[Alcohol -- not just poured, but scrubbed into an open wound -- is enough to take the breath out of him again. His teeth are grit hard enough to make his head throb, and his breath redoubles to catch up with itself when he finds it again. At least he's managed not to cry out. And he'd thank Adrian for the consideration if his head weren't now swimming from the pained delirium.

It takes a long moment to come back to himself, to find the thread of conversation and pick it up again.]

If you'd been even a candlemark later, I'd be dead. And unless you're not telling me something, you had no way of knowing how dire my need. So tell me how you think that's a gamble I'd willingly take.

So yes. I suppose I'd do this exact same kind of shit with Sypha around.