Xaviers!

The Will Miriam was working on collapsed down into itself as Miriam applied pressure to her shoulders -- the mental command almost unnecessary, as she twisted and separated, like the malleable clay that she actually was. Her other arm shriveled into her center of mass as her other three limbs, squat and curled, thickened to provide a sturdy foundation for whatever came next as Miriam wound and flared the rest of her.

The three Wills Sam had a hold of followed her around the base and fire Miriam was providing, each taking each other's hands as they formed a ring around the base.

Sam ministers to each of the three in turn, starting them shifting into the walls of the cauldron, infusing them with feelings of warm safety, of the freedom to let your guard down, and the elation of letting your thoughts bleed into those of others. As they collapse down, the walls of the cauldron are enameled black and chased in silver, with three figures clasping hands around the perimeter. One was generously female, one flagrantly male, and one seemed to be neither and both.

The Wills Sam shifted with started shrinking and spreading out as soon as she bean infusing them, collapsing into the sides of the cauldron and merging with the base. Each figure's form, which gradually became silver inlays on the cast iron surface, began to match Sam's mental picture of aesthetically pleasing. A sigh of...contentment, perhaps?...escaped their lips before they were fully cast in silver, their expressions matching those feelings of safety and bliss that Sam was pumping into them.

The four Wills merged and joined, blurring and melting into one another seamlessly. No clear joints or splits here; it was as if the entire thing had been cast from one piece of iron and shaped to perfection, with fine artistry, detail and exquisite precision in the raised silver figures, looking back out and watching over the room itself. The polished surface of the cauldron had a faint iridescent sheen, faintly reflecting the ambient light in the nightclub. The wide base tapered off into a flared rim, with little sign of wear nor tear. It is a substantial object; one that, as currently situated, could hold a substantial amount of ingredients and liquid. It was probably a good thing, on the whole, that Will was a shifter and could forced to grow or shrink as necessary, for there was a fine line somewhere between 'able to hold all of this nonsense' and 'dominated the room'.

"So far so good." Miriam says, slowly pulling her hands back and standing up, watching the fire continue to flicker and burn. "How to see if all the ingredients fit."

She walks back over to the entrance and the velvet rope. "Ladies, Gentlemen, the literal gender fluid, assorted furniture. One at a time if you would."

Slowly but surely, the bound Wills began to line up, rubbing shoulders and holding knees as their shackles slipped off. They shuffled forward as one.

These Wills had been the ones in the mirror, as opposed tot he ones who had been out and about and specialized for whatever their role had been. So there weren't any of the fully immobile or fully glazed-eyed senseless ones here, like there were in the storage room. However, they did all seem a bit sore and tired from their experience, lacking the bounce and verve Will generally brought with him, as they approached in a single-file line.

"Sorry about that..." Miriam manages for the first couple that pass by. Afterwards she can only muster a pained and apologetic smile.

To their credit, none of the Wills seemed... angry with Miriam as they passed by. Yes, there were a few that refused to make eye contact as they walked past, and a few more that had some tight-lipped, forced smiles as they tried to get past her as quickly as possible. But others smiled genuinely, a few resting a hand on Miriam's shoulder reassuringly as they walked by.

"Wrong place and time," one said, smiling abashedly as they passed.
"You're not a shifter; you can't be expected to fully understand..." said another
"I'm sure we can figure out a way for you to make it up to me," grinned another
"Hell, I didn't even know you could read..."

"Could be worse, Miriam. I had to bleed to make the last one."

"The Blood of a Goddess can be quite potent..." one of the Wills agreed. "Binds us tight, with a very personal connection. Though I'm sure no one need flog themselves over this, naturally."

"I suppose if we really want to make sure this one will stick... well, I'd say it wouldn't hurt, but that's rather the point, isn't it?"

"Both of you are way too generous with your blood, you know that?"

"I thought you found that preferable to sweat or tears."

"Yes, that's how I know you hand it out like candy."

"In fairness, the Wills hand their everything out like candy."

"Go ahead then. I suppose I do owe Will quite a bit of blood but I'm afraid all I have to offer is that of a mere mortal."

While Sam and Miriam were talking, the first Will had clambered over the lip of the pot. The jerked their hand back for just a moment when they first touched the surface, which was warming up quickly, but with the lack of immediately sizzling flesh or something, obediently hauled themselves over the edge and plopped down in the bottom of the cauldron. They were just getting their bearings when the next one, too, hopped the edge, coming crashing down on top of the first.

"Let's... make sure they start melting, first."

And begin melting they did.

For a few moments, any physical change would be next-to-impossible to see. Slowly but surely, though, Will's body began to soften, like wax exposed to a flame. It's subtle at first - a subtle loosening of the limbs, an uncanny sheen on the skin, the fingers and toes losing their definition as they began to melt away. Rivulets of clay, softening and melting, ran down their body, their form becoming increasingly malleable and their form increasingly amorphous as they continue to soften, like cheese in a fondue pot.

Perhaps impatient, the next Will places one hand on the first's head, and shoves it down, pressing it into the softening and melting form, accelerating the process.

"Seems like they think it's working at least." she says, glancing back at the field of Wills, hoping that the impatience doesn't escalate. That's a lot of bodies waiting their turn...

"Best get this into the mix early, then. You know how to cut me to the quick. Think you've got a knife rattling around in your head?"

"I may not like it, but I do." she says and places her hand flat against her own chest. It's something born out of necessity and pain. To lash out as much as to cut a divide between her mind and others. Tears well in her eyes as she pulls the dagger from her chest, the blade silver-sharp. She holds it out towards Sam above the cauldron, images of twisted metal and screeching tires reflected on the shiny metal bade. "Blood, sweat and tears, huh?"

"It doesn't just have to be your pain. We can share the burden," she says as she takes the knife, her eyes not leaving Miriam's.

"We'll give Will what we can," she says, tears welling up in her own eyes as she draws the blade across her palm, blood dripping down into the mix.

The knife twitches against Sam's hand, involuntarily to some extent, biting deeper than intended. It's my pain! The thought is irrational, at odds with her wants and self-destructive, but she can't help it. It's every knee-jerk reaction she's ever had to Sam reaching out to her; every therapy session she's had as a teenager that ended with her driving her own pain into the counselor's mind because how else could they ever know how it feels!

The droplets of blood and tears fell onto the head of the melting Will in the cauldron, blending in with the amorphous mass and staining it a deep red. The blood began to mix in as the cauldron began to bubble with more intensity, being absorbed and mixed in, streaks of red visible in what was becoming a swirling mass.

Sam winces, her hand still bleeding as she passes the knife back to Miriam handle-first.

"Thank you," she says softly. "I know that wasn't easy."

It's not pity. It's not pity. It's not pity.

She nods quietly and takes the knife, letting it dissolve away into nothing.

"You're always safe here," a Will added. "Always. No matter what"

Meanwhile, the cauldron had gone from a rolling boil to a light simmer, picking up again as the next Will entered...and the next...and the next.

"You did a good thing for them, Miriam. You didn't have to. They appreciate it and I do too."

"Alright, alright, yes, you're welcome. Bloody hell." she mumbles before directing her attention to the Cauldron.

"Everything mixing in alright there?" she asks one of the Wills as they climb inside.

"I don't know; I'm not in yet," Will admitted.

The mixture seemed to be going alright, however. even as the pot began to fill. Compared to the strain and stress Miriam had trying to cram all of Will into a book, this seemed to be a much smoother process, albeit a time-consuming one.

Miriam gently raps a knuckle against Will's forehead. "Tell me how it feels as you're going in then."

Will took a deep breath, and hoisted himself over the lip of the cauldron, into the bubbling clay.

"Well, it's warm," he joked. "A bit cooler than you'd think to look at it, but still definitely warm..."

He began to sink down into the mass, his legs wobbling and beginning to melt as he began to merge with the swirling mass.

"It's slower...the mirror was more instantaneous, but maybe that's just getting used to this new way of...of..."

He trailed off, as he continued to sink down. "I..." he said, stammering a bit. "It's like..."

"Yes. Yes, I do believe it's working," he gasped, as he disappeared under the surface.

"That sure seemed like an endorsement?"

"Good! Not that I was worried, we had the right idea this time and everything."

"I knew we'd get there eventually," the next Will agreed, as the assembly line continued, gradually picking up pace as more and more was added to the cauldron.

It, very fortunately, did not seem in danger of overflowing -- perhaps a sign that whatever this extradimensional whatzit Will was talking about had been accessed.

"Having a fondue pot for a roommate growing on you?"

"It's not going to help our dorm's reputation one bit."

"Ah, but this means you get to be the normal one."

"I hate to break this to you, Sam, but even when I drank blood to survive I was the normal one."

"I'm sure it's a terrible burden, putting up with us." She teases.