In a dark room, isolated but not alone, the alchemist of Fritz's party was busy. Across the table, the annoying battle wench Brenn made her presence known. Various alchemical stands filled with the fruits of Marcelle's labors evaporated and dripped into a myriad of containers ready and waiting for use.

"Ughh! Couldn't you pick a better hobby? Why in the hells did you even bother learning this crap?" Brenn groaned.

"Be quiet! I am applying my years of expertise! You're too stupid to appreciate anything that doesn't involve mindless thrusting!" Marcelle seethed.

"But it is so boring! Can't you just brew some love potions? We could have the biggest orgy ever recorded!" Brenn threw her arms wide. "Just think about it! You and me! In the center of a swirling mass of sweaty bodies! It'd be glorious!"

"No! No! No! A potion of haste is far more impressive than some hedge witches 'love potion'. You have no taste, you boorish waste of flesh."

"Come on! Haven't you at least thought of feeding the champion it? A drooling happy slave to your every whims."

"What!? What are you talking about?" Marcelle asked as her face scrunched. A measure of color touched her cheeks hidden behind her long black bangs. "Why would I want some idiot slobbering over me? My work is too important to be disturbed!"

"Ughh!" Brenn sighed. "Come on! I refuse to believe you haven't thought of feeding Fritz a love potion to control him. Don't even try to deny it hasn't crossed your mind. I've seen the way you've been sneaking glances at him."

"How dare you accuse me of such!" Marcelle glowered as her eyes darted around her equipment. "I am an esteemed alchemist. I am Zola's apprentice. Why would I ever stoop to such foolishness? Have you hit your head? Or perhaps you've caught some disease in that revolting brothel."

"I remember you going in there...."

"I was drunk, and that is besides the point!" Marcelle sputtered.

"Fine. Whatever, princess prude." Brenn said with a grumpy sigh. "Are you telling me you haven't seriously thought of creating a love potion? Come on girl! Confess! Practically half my birth village was begging our local alchemist for one."

"I am not a girl! I am a lady!" Marcelle hissed.

"A lady! Where's your ring? I don't see one."

"Do not question me, you... you... slut!"

"Pfft! I wear it like a badge of honor."

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"I can imagine." Marcelle said. The reagents were brewing slowly. Marcelle purple eyes darted around in annoyance refusing to acknowledge the repulsive adventurer opposite of the table.

"Alright, I'm gonna ask."

"Don't. I hate you. Please leave." Marcelle hissed. Ignoring the lamia, Brenn continued without caring.

"Zola's apprentice is a big deal. That woman was impossible to befriend. I've no idea how you managed it, but it don't matter. Tell me, right now, why she accepted you. Zola never liked those without ambition. She must have seen some kindred spirit."

"Stop pretending like you know my master. She would never associate with your pathetic likeness."

"There's plenty you don't know. Like, for example, what is underneath the champion's pants."

"Shut up!" Marcelle screeched. Her eyes shone with pure hatred at Brenn.

"Then tell me, no stalling." Brenn said, rolling her eyes.

"I will be the greatest alchemist the world has ever known." Marcelle announced. "Those were the first words I ever told Zola." The small room was silent as she regarded the brunette warrior across from her. The lamia waited for the approaching laughter that never came.

"Eh? That's it? The world's greatest alchemist? Yeah, she would take in that type of person. She always was a sucker for the big talkers."

"Huh? What would you know? You're barely capable of speech as is. You disgusting wench. Don't you have some whorehouse to die in?" Marcelle sputtered out her curses and insults as Brenn rolled her eyes.

"That's all you got?"

"You slut. You whore. You tramp. Wanton, slovenly harlot. You promiscuous hussy. You slag. You whore. You skank. You're a strumpet. You're a tart. Why wield an axe, when all you think about is everyone else's swords?!"

"Nothing I ain't heard before." Brenn let her fist ball up as she rested her chin in her fist. "Come on Ms. Alchemist, give me an aphrodisiac, I want something to celebrate with once we defeat the vampires. Maybe I'll capture one. Keep it around as my personal stress reliever."

"Pfft. Like I'd ever give you that. You'd be lucky if I gave you something for your crotch rot."

"That's a rumor. Don't listen to those brothel workers. I ain't had anything like that since coming back from the Land of the Fey."

The two barely paid attention to each other. Marcelle's potion of haste was steadily brewing as the two fell into an awkward silence. Marcelle glowered at the precise perfection dripping into her crystal vial. The potion glistened an enchanting vibrant yellow. Marcelle allowed herself the smallest measure of joy as she watched her concoction slowly drip.

"A potion of haste, won't save you. You'll need something more if you wanna stand on your own. Vampires are a bit stronger than most people realize."

"You continue to underestimate me." Marcelle glowered.

"Gonna transform again? Dragon wings, claws and all?" Brenn asked. Marcelle scowled as she turned away. "That looked like it hurt."

"The transformation is incredibly painful. It must rip apart and reform the skeletal and muscular structure after all. No. I will not transform again. Not unless I am extreme danger. The potion is not ready. It requires more testing, more time, and better ingredients."

"Shame. You looked kind of cool."

A small smile played at Marcelle's lips. Hidden beneath her inky black hair she accepted the compliment.

"I am cool." Marcelle responded under her breath.

Marcelle watched her potion like a hawk. Brenn, for all her patience soon grew restless, leaving Marcelle alone in a dark room. The lamia felt relief as solitude was returned to her at last. Reaching into her dimensional bag, she retrieved her experimental potion. Staring at the black perpetually bubbling liquid, she dreamed of it's eventual perfection.