The control Viktor maintains over his expression as Stephen abruptly wins the tug-of-war in the least fortunate way possible is only in part thanks to polite self-governance. He's still thinking on what Bonheur has said of the soil that was used to produce this plant. Though subterranean origin could easily mean Blight, he does agree with the unlikelihood of successful cultivation. More likely it means lyrium, or even traces of something Fade-touched... some thinning of the Veil, perhaps a micro-rift, leaching its effects into the substrate...

Still, as he takes his retrieved stick back from the doctor, there is a certain twinkle in his eye.

"Much appreciated. Indeed," he adds, "our provost will no doubt want to examine them." Under her cool microscope. Viktor hopes to have a turn at it.

He has a particular way of using the crutch to get to his feet, which he begins now— nope, false start. Reset. A little rallying effort, lips pressed taut, and there—up he comes, with a fawn-like inelegant confidence—