At the explanation Don Juan turned his eyes in wonder towards his forearm. He hadn't noticed the sweat before but as soon as his attention was drawn towards it, he wondered how it was he'd avoided thinking about it even a moment. His clothes were damp with it and beads of it stood out against his skin. He ran the fingers of his right hand over his left wrist, then looked at the wet marks on his fingertips. Opium, dripping off his skin. Wonders unceasing. He had the impulse to put a finger to his mouth and see what it tasted like, but refrained.

But withdrawal was still coming, apparently. Don Juan's eyes slid to the dropper in the man's hands. Liquid that looked like it belonged more to a chemistry set than a cocktail bar was a dangerous business, from his limited experience with these things. Potent and unpredictable. Don Juan was not a chemist, so always relied on other's descriptions of what it was or what it would do, and those were usually inadequate. And this man had just put him through something awful, and his motivations were obscure.

But if it would save him from withdrawal...

He watched with morbid fascination as the man licked a drop of it off of his fingertip. That decided him; it couldn't feel like the last one if the man was taking it so casually. He leaned forward in his chair, feeling suddenly vile as his sweat-soaked shirt stuck to his back, entirely too aware of his body. "What happens if it's not dosed correctly?" he asked, but he licked his lips as he looked at the dropper; he was asking because he knew he should, not because the answer would dissuade him.

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