Foster is momentarily conflicted, unclear whether he's supposed to believe Strange is having him on, but there is nothing in Strange's expression that appears to be looking for a reaction. Which leads him to believe this is a serious suggestion.
And he's laughing, but in that particularly repulsive way, a string of spittle hanging--appropriately--from his lower lip.
"Are you trying to say something?"
Because if he is--
"Because it doesn't matter what I try. If I knew how to do it--" Foster starts suddenly, all aggression, all venom and salt, but then he just... trails off, frowning deeply.
Magical healing is fairly limited where he's from, but he's still just not interested in attempting it on any scale. Wards and shields are... a complicated matter, and he doesn't know the first fucking thing about how they're cast.
"...I don't know that what's already been done, let alone how to do it," he says, more slowly--a little like he's explaining this to a particularly dense child. "And what I do know, I can't perform. It's not... my frame or reference is too different." He's ...tired suddenly.
"I'm too... different."
Ha ha. This is defeat, right? It feels pretty bad.
But he's not defeated. Last time he was--last time he thought he was--he broke through, and broke the Hard Rule of necromancy. He just needs inspiration. He needs epiphany.
"So... so it's all the same effort." He pauses one last time.
no subject
Foster is momentarily conflicted, unclear whether he's supposed to believe Strange is having him on, but there is nothing in Strange's expression that appears to be looking for a reaction. Which leads him to believe this is a serious suggestion.
And he's laughing, but in that particularly repulsive way, a string of spittle hanging--appropriately--from his lower lip.
"Are you trying to say something?"
Because if he is--
"Because it doesn't matter what I try. If I knew how to do it--" Foster starts suddenly, all aggression, all venom and salt, but then he just... trails off, frowning deeply.
Magical healing is fairly limited where he's from, but he's still just not interested in attempting it on any scale. Wards and shields are... a complicated matter, and he doesn't know the first fucking thing about how they're cast.
"...I don't know that what's already been done, let alone how to do it," he says, more slowly--a little like he's explaining this to a particularly dense child. "And what I do know, I can't perform. It's not... my frame or reference is too different." He's ...tired suddenly.
"I'm too... different."
Ha ha. This is defeat, right? It feels pretty bad.
But he's not defeated. Last time he was--last time he thought he was--he broke through, and broke the Hard Rule of necromancy. He just needs inspiration. He needs epiphany.
"So... so it's all the same effort." He pauses one last time.
"And I still don't know what to do."