It's part fascination and part frustration that Mobius sits and listens with. He takes to new information usually like a duck to water, but in some ways, rational and logical and scientific explanations for that which he might otherwise ascribe to the godly are irksome.

But Stephen is a Rifter. And a fellow chosen of Andraste. Stephen doesn't have to believe for Mobius to still take at least some solace in his beliefs.

"It's why I can still use my hands. Muscle memory. Brain knowing the neural connections are still there. All the parts are still there and fully functioning, at least." The discomfort he'll still ascribe to the Fade itself and, to some degree, having a bit of it as part of himself now, rather than imagined sensations because his brain still thinks he should feel things.

His hands still retain an irregular pattern of cuts and bumps and burns and bruises, daily use gloves not always enough to keep him from accidents. Cut down on the number of them, yes, and improvements in his daily life and getting used to it all have helped. But it can't always be helped.

"It'll be a race against time to see what kills me first," Mobius comments with dark humor. "Really don't think this'll get the chance."