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Squinting at the laptop that's perched on a stack of books, Jemma shakes her head, mumbling to herself. "No, that's not what we want." Pushing up her safety goggles with the back of one gloved hand, she squints down at the pipette that's filled with a bluish-purple liquid.
"Fitz? I know you said that this was supposed to spray out of the arrow - how far were you thinking? And how large are the apertures?" The viscosity is far too low as it stands; this is supposed to knock someone unconscious, but she's relatively sure that currently? It's just going to dribble all over the inside of Clint's quiver and make a mess until it knocks him out.
Not ideal.
She looks back over her shoulder, and the moment she sees him-- fiddling with the jury rigged equipment that's currently their lab-- and the tension just sort of winds out of her. "Have you ever thought that maybe we should undertake commercial endeavors? Just... to increase funding." Because right now they'd managed to swing a minor research grant, but it was... sparse, at best. Both of them deserved better tools, to be honest.
"Fitz? I know you said that this was supposed to spray out of the arrow - how far were you thinking? And how large are the apertures?" The viscosity is far too low as it stands; this is supposed to knock someone unconscious, but she's relatively sure that currently? It's just going to dribble all over the inside of Clint's quiver and make a mess until it knocks him out.
Not ideal.
She looks back over her shoulder, and the moment she sees him-- fiddling with the jury rigged equipment that's currently their lab-- and the tension just sort of winds out of her. "Have you ever thought that maybe we should undertake commercial endeavors? Just... to increase funding." Because right now they'd managed to swing a minor research grant, but it was... sparse, at best. Both of them deserved better tools, to be honest.
