#baronyofthesilverwolf

He offers a small box of little dip cups. Labeled, "Buff" "BBQ" and "XXX"

"Al asked if I was seeing you, " A nod to Thistle "And threw this one in." Clearly curious.

Pointing to the lurid red sauce.

"Oooo.." She reaches for the mystery cup first.

"Bet it's a barn-burner."

She can feel it tingling through the plastic?

She pops off the cap to take a sniff.

Citrine buzzes in to give it a sniff, then zips AWAY

Her eyebrows curl!

A laugh.

An offended chime!

She dabs the tiniest speck on her pinkie for taste-testing.

Gladiola says "DO I need to get the anti-toxin after all? " She gets hers and regular BBQ.

"Not unimpressive."

Art leans in and sniffs, then turns reddish and has to turn quickly away for a sneeze!

"I should have asked for honey mustard..."

"I think we have some in the fridge," Gwen offers him.

"Wish me luck." She touches her fingertip to her tongue.

"If you die, I want it noted I wasn't on duty." Gwen samples her own food.

For a moment, Thistle doesn't taste anything. Then, white hot heat! Her spirals flare an incandescent color like the tip of a welding torch!

Stamina Roll!

(Or, WP roll, as desired)

Her vision swims for a second, and eyes blur a bit, watering, but she is no lightweight when it comes to heat, be it in the forge or the kitchen!

After all, when Diane worked late nights and she was on her own for dinner, didn't she experiment with spices with the thought, "the more flavor, the better?"

This is HOT. This is SPICY! THis is Powerful. But it is also.... delicious, like the heat from the forge playing over her skin, but from the inside.

The tiny taste fades quickly, leaving a pleasant tingle.

"...."
"...istle? Thistle?"

Her vision clears and the ringing in her ears fades to see Art leaning in, concerned.

Blink.

Blink.

"You okay?"

"Oh, you gotta try this, Art!"

He blinks, but gamely leans forward and swipes a finger through, popping a gob onto his tongue.

Perhaps he SHOULD have waited for Gwen to say something, if she had been going to.

"Ah, Art that.... might be a bit..."

"Oh boy." Gwen observes, "Should I get milk, water, a med kit?"

He gasps, and tears drip down his cheeks. His cheeks turn as red as a cherry!

"Never water, Biggen-boggan. Spreads the capsaicin."

"Thas..."

He sputters, and reaches for the drinks, then drops his hand and fans his mouth instead.

"HOD! Thas HOD!"

"Yup!" She whips out a handkerchief (paisley, rainbow) and gently dabs at his tears.

Citrine keels out of the air laughing in rolling bells onto the worktop.

He shakes his head ruefully, then offers the cup towards Gwen. "Gwed? Your turm."'

"Right right, no water , I should know that"

"My turn?" A brow from Gwen, "Pray thee why?"

A grateful smile to Thistle at the ministration.

"Mishery lobes combany?"

"Ish...." Swallow, wipe. Swallow. Inhale. "Good. Really."

"Can't we just use painsticks like proper Klingons?" Dryly

"Course it's good. It's from Al."

"It might make better rocket fuel." He says, then quickly adds, "Which is a testiment to it's power, not agianst the flavor!"

"Aw, c'mon - you can't be afraid of tryin' some hot sauce, Balboa."

"Multipurpose!" A lopsided grin.

"Oh sure, next you'll double dog dare me," Gwen huffs, "Unfortunately peer pressure still has SOME pull on me. I'm comfortable in packs, we know that." SHe takes a dab somewhere between the size of the one Thistle got and the one Art got, and gives it a taste.