The crushed perpou spread in his tongue like Keltz. The ten-cent, off-brand scotch mints his school's cooperative used to sell. He remembered savoring the sharp fresh tinges after the two o'clock bell rang. Not that it tasted great. Mrs. Welimmar only purchased the least sweet one.

Since her oldest son's root canal, she waged a silent war against the students' tooth decay. He was certain that the woman would forgo all the candy together if the cooperative were hers alone.

Yet, people were people. And people love candy.

He remembered pocketing at least five pops a day. Not that he dismissed her cause, he was one of the few students who regularly floss. It was just, the mint’s irritating sting help. Most of the second and third years have a grueling cram afterschool till five, sometimes eight. Especially eight if you really, really want to enter the university of your dream. And he had a bad gene roll, the slightest drop of coffee make his stomach churn. The mints were the few things that helped him awake.

...wait why he was rambling? This was the second time. Was it the rain? Did he somehow become sappy because of rain? That unlikely.. It had been raining every other day since he got dumped here. So what?

Was it the imminency? The progress? The possibility of him getting closer to clues, to safety, to home. Yeah, perhaps that. The relaxation, the impending relief, struck him with what he repressed for this long while. Nostalgia. Memory.

Slightest pitter-patter bouncing off from gardens' foliage.

He thought he saw his golden fur.

Playing in the ground laughing, ruining his just cleaned coat.

 

Matt. He sighed at the sputtering memories. Filling his mind, layer by layer. He found the dog when he just a pup. The lady at the counter told him it was his last day at the shelter.

His drooped eyes. His limpid face. In retrospect, his fifteen years old self might be projecting. No, definitely projecting. Yet in that moment, knowing that, he thought he saw acceptance in his eyes. A defeated sigh telling the universe; well, here he is.

With all the strength of his limping arm, the young him lift the retriever to his chest. He barked, surprised maybe, finding a human continued to hug his little fur-laced self. Fiercely. Deeply. Until finally, his bark turns into a snug growl. That day, sealed by their beating heart, they become a friend.

Plink.

A stray wind splashed a drop to his right eye.

He cried?

..focus Euca! You're here now!

You're here now.

"Matt. I hope you're happy," he said to the wind, rustling against the falling leaves. "I'm sorry buddy, but I think I can't see you anymore."

He took a deep, drawn breath.

And letting it drawl.

The crisp clear glass stared at him. The heaped notes, the berries, the weighing scale. It looked at him in place, in order, by volume, by size, by steps.

Reminding him.

That he had a job to do.

That what he got for not budgeting time for madness, he smacked his head. He’d do it later. This evening maybe if he had the time. What should he do though?

He meant he could do stress eating. That an option. His wallet certainly could afford one session of all-you-can-eat. But the selection here wasn’t exactly what he called delectable. It fell more on the filling side. So that crossed out.

Maybe he could sing his heart out? Something along the line of moon river. Or something a bit more ironic like home from The Wiz. Or maybe, just maybe, he could just sit outside, sipping meil while staring into the darkness, and occasionally nodding. That seemed what a lot of men did in his age. Although, he wondered if that was healthy or a symptom that one in terrible need of visit from a psychiatrist.

Well, that sounded like future’s Euca problem! For now, present Euca had things to do!

Like getting the taste off his tongue! Swishing water a couple of times in his mouth, he jotted down ‘minty, spicy.’ without so much of a drip.

He smiled, his writing had improved since he had been forced to abandon the good ol’ ballpoint. Though he wasn't quite satisfied yet, after all in the title page, a large splotched inkblot which he had helplessly swirled to something resembling decoratives, stared at him, mocking. But better that than wasting papers.

Nodding to the added dataset, he took another glance at his note. Noting any profiling he could possibly miss. He rarely did organoleptic after all. But without knowing if the plant was part of certain cultivar, have specific harvesting and growing condition, or if the functioning one —the one that had effects— only grow at certain location and/or certain season, he needed any possible preliminary identification he could get. And organoleptic was one of them. Not the best. But one of them.

Of course, he only did that because the berries were proven to be safe. That it had been widely consumed. And not just by limited population or demographics. He wouldn’t taste it if it was something only consumed by pregnant women or children in growing age. It needed to be widely consumed by your everyday healthy average adults.

Which it was.

So he tried it.

And slightly disappointed with the taste.

Perpou berries, was what he thought as a fall short snack. One that should be popular if it slightly sweeter. Yet, for all his savoring, trying to get all the subtle taste profile, his tongue only perceived a sharp peppermint jolt bordering spicy with undertone of freshly grounded black pepper. Certainly not a great combination to be eaten alone. Perhaps with certain mix it could be used as a spice.

That wasn't his main focus though. No. What he attempted here was to concentrate the berries. Creating an extract, tincture-like preparation.

From his market research and what he inferred from his conversation with Mr. Lup —the peddler who sold him the berries— that those round double-dented bites were one of the few necessity goods given to both animals and humans.

The former was for awaking Erwee after their afternoon grazing. He remembered how the stocky man shook his head, half chuckled, telling him how several of the older flocks sometimes would just flop down snoring, after full hour of grazing. Ignoring the loud boom from enchanted stick of their exasperated herders.

Luckily for those little furballs, the [Ranchmaster] associate already commission predator-free zone to the adventurer guild since at least a decade ago. From what he heard. most D ranks fought hard to be included in Erwees' patrol rooster. Bribes, favor, threat, that kind of favor ran rampant. The man insinuated that it would be much chaotic if the guild hasn't stepped in.

The human side though —the one he cared the most— were mostly consumed among delvers. They’d mix three crushes into their waterskin. The unique taste, helped the night-shifter, particularly the new one awake. Or that what it supposedly used to.

Mr.Lup lost count how many times he saw a delver chasing his teammate, sword drawn, because of Perpou prank. He said putting perpou in the soup was a classic while smearing it under the nose of sleeping teammates was the new catching fad.

Which was the point. Just from the description alone, he could conclude that the effect sounded a lot like coffee. Weak coffee. If he could concentrate it, perhaps masking the awful taste in the process, he could sell it by a ton. Imagine that, Euca Patented Euphoriac. Oops. He meant Euca Patented Awakening Potion. Hmm, didn’t have the same oomph.

Oh well, finding good alliteration. Another problem for future Euca. Present Euca must proceed with the experiment; deactivating the [Heating Runes]. Sidelining the pebbles, he opened the lid. The tepid hot waft swept with pungent burn, tearing his eyes and revealing shriveled blackish-skinned berries.

Safety note: install exhaust, procure goggles (somehow).

rRRRRrrRRRRr

He let the grinder do its thing. Ten big scoops since the instrument dimensions were quite large. What a waste, he sighed. For safety sake he had made the box big. Too big.

By design, the thick stones should give him a certain kind of protection in case it flew off. Reducing the impact velocity. The tradeoff though, was that it needed a lot of ingredients to function, since putting too little would end up with lots of intact berries smushed to the side. Which defeated the whole purpose of having grinder.

For this run, he just gonna let it be. He meant he would note the standardized grinding time, of course. But it was the first time after all. And end-point eyeballing, well end-point sound-hearing was most what he could do.

rrrrRrrrR

Almost done. The sound was a lot smoother than it was quarter standard hourglass ago. Grinding time, hmm, approximately half standard hourglass per 500 gram batches. May not scale.

He shook his head at the rapidly decelerating grinders as he removed the pebble. It was a miracle really. The rune was much, much function-replacement of modern-day electronic.

Still, the itty gritty mechanism eluded him. It was very much like his phone. He just one of the many, many end-user who didn't know how the handheld device function. That if he might point out, consume half of his waking life.

Well, it true sometimes stray off recommendation videos would point out about binary of on and off, zero-one, or the multitudinous feature of logic gate. Still, those were very basic understanding. A more clickbaity, passing curiosity appeaser than explorative DIY. The tomes just that. Instruction. There was nothing inside explained the why. The why it functioned. It just was.

It was top on his list though, looking into the deep know-how of magic itself. Not that he was going to do it immediately. He needed to practice his magic, recorded his experience, and being prepared when those knowing hit him.

Not to mention, he was preoccupied with refilling his gold. It was just that —feature of a society that still in the phase of scarcity economy.

That to have decent chance of succeeding in pursuit of passion, one ought to have proper financial foundation.

It was 18th-century earth all over again. As slightest observance pointed out, majority of notable scientists were a product of privilege —a well-offness. A sir here, a gentleman hobbyist there. Even if there were few non-old money, they were simply a well-connected, grant scholar.

And as the rotation slowed down, reaching just five-ten rpm, he held the disk, stopping it completely. Opening the lid, it revealed a very, very light, almost floating purple powder with almost quarterful uncut berries on the side.

Very carefully, he closed the lid again. Avoiding the slightest vibration. With that kind of burn, the powder would be a choking hazard.

Safety note #2: use mask when preparing perpou. Install safety shower

Still, it was finally ready. It was time for the *urgh* legworks.