Vilyra - Deathbloom Vodka - Cutting

[14:37] It had taken several minutes for the still to come to heat, during which time she'd stepped out to speak with Asphodel's bottlemaker. When she returned, a crate lie in her hands- within it, a collection of clear bottles, with very little markings on them...other than a large skull-and-crossbones on the front, and a very particularly worded liability warning on the back. They're placed aside, for now- she'll only need them some hours from now, but it's best to have them nearby for when she does.

With her returner, the prepared condenser is switched on. A mason jar is set beneath the drip, to collect the first of the alcohol produced. Or, rather, the non-drinkable foreshots.

It would be a rather dull set of hours to follow, occasionally switching mason jars as they fill, or as what's produced progresses from foreshots, to heads, to hearts, and finally, tails. Though, at worst she can set herself to reviewing the drafts for her next brewswhile she waits for such moments.

And she has plenty of those to review. Truly, now is when a measure of company would be greatly appreciated...alas, few in Asphodel bear a taste for the brewer's art. Of course, she could always look into getting an apprentice, but she has hardly mastered the craft enough to warrant such.

Not yet, at least.
(Vilyra)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[17:35] The foreshots clear quickly- a deep red jar of toxic substance produced, afore the heads come into being. Though she's going to deposit the methanol-filled liquid later, for now she simply replaces it with another jar, and affixes a label noting what it is. It'd be best not to mix them up...even if the product is going to be slightly toxic, she doesn't want to permanently wound anyone.

That's bad for business.

Drip, drip.

Her mind begins to wander, eyes stuck to the present mason jar...thoughts of how this war between Asphodel and the Docro will progress, of her place within it all...thoughts of her next brew, sifting between ideas from simple fruity drinks, to even more complex and grand ones fueled with some of the rarest reagents across Esshar.

Drip, drip.

Noticing the jar near-filled from the corner of her eye, the 'Siren' leans forwards from her seat. One hand claims the filled jar- holding it near to her nosefor a moment, giving it a slight smell. A soft huhm, then a nod. Acetone. It's strong, and she can smell it. This, alongside the rest of the heads, will be set aside- valuable, still but not the prime vodka she desires. No, that comes next. The heads pass...quick enough, all told. Every so often she stands to retrieve another couple mason jars from the shelf across the room, and in due time the first-third of the strong-smelling crimson drink is set aside. Set back into her chair, the vampiress props her chin up with an arm.

Drip, drip.

How fortunate that her ascension has granted her the near-supernatural ability to distance herself from reality. Truly, long waits are a thing of the past...or so it would be true, if not for the fact that she needs to pay some measure of attention to the process, in-case something goes wrong. Not that anything would, of course. She's confident in her skill, and the preparation she'd gone through.

Drip, drip.

A glance to the side, settling from where her gaze has drifted back to a near-full jar. Sufficient. A hand extends, claiming it and switching a new one beneath, and she gives it a smell- and smiles. It's a wide smile. Ah, this is why she's a brewer. When she's reached the final product, the sweet smell of finely-brewed alcohol can't help but bring a wide grin to her face. The first jar of the heart of the vodka is set aside, and labelled. This is placed differently from the prior jars, however- it's placed on the opposite side of the workbench, near to where she set the crate of vodka bottles. Soon, very soon, her waiting will be at an end.

Drip, drip.

At least, in a few more hours. She's only about halfway through, now, and by her reckoning...a single pair of hours remains until she's done. Close. So close. This project, planned over a decade ago, is in its final phase. She can't help but be excited.

Drip, drip.

More jars fill with hearts, and are swiftly replaced with empty ones. In the process of swapping one, her motions pause. A gaze given to the filled jar, and she brings it to her nose. A sniff, then a frown. Ah, the tail end of the vodka...a glance given to the jars of hearts, then back to the one within her hand. Alas, she knew it would come eventually, but she'd hope for a degree more product.

Drip, drip.

Though she ensures none of the remaining liquid overflows a jar, there's another task to handle now. With all the hearts separated and jarred, it's time to cool them properly- two jars claimed, and brought to runic icebox nearby, followed by two more, so on, and so forth, until each and all were placed within. She'd return to them in an hour, perhaps two, once they'd cooled.

Drip, drip.

A jar of full of tails is replaced by another empty jar, and she sets to organizing what she has. The foreshots are to be tossed, the heads diluted with water to serve a variant suitable for those among the populace with little magical power.

Drip, drip.

The hearts are already cooling, and the tails...there is little use for the tails. Much like the foreshots, they are to be deposited in the rubbish. Her eyes narrow as the sounds of dripping behind her ceases, her head turning- ah. Distillation is done in full. No more liquid falls from the drip, the final jar remaining only half-full. It's claimed, and covered- labelled with 'tail', and set with the rest.

Her hand extends, turning the heating unit and condenser connected to the still off. Until the machinery cools, it'd be unwise to disassemble and begin cleaning it. True, she could coat it in a wash of mist- dispersing the heat with greater pace- but there'd be little meaning to such an action, past a use of her time which is unnecessary. She needs the still cleaned not urgently, after all, and will be able to do so fine once it has cooled.

A sigh leaves her lips. Truly, she does enjoy work well-done. For now, she'll depart the backroom- she needs to find a fire magi to
(Vilyra)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------