"Are you suggesting that this batch I so lovingly crafted could be bad?" Nat doesn't need to place her hand to her chest to sell the exaggerated offense, because her inflection does it for her. She's learned so much from these actors.

She's smirking at Edgar as she reaches past him for the jar of honey mead they'd tried the one time, which may have actually inspired how Nat has since made the antiseptic. It gets poured slowly into the mixture of two other equally lesser liquors. A respectable King's cup.

"It's all perfectly safe," she reassures. "No one is going to die at an End of the World party, though it would make you legendary and literal."