Ivan Xav Vorpatril

"I think not," opines the haut Pel, getting up from her chair to examine the contents of Vio's sleeves. She wafts fumes from the bulb of mist to her face to check by way of the smell, then says, "Ah - no, he's in no danger. It will wear off harmlessly. He'll be very sick when he wakes up, though."

"I'll get him some synergine," volunteers Linyabel, and she floats away again.