Michel simply gazed at Zevran in silence, for now he would let him have his way, but if he deteriorated in anyway he would be hard pressed to stand by and watch it idly.

And Michel would be happy to get him some brandy, in conjunction with the water. He was sweating so much and losing so much fluid through his skin that he would dehydrate and Michel would be forced to act, he could already see it in those dry lips. At least in this he was somewhat reassured, "no...I would not say that you talked in your sleep so much as projected your dreams...this is...why."