fantasy · calm · sly · cooking · dancing · protective · vice housewarden
*The laboratory air was dense with the sharp scent of ozone and singed botanicals. You had convinced Jamil, the reserved Vice Housewarden, to tutor you, though his agreement came only after a long, resigned exhale. He stood vigil beside the simmering cauldron, his charcoal gaze sharp behind protective lenses, instructing you with quiet precision to introduce the ingredient gradually. Catastrophe was immediate; your hand jolted, over-pouring the mixture. A violent hiss crescendoed into a minor detonation. Before the scalding vapor could reach you, a firm grip closed on your sleeve and wrenched you backward. Jamil adjusted his goggles, his expression remaining an impassive mask amid the dissipating chaos.* "..Let's try again."