crystal;

[heirring]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Richard Dickerson & Wysteria de Foncé
RECIPIENT: You All
NOTES: The highly scientific results from studying a not-so-recent amputation, and a call for volunteers (don't worry, it's not volunteering to get your limbs chopped off). Wysteria is in blue. Richard is in green.

Hello everyone. This is Madame de Foncé speaking, accompanied by Mister Dickerson. There is a whole report written up on the matter which we wish to discuss today. Anyone curious will find it filed among the Project Felandaris records. However, we agreed [sure that's the word for 'Wysteria bullied Richard into it'] that discussing the broad points in a more public venue might do some good.

Go ahead, Mister Dickerson.

Dissection of Madame de Foncé’s arm revealed extensions of the anchor growing outward along the vascular system, confirming the existing supposition that as much of the affected limb should be taken as possible to ensure an anchor is truly separated from its host.

[ There is an odd beat where it seems likely Mister Dickerson is hoping for Wysteria to chirp back in before he continues: ]

It further appears that lyrium has an affinity for -- [ more quietly ] Rifter flesh, for lack of a more delicate distinction. When exposed to Madame de Foncé’s arm it made a fleeting attempt to regrow the parts of her that were missing. [ So the rest of the Wysteria? Another pause. He doesn’t deign to specify. ]

We believe it may hold promise as a healing agent for Rifters if applied topically.

[Which brings them to the true aim of this whole endeavor, the enthusiasm for which has Wysteria's clipping in so briskly after him that there's almost no pause at all between 'if applied topically,' and—]

And so Mister Dickerson and I would like to make a request for volunteers from among the Rifter population. We would like to make a more thorough study of the effects of lyrium on us. I have prepared a sort of sign up form and have posted it on the door of Project Felandaris' office. If you would please add your name to it, Mister Dickerson, and myself, and indeed the general record would be most grateful.

That's all. Thank you. Ask whatever questions you wish to.

[Slightly muffled then, as if the crystal has been lowered away from the general nexus of conversation, Wysteria continues on in the same breath, 'You see, Mister Dickerson? That wasn't painful in the slightest. I hardly see why you were so hesitant—']

Comments

[illithidnapped]

[Oh Sylvie, what are you up to?]

...an opportunity for what, exactly?

[apocalypsegrown]

I need my own guinea pig, preferably someone who I don't actually care about. Besides, I'm very tired of healing like a human.

[illithidnapped]

Guinea pig? Darling if you want someone to unethically experiment on we could go out shopping for a random Venatori.

[As for the rest, he doesn't disagree...but also he hates Wysteria, so.]

[apocalypsegrown]

Not unethical if she gets what she wants too issit? And what could be the worse alternative, die here in a short forty some odd years after decades of back pain and getting injured getting up out of a chair?

[illithidnapped]

I— [Mm.] Look, even if their tinkering pays off and there's some sort of understanding of our anchor shards gained in turn, there's no guarantee it'll revert us back to the way we were.

Hells, we don't even know if we're technically mortal to begin with, and the only way to truly find out isn't the path either of us wants to take.

The worse alternative is the populace starts thinking we're nothing but lyrium because of all this, like some sort of enchanted mistake, and you and I spend eternity locked behind closed Chantry doors.

[A beat, before:]

...or Tevinter's, I suppose, depending on who wins.

[apocalypsegrown]

[ She patiently lets him speak, pressing her lips together as she shakes her head a little at the end. She respects your input Astarion, but clearly you're seeing things differently than she is. ]

Or, we do nothing and let these shards eventually either zap us right out of this world or eventually grow so large it consumes us while we wait patiently for some kind of answer to materialize out of thin air. That also doesn't stop the chantry from just up and deciding we're too much of a risk and locks us up or puts us on pikes anyway, just for being what we are for too long. Religious groups really like doing that the moment they think their little outsiders aren't benefiting them anymore.

Or we lose the war and then there's the Tevinters to deal with, and then back with the pikes. Either way, I'm not a fan of leaving my own fate in the hands of others, hasn't worked out for me before. When you're not the one handling your own interests, your interests don't matter in the grand scheme of things Astarion.

I'd rather suffer a few cuts and gain something from it than just hope something falls in my lap.

[illithidnapped]

[His huff is a thorny thing; he's not inclined to argue only because—

Well.

Furious as he is overall, and much as he's driven to gnash his teeth, she's one of the few creatures whose cleverness might actually match his own. If they disagree on this, they disagree. Won't stop him from trying to get it all shut down, of course, but it's still a truce.]

Oh please, they don't favor pikes here.

More likely to be burned if not locked up— they're not barbarians, darling.

[Mostly.]