Sam turned away from the window, smiling a little when she recognized Beverly. She was, perhaps, one of the few people in the village that Sam could actually tolerate. Maybe because of her scientific background. Or maybe because Sam always had a bit of a soft spot for her fellow gingers.

One or the other, she figured.

"Kind of an old project," she admitted, walking over to the still. It looked more like a Rube Goldberg design than anything else. Rickety and lopsided.

Well. Chemistry had never been her favorite science.

"Potato vodka. I've gone through about fifteen different variations, at this point."