathens: "I know a certain foolish female who looks like she would like some poison cookies!"