Viola, Krishna & Calvin | Saturday Afternoon
Yes, Viola agreed. It certainly was going to be a problem either way, and not one that would be immediately solvable by any stretch of the imagination. There was much to discuss about where to go from here, but as far as Viola was concerned, the first step was getting their hands on some of the blasted stuff to look for themselves at its chemistry. It was a field in which Viola was more schooled than the average person, but likely not as much as Krishna -- though the Aurellian style of medicine was probably much different in its chemistry to begin with. Exhausted as she was, it was difficult for Viola to imagine that even with their shared expertise (if, indeed, they managed to share, which was something which to this point they'd accomplished only grudgingly) it would be near-impossible for them to actually do anything with the information.
And yet, she couldn't help but want to try. Hers was rage that burned cold, but long, and it flickered now in her eyes, despite how tired he'd just acknowledged they both were. She was so focused on it -- and on Krishna's question -- that she didn't notice the way Llewellyn had edged subtly closer to them, so he was within easy earshot of their conversation, or the intent, almost studious way he looked at her as she spoke.
"It's really not so different from here," she said grimly. "It's overinflated propaganda. Marketing schemes. Some of the posters even go so far as to imply that it's the main line of defense against an 'Aurellian outbreak.'" She rolled her eyes. "It's sold as a peacekeeping drug. There are those who believe that it's responsible for preventing another war." She shook her head. "Idiots," she murmured, not really to Krishna. "You must understand, many of us never come here. They don't... think of you like..." she paused, "like people. Or they believe that this some sort of temporary measure." She looked out over the sickbeds. "But that's clearly not true."