Oh, Mister Dickerson! [has the faint air of a young woman wishing to cover her eyes as he goes prodding after Mister Gecko's fingers, but she doesn't actually get around to striking that mortified of a pose. Instead, Wysteria squawks a further note of dismay and—]
Wait, let me—
[It takes only a few turns of the small crank to open a narrow lyrium sliver-sized gap in the clamp end of her prosthetic. Between tongs and clamp, it's not impossible to extract the little flint of raw lyrium from poor Mister Gecko's possession.
no subject
Wait, let me—
[It takes only a few turns of the small crank to open a narrow lyrium sliver-sized gap in the clamp end of her prosthetic. Between tongs and clamp, it's not impossible to extract the little flint of raw lyrium from poor Mister Gecko's possession.
(If he falls over stone dead, she will scream.)]