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[Fitz had intended to send this as a private message to Dr. Foster, but a sudden onset of dizziness and blurred vision meant a text message was out of the question. Video would have to do. He'd remembered to set the privacy settings, hadn't he? Probably.

He addresses the network with a bleary expression, glassy eyes rolling up into his head until he blinks to train them back into place. His skin is an unhealthy pallor, ghastly white with a rash of dark splotches tainting the deep bags under his eyes.]

Doctor Foster... I, ah... The samples from the tunnels? I've been performing analyses, and I've reason to suspect that they aren't quite safe... They react terribly to human DNA samples. It's... I'm not a strong enough biologist to reach a proper conclusion, but some sort of degeneration appears to be taking place.

I also think it might be in our best interests to quarantine off the remaining sediment. The dust has been... It's...

[He grimaces and clenches his jaw, bowing his head for a long moment. He doesn't finish his thought, jumping over to a different one instead.]

Would advise against further reconnaissance trips to the tunnels. At least until we've had more time to study.

[He clumsily gropes along the keyboard next. One of those button presses probably manages to post it. Probably.]

[Action]

[Those who thought the darkness was limited to the subterranean levels of Wonderland might be dismayed by a certain scientist's decision to bring a cursed object onto a higher level. Fitz, believing fully that "cursed objects" were silly superstitions, saw nothing wrong with the idea of bringing it topside for testing and discovery. That was before the illness struck. Now, there's just pain. Pain and... some kind of faint melody. It's too distant to make out yet, a soft buzzing at the edge of his thoughts.

After leaving his message, he abandons the lab entirely, with the intent to return to his room on the fourth floor and sleep until the illness breaks on its own. He's underestimated the frequent onsets of mystical pain, though. He'll most likely be a huddled lump of a person curled against a hallway wall, shivering despite a critically high fever.

He'll still argue any "taint" or "curse" talk, though. It's probably nothing that antibiotics can't cure.]

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Well it happens anyway, doesn't it? I mean, I'd rather it didn't happen to people but that's not going to stop it. Especially not where the Blight's concerned.

[Jowan winces. Other people might like the man's optimism, he supposes, and it might be something worthwhile in other situations (although he doesn't really know himself, he's not particularly good at it) but this isn't that sort of situation. It'd be better if the man just gave up now in his mind.]

I don't think you can just find a cure to the Blight. People have studied it before and they haven't found anything to cure it. [He shrugs his shoulders, unfortunately not particularly knowledgeable about this.]

I don't know, I haven't seen it myself. But everyone knows there's no cure for the Blight. People just die from it slowly.

Well, unless you're a Grey Warden anyway.

A few thousand years ago, everyone knew the world was flat and that the sun revolved around the earth. Neither of those things are true. "Everyone knows" is just a way to... a -- way to stop thinking.

[The burn marks sear a bit further down his cheeks. It feels a bit like they've been literally set on fire.]

What's a grey warden? Some kind of genetic immunity could be used to work out a vaccene. [in theory, mostly. Medicine development is something he normally watches his partner do. He's already in over his head.]

Or maybe sometimes they're right? Besides, those first two were obviously wrong, this is different.

[He doesn't really want to ruin the other man's hope but... there isn't any room for it here. No one survives the Blight to his knowledge, that's all there is to it.]

I don't know how the Grey Wardens survive it. It's just something else everyone knows, that Grey Wardens can fight the Blight and not die and no one else can.

But it won't do you any good, sorry. Last I heard, the Grey Wardens were all killed at Ostagar.

One imagines that you might want to revise your perception of "everyone," given the general populace here.

And as much as I appreciate your -- experience... [such as it is.] I don't intend to waste my final moments alive doing nothing but waiting to die.

I don't think you should wait to die either, but it's going to happen. Sometimes it's just better to make it quick instead of drawing it out.

It isn't going to just fix itself if you wait it out.

Tell me what you can about timeframes, then. How long do I have until I'm no longer capable of requesting aid?

Um... [Jowan fidgets with his robe nervously, aware that this isn't likely what either of them wants to hear.]

I don't know? I haven't really spent a lot of time around people dying of the Blight...

[It's not terribly helpful he knows.]

Then I suppose we'll have to find out together.

[There's a tightness in his tone.]

[That doesn't sound like a lot of fun to him really. At all.]

But why would you want to go through that? I know enough to know there's no cure and it's a horrible way to die, so why would you want to go through it all?

[He smiles weakly at that.]

I'm terribly stubborn at times. I tend not to give up without trying properly.

Your mercy is duly appreciated, however.

Well... if you change your mind...

If I find myself too ill to continue, you'll be the first person I notify.

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