035 ⋆ cat's cradle 🎃🕸️

                                    

                                          
ship: kirishin, or kirishima & shinso 
notes: yet another gift for another friend! this one is for Sky (kirishiin) who recently reached 1k followers on twitter!
                          
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With the moon full and at its highest in the night sky, now's the perfect time for Shinso to perfect a new potion he's been working on. He's studied his herbs, sought high and far for his ingredients, even battling what the Normals would consider the strongest, toughest creatures, all for one special brew that will change the supernatural realm as they know it. The brew calls for exact precision—no substitutes and absolutely no fuck-ups, otherwise he'll run the risk of an uncertain (and likely unfavorable) outcome. 
                          
Shinso parts his tattered curtains and hangs them on either side of the window, allowing the dim, ivory glow of the moon to stretch a long strip of light across the floor until it curves at the bottom of his cauldron. He stokes his fire, lights his wax candles, and places his spell book spine-down on his wooden workbench. His ingredients are sprawled across the table, pre-measured and thrice checked. Shinso peeks at his clock as the hand strikes twelve. 
                          
It's time. 
                          
With a role of his sleeve, he begins by pouring in a base of summer rainwater. The clock ticks idly as he waits for the water to steam. He leans over the cauldron, inhales, grimaces. It's ready. He turns to his workbench and scoops up the very first ingredient. 
                          
"Four teaspoons of viper seed..." he mumbles to himself as he dumps the muted green specks into murky waters. They toil amongst the bubbling water before spreading thin and sinking to the bottom. Moving quickly, he turns back to the bench and gathers the next ingredient. His eyes flicker up to a shelf lined with various mortars: wooden, stone; but tonight he favors black marble. 
                          
It's cool to the touch, clatters lightly against the table when he sets it down; the pestle spins in excitement as he drops in a deep blue stem and begins to grind it. His movements are gentle at first, and he checks the clock again as the second hand ticks past the thirty seconds mark. Then, he speeds up, grinding at the stem with fervor until it's nothing but a fine powder. He transfers the powder to a cup and drops in an ice cube, covering it with a dried banana leaf before twisting to stir the cauldron. 
                          
From there, he continues to follow the recipe down to the nose: a sprinkle of Earth Galingale, two pinches of orange blossom, ashweed, and dream coriander; a handful of swamp curry leaf, and a drop of love thyme. The drop sparkles as it dissipates into the bubbling concoction, and the potion runs a bright, glittering plum.
                          
So far so good.
                          
Shinso checks on the powder he had laid aside earlier. The ice had since melted and languidly mixed in with the powder. He grabs a stirrer and continues to mix it until it forms a smooth paste, murmuring, "Hibernation mint..."
                          
Then, "King's Sorrow," dipped into the mixture a total of five times, and finally, finally:
                          
"One whole Aven's Eye—" Shinso freezes, his hand hovering over the empty spot he's a hundred percent certain he had placed a bowl of Aven's Eye. 
                          
The clock ticks onward. 
                          
Shinso starts to panic. 
                          
He searches his shelves, behind the candles, his planters, the goddamn floor for star's sake—and yet, nothing. Where the fuck did it go? Shinso stands in the very center of his kitchen, dumbfounded. The fire crackles, and the cauldron continues to boil mutely. Outside, the frogs croak and the crickets sing. Inside, the clock continues to tick and tock, tock and tick... 
                          
He's running out of time.
                          
Shinso let's a breath slip through his lips as fingers grasp for the fleeting remnants of his patience in the locks of his hair.