Work Text:
Gortash pulled off his goggles and blinked a few times. His mouth felt as dry as a desert, and his back felt like a solid slab. He tried to stretch, and groaned as what felt like every muscle he had started jumping in protest.
Coffee. He had some somewhere. Possibly that would make him feel less like his skull had been packed with wool.
It took his itching eyes a good minute before he identified the ceramic mug that had contained his latest cup of coffee. He carefully picked it up, using both hands to keep from trembling too much, and took a large gulp.
It took a great deal of self-control not to spit the horrendous room-temperature stuff out again. He had, of course, consumed worse things over the course of his life, but part of the point of becoming what he had become was to never have to do that again.
Gortash eyed the mug with disfavor. He could probably call for fresh… though he didn’t have a bellpull in his workshop, which meant he would have to stand up and hobble out to the main room. Damn.
His gaze swept across the table, cataloging where he had left off and if there was anything that couldn’t be left while he took a break, and fell upon the blowtorch he’d been using.
…actually.
Gortash squinted at the mug. He didn’t work with ceramics, typically, but they were fired at quite high temperatures, even though he couldn’t recall the exact range. And he knew that blowtorches had some culinary uses, due to several of the dinners he’d attended that consisted entirely of the hosts showing off.
He pulled his gloves and goggles back on and primed the torch. If it didn’t work, it wasn’t as if he’d set anything on fire.
Rather than apply the flame directly to the bottom of the mug and risk breakage if he was incorrect about what temperatures it could handle, he kept it an inch or so distant. It was fairly boring, and as tired as Gortash was, he had to keep his hands from drifting once or twice. He was getting bleary by the time he thought he saw bubbles forming in the liquid, and he almost spilled coffee all over his desk as he jerked the mug away.
Once he had the torch off, Gortash cautiously pulled off a glove and hovered close to the ceramic. It was radiating heat. The coffee, on the other hand, was pleasantly hot, and if he tried to wait for the mug to cool down…
Well. He’d done more complicated things for water before.
Gortash only had a couple drips of coffee on his shirt when he’d finished pouring it into his mouth without touching the mug, and he was going to count that as a success.
The third time he tried it after that, he held the blowtorch too close and the mug shattered in his hand. Still. It worked most of the time.