The glove in his mouth is not the best idea Tucker has had, but fortunately Miles doesn't clench down too hard. He doesn't respond to Tucker's hissed plea; he can't hear anything, really, as his body shivers with seemingly no one inside of it. And no indication on when - if - the convulsing will stop.

But he begins to slow after about two minutes, his limbs slowly subsiding from agitated stiffness into too-relaxed exhaustion. He does not look well afterwards. His skin looks positively gray around the edges, and his already funny looking face is so much mush. Not a good look for him.

He groans softly after a moment, his eyelids flickering. Where is he? What was he doing? The seizure has left him exhausted and blurry, unable to focus on anything. "Who...?" he murmurs thickly, his tongue feeling as though it's made of lead.