"As you wish." It did not stop Zevran from taking moment to set the belt of grenades aside in favor of pouring himself a small glass of brandy. Whatever was to come would be no simple thing- he could see that much already. There were three paths with this. One: play along, let Michel speak, have it out and have it done.

Two: Plead fatigue (reasonable enough considering his recent illness) or business and slip away.

Three: Distract with lust.

As Michel has proven himself distractable in the past and Zevran was quite certain he Did Not Want to have this conversation? What should have been a simple sip became a subtle production. He knew the lighting in this room well, the way shadows played upon his skin. How to stand, how to move, how to tilt his head back and to the side just so while taking a drink to invite the eye to his jaw and throat, to drag his tongue across his lips to smooth away the damp.

The question came all the same and Zevran hesitated but for a moment while Michel's back was turned to weigh his options. Again, three ways about it. Again, he chose the third, slipping up to press himself to Michel's back, hands settling upon his belt buckle in idle contemplation. "Mmm...Quite well, I should think."