[Fugo allows himself one thing. He reaches up to press his temples and then take another breath. Calm. He needs to be calm: think rationally. He can't let his temper-- or his magic-- control him. And then he turns back to the stove, absently scratching at his wrist; the gesture leaves behind angry red marks on his skin, joining the others that creep up his forearms.]
[He needs to undo the spell on his failed potion. But the way his magic has been working lately, it's likely not safe to cast that spell in the house; if he loses control of it, he runs the risk of undoing the magic that keeps their household running. Lights, water, heat. It needs to happen outside. First things first: he reaches for a lid to the pot, then a pair of mismatched oven mits to protect his hands. He takes hold of the pot and very, very carefully lifts it away from the stove.]
Could you open the door for me? I'm going to undo it in the garden.
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[He needs to undo the spell on his failed potion. But the way his magic has been working lately, it's likely not safe to cast that spell in the house; if he loses control of it, he runs the risk of undoing the magic that keeps their household running. Lights, water, heat. It needs to happen outside. First things first: he reaches for a lid to the pot, then a pair of mismatched oven mits to protect his hands. He takes hold of the pot and very, very carefully lifts it away from the stove.]
Could you open the door for me? I'm going to undo it in the garden.