It's a can of worms he deliberately opened, so he takes in Stephen's internal-made-external debate in stride, finding it morbidly fascinating. Back in New York and that world at large, they had much easier methods of trying to determine what someone was dying from, how long they might have to live, what their condition in that time would be. Here, it's more guess work.
Maker, while he wouldn't trade the times in the false Rifter realities for anything, it's sometimes a struggle to remember how much they don't have in Thedas, how primitive the technological level is in comparison, and no good and easy ways to rectify that.
He notices that while Stephen gives a good overview of the ethical and moral dilemmas at play, he doesn't really answer the question, directly. Put that up on a high shelf and only take it down on a case by case basis, seems fair enough.
And also fair enough: the question lobbed at him. Mobius coughs out a chuckle, shifting in his seat with a halfway smile. "I'd really like to live if at all possible. I get shot full of arrows, you do your damnedest to make sure I live to annoy you another day." That's honest. If he's grievously wounded, if his heart starts to give out, if an infection takes hold--he wants to live to see another day, and another and another.
He holds up his hand, arguably unnatural green sheen and all. "I'm more talking along the lines of this. If nothing else gets me, this'll kill me eventually. I know it gets some quicker, some less quick. That amputation's a viable option. Maybe I'll change my mind if it gets to that point, but as it stands right now, if this thing starts killing me, I...well, I just don't think I'm all that interested in getting it lopped off." He lowers his hand again. "But that probably won't be a relevant debate." Ever, possibly. "Not for a long time." Hopefully.
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Maker, while he wouldn't trade the times in the false Rifter realities for anything, it's sometimes a struggle to remember how much they don't have in Thedas, how primitive the technological level is in comparison, and no good and easy ways to rectify that.
He notices that while Stephen gives a good overview of the ethical and moral dilemmas at play, he doesn't really answer the question, directly. Put that up on a high shelf and only take it down on a case by case basis, seems fair enough.
And also fair enough: the question lobbed at him. Mobius coughs out a chuckle, shifting in his seat with a halfway smile. "I'd really like to live if at all possible. I get shot full of arrows, you do your damnedest to make sure I live to annoy you another day." That's honest. If he's grievously wounded, if his heart starts to give out, if an infection takes hold--he wants to live to see another day, and another and another.
He holds up his hand, arguably unnatural green sheen and all. "I'm more talking along the lines of this. If nothing else gets me, this'll kill me eventually. I know it gets some quicker, some less quick. That amputation's a viable option. Maybe I'll change my mind if it gets to that point, but as it stands right now, if this thing starts killing me, I...well, I just don't think I'm all that interested in getting it lopped off." He lowers his hand again. "But that probably won't be a relevant debate." Ever, possibly. "Not for a long time." Hopefully.