His face can't help but sour. There's a quick calculation in his head, guesstimates, really. But he thinks he knows the dosage that shouldn't be fatal. He'd be out for an hour if he's right, thirty minutes if he's wrong. It's enough time to move him somewhere else easily.

It's a very quick but smooth motion as Kylar's arms drop across his belt and down at his sides. He takes one glance at the dancer. Can he move faster than it? Is it going to retaliate? Surely, this is a unique, necessary circumstance to overrule its usual protections, right? Doesn't matter, he has to try and it's for Marc's sake so.

It's a quick reach out, a dab of something from a cloth Kylar wadded into his hand within that earlier motion. He only slides it over Marc's hand, acting as if he'd hold it for just a moment. It might seem comforting. Fifteen seconds... "Marc, pal. I think you've got it all wrong." He pats his hand, ensuring the knockout poison is on Marc's skin.

Ten seconds... Oh, please catch him, Hat guy. Kylar's figuring out the angle but if Marc's knees buckle first, the dancer would have to do the catching. Even if it wasn't the knees, the tension on his wrists would still send him backward once the tension eased.

"We'll talk about this later. Promise."

Five seconds... Fuck it, if the dancer doesn't catch him then he can apologize for the impending concussion later.