Pre-game. If your nose can't tell if your compound's going bad, borrow someone else's.
Braig glared at the solution in his hand as if it held the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, and would offer it up if he just glared hard enough. The solution just sat there in its little jar as if to mock him, looking normal although perhaps a shade too green. With a disgusted snort, he brought it to his nose and sniffed. He sniffed again and tried to determine if the musty after-scent he smelled was his imagination or not.
Finally he gave up and turned to his lab partner. "Hey, Dilan."
The other man gave a semi-curious noise, but didn't look up from the notes he was deciphering. Most of the apprentices agreed that, for all his wisdom, Ansem's handwriting was bad enough that he might as well write in code.
Xehanort's was nearly as bad.
"Do you think this compound is going bad?" Braig sloshed the contents of the jar around a little bit to make sure he had the other man's full attention this time.
Dilan raised his head and arched an eyebrow at the container. "Does it smell like it's going bad?"
"Maybe. Hell, I can't tell. If I could tell, I wouldn't be asking you, now would I?"
"Your nose is better than mine." With a shrug, Dilan turned back to his notes.
Braig glared again and muttered, "Fat lot of good you are."
"Why don't you try asking Even?"
"As if! Even hardly needs his ego inflated any more than it already is." The solution sloshed a bit more as Braig lifted it back up to eye level and continued glaring at it. He didn't want to admit that he had been outdone by a bunch of non-sentient chemicals. On the other hand, he didn't want to blow up the lab either. Ansem would undoubtedly object.
The door to the lab clicked open. More out of habit than actual curiosity, Braig glanced over to see who had joined them. If it was Even he was leaving. Quickly.
Fortunately, it wasn't Even.
It was Ienzo.
Dear little Ienzo and his highly sensitive nose.
Braig smiled, far too broadly, and sauntered over to his diminutive co-worker. Ienzo was too caught up in whatever report he was reading to notice. "Hey, Ienzo!" A hearty thump on the back was all the warning Braig gave him before he shoved the jar under his nose. "Can you tell me if this compound is going rancid?"
Ienzo jerked back as if a snake had just struck at him, dropping the report and scattering papers everywhere. One hand clamped over his face. Slate blue eyes misted over and his skin took on one of the most fascinating green tints Braig had ever seen. The verdict on the compound was screamed loud enough that they could probably hear it three floors up. "Yes it's going rancid, you asshole! Get that out of my face! I...un..." Thin form convulsing, Ienzo turned and bolted from the room. His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.
"Huh," Braig watched him go, then looked down at the compound. He promptly dumped the liquid down the sink. "Guess that answers that." Setting the now empty jar on the counter, he turned to find Dilan watching him intently. He arched an eyebrow back. "What?"
Dilan's eyes flickered to the door, then back. "I would be very careful what I ate for the next month, if I were you."