[Oil-black eyes fall half-lidded as Fabius hums in quiet contemplation. Make a deal with a mysterious witch for his chirurgeon, make a deal with Lucius to purchase what he needs, and what more does he get back? His wrinkled brow furrows a fraction, a twitch that's barely noticeable. He wonders once more how Lucius had come into his new form, and if there are any defining reasons behind it. What would that mean for his own form, and what if he were to lose his ability to operate because of it?

It's a thought he doesn't wish to put any significance towards, yet it lingers, seething in the back of his mind. Millennia spent working towards something only for a capricious god to take it all away. Lucius must have been feeling frustrated too, considering he no longer has the martial glory he once held.]

Look at you, making deals like you have much of a choice in this. [That sickly face splits even wider with a diabolical smile,] the only leverage you have is the sword at your hip, and you've already made the mistake of telling me I'll come back if I'm struck down.

[Suddenly Fabius steps forward, though it isn't with threatening intent. Instead, he reaches out to grasp Lucius' chin between cold, skeletal fingers. His gaze catches those golden cat-eyes, and it's with the sick curiosity of a scientist with a lab-rat.] You'll have all the elixirs you could wish for if you helped me, but that won't save you for my operating table, Lucius. I have a keen interest in picking you apart and learning every little inch.