[Let's just skip back to the part where Alex was having absinthe poured almost directly down his throat, how about that? In the seconds it took for Diogenes to grab the glass and tilt the chair back, Alex had a horribly clear vision of what might happen if he coughs the drink back up again in that position. He swallows the burning liquid as best he can, eyes bulging, like a waterboarded prisoner agreeing to talk.

When the chair falls forward, he falls with it, his bound arms propping him up as he bounces with the impact. He's taking in rapid, wheezy breaths, and forgive him if for a moment he doesn't register the various interesting things going on in the room, because he's a bit busy trying to adjust to the heat and blur and the prickling numbness in his face.]