Cigarettes.
When he was a young thing, small as he was now, filled with the cold fire that quenched most of his emotions back then and made him almost robotic both from an outside perspective and mentally, he used to hate them. Absolutely despise them, really, which was odd for someone who didn't really feel anything but a ridiculous passion for his work in mutations and medicine. He supposed his love for the latter was the reason, really, that he wanted to heal people so much that them potentially throwing away their lives just for a quick drag was almost a personal insult.
The years and years had mellowed him, though, making him immune to such a furious hatred of a pretty normal thing to most animals. He usually just pulled the whole "unable to cure permanent damage to body" card and moved on with his day. If people wanted to throw away their lives on an addiction then he couldn't fix them. He'd resuscitate them, maybe stitch up any other injuries, but fixing lung damage, curing cancer? He couldn't do it, not with his current tools. As long as he accepted his limitations, he would be fine. Probably.
The spider crept over, swinging down on a string from a purposefully vague object and landing near Malphas, looking at everyone with his beady green eyes. "Greetings," the spider muttered, holding his breath so as to not inhale any of the smoke. Speaking of which, miss Mirabella here seemed to represent a more anxious version of his old old ideals. "Subject Mira, correct, but attempts to persuade smokers to cease addiction, unsuccessful." Let them kill themselves slowly, he thought, pulling his limbs inwards a little bit. "Would not recommend alcoholic subject begins smoking. Lung damage, unhelpful to liver failure."
He didn't really care if he was being too blunt for most people. Tempering his words just wasn't something he really did - he focused on getting his point across as effectively as possible, and hopefully the mentions of the consequences would deter such unhealthy behavior, at least for a little bit.
When he was a young thing, small as he was now, filled with the cold fire that quenched most of his emotions back then and made him almost robotic both from an outside perspective and mentally, he used to hate them. Absolutely despise them, really, which was odd for someone who didn't really feel anything but a ridiculous passion for his work in mutations and medicine. He supposed his love for the latter was the reason, really, that he wanted to heal people so much that them potentially throwing away their lives just for a quick drag was almost a personal insult.
The years and years had mellowed him, though, making him immune to such a furious hatred of a pretty normal thing to most animals. He usually just pulled the whole "unable to cure permanent damage to body" card and moved on with his day. If people wanted to throw away their lives on an addiction then he couldn't fix them. He'd resuscitate them, maybe stitch up any other injuries, but fixing lung damage, curing cancer? He couldn't do it, not with his current tools. As long as he accepted his limitations, he would be fine. Probably.
The spider crept over, swinging down on a string from a purposefully vague object and landing near Malphas, looking at everyone with his beady green eyes. "Greetings," the spider muttered, holding his breath so as to not inhale any of the smoke. Speaking of which, miss Mirabella here seemed to represent a more anxious version of his old old ideals. "Subject Mira, correct, but attempts to persuade smokers to cease addiction, unsuccessful." Let them kill themselves slowly, he thought, pulling his limbs inwards a little bit. "Would not recommend alcoholic subject begins smoking. Lung damage, unhelpful to liver failure."
He didn't really care if he was being too blunt for most people. Tempering his words just wasn't something he really did - he focused on getting his point across as effectively as possible, and hopefully the mentions of the consequences would deter such unhealthy behavior, at least for a little bit.
tags - "speech"