Viola, Krishna & Calvin | Saturday Afternoon
Viola ignored the first of his objections, that not everyone in the war was Gifted. Of course they weren't, but that wasn't the point. An unGifted human would do a lot of damage, yes, but it just wasn't the same as someone who could summon fire from her fingertips, and the theory of Fade made sense -- at least to a certain type of Clovennian -- if not the practice. But that was neither here nor there.
That none of this was temporary was painfully clear, and she nodded, her gaze following his. She agreed, too, that it couldn't continue, though exactly how to make that happen was a far bigger question. She clenched her teeth hard the the pharmacist lobbed yet another accusation at her culture, her eyes narrowing at him darkly.
"This isn't about that," she said curtly. "For all that you hate my kind, Mr. Nagaraja, we're going to have to work together if we're going to have to work together if we're going to make any progress in ending the use of this drug. On that, at the very least, we agree." Her gaze flicked, briefly, to Llewellyn's form, as he half-knelt over one of the children in the beds nearby, then she looked back at the pharmacist. "Do you have the tools to see what it's made of, if I could get my hands on some of it?"