"Some saps are sugary," Carlisle remarks, tapping his pen on the corner of his paper as he ponders over which sigils to use in his glyph. He scrawls one down on his paper, only to scratch it out and replace it with another, then crumple the entire page and start all over again. He stops again.

"Wait wait wait," he mutters, going to snatch the mug from Pratt's hand before he can drink any of it. "Let me enchant it first, then you take a sip to see if it works on you. Logically, if I'm changing the structure of it through magic, it shouldn't, but I'd rather you have a clear head to see."

And back to writing he goes, trying to make the glyph cleaner this time. His skeletal hands don't make holding a pen easy, so he slides his right one back into his glove, the extra padding giving his fingers more purchase. He gets halfway through that glyph before tossing it aside, grabbing another sheet and starting a third time.

"All right," Carlisle starts in, having given Pratt hardly a second to get a word in (or himself enough time to realize he was stalling on drinking) as his thoughts turn over and over in his head. "Better idea: I enchant it, then let it rise as steam, and we see who is affected."