[A dull click of his tongue against bare gums still echoes through the makeshift apothecarion despite how muted it is. As Lucius contents himself to pouring out a neat line of ambrosia, Fabius slithers closer, the disdain on his cadaverous face receding enough for scientific curiosity to take over. He watches as his brother folds over the table, and as he'd done so many times before, rights with euphoric mirth spread wide with his grin.]

I can have more made if you wish to test the product on others, [because Fabius is absolutely not going to that party,] in the meantime, how is it?

[What he means to say is if it feels any weaker or stronger than the usual stimulation Lucius experiences.]

You certainly don't look like you're overdosing.

[Yet.]