[The Drifter's eyes list closed, briefly. The warm glow - green, like the health packs used to ease the physical ailment that might plague them after battle - hums in their chest, coalescing around their heart.
It is no cure. There is no cure to be had - such is the nature of the illness. But some of the pressure around their lungs eases, and they stop coughing, albeit briefly.
The Drifter breathes out, and their dark eyes flick open again.]
$?
[They've some gearbits on hand in the way of compensation, but it's unclear if she'll take them.]
DOUBLE SORRY
It is no cure. There is no cure to be had - such is the nature of the illness. But some of the pressure around their lungs eases, and they stop coughing, albeit briefly.
The Drifter breathes out, and their dark eyes flick open again.]
$?
[They've some gearbits on hand in the way of compensation, but it's unclear if she'll take them.]