Blackwater Islands gemini feed

"Scutell-errr-ia," Whip repeated, albeit clumsily. As Galateia settled along the ground, Whip moved forward to examine the plant in full. He lowered his head and drew his gaze near as he listened closely to the effects. To log them to memory, Whip repeated them to himself in his head. Anxiety. Muscle tension. Rabies... maybe. He then inhaled. Not once. Not twice. But three times as he tried to memorize the herb's scent profile. Having seen it about before, Whip thought he would have no trouble identifying it -- but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Can I try it now?" He asked. "You know, to see what it does first hand. Or, uh -- would that be a bad idea?" After all, Whip had always been a bit tightly wound and anxious naturally.