There is only so much she can learn about her heritage, and her abilities, from her mother and through experimentation.
The Elder Continent is, if not precisely off limits, not somewhere she even wants to try to go until she knows more. So: London, which is much closer anyway. She'd have to pass through to make it to the Continent anyway.
The stalagmites thin, and she blinks as she steps out into the lights of Mrs. Plenty's Carnival.
"Reckoning will absolutely be postponed, I don't have a good plan for taking him on yet and seeking is not allowed, Seekers will be stymied. Anyway. Fires is not Veils-level alarming but he is, uh, I think significantly worse than typical."
"Irons seemed like a basically reasonable person who is capable of following incentives!"
"I'm not saying you're wrong! I'm just saying - I don't know what I'm saying, ignore me."
Dr. Vaughan stirs the pot one last time, then ladles some out into a large, chipped mug and hands it to Clarabelle. "Drink up, there's a good girl."
Clarabelle takes a sip, then makes a delighted noise and drains the mug. She looks embarrassed, afterwards, but not so embarrassed that she doesn't perk up when the doctor takes the mug from her hands and pours in some more.
"Pregnancy cravings can be strange, especially for hybrid children. When I was pregnant with Lucy I would have done terrible things for Dark-Dewed Cherries if I had to."
Clarabelle is mollified by this.
Dr. Vaughan gives her another two mugsful, then cuts her off - "we don't want adverse effects," she comments. Then she ladles some out for Mort, who tastes some, bounces happily, and then drinks some more.
Vaughan checks Clarabelle's pulse, temperature, and assorted other vitals, and breathes a sigh of relief. "She's doing much better, but we should get to the Moon-Mother as soon as we can, I think."
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