[Miles' lips turn down at once. He's weak, but not so weak that he can't summon up a great wave of displeasure at seeing the greasy-haired fool condescending to him about his illness. He wishes...He wishes that von Karma were here. He wishes his mentor was present to send this man scampering away with his tail between his legs, whimpering from a withering bon mot. More than anything...He wishes he could ever be as good as von Karma.

He takes the tea sullenly.]

A doctor, now, as well? You do everything.

[He scowls.]

Vertigo, nausea, weakness. Fever. I just need something that will suppress the symptoms so that I can move out there reasonably quickly.