The mention of eating spurred Ravel to try another couple of bites and take another few sips of wine. It was good food, even if it wasn't good wine, and it helped his nerves a little to have something solid in his stomach. Maybe that was why he actually started talking again without being prompted.

"I... don't sleep well," he started, eyes never leaving the table in front of him. "I never have. After the war it was worse, and after-" He paused, decided to drop that train of thought. "There was one night during the war... I almost set fire to our camp. Like I did tonight. I hadn't slept in three days. The others in the unit had to talk me down."

Just talking about it reminded Erskine of how painfully tired he was. If he could have just managed a few hours of sleep this morning would any of this have happened?

He ignored the pang in his chest at the mention of the rest of the Dead Men.

"It's been getting worse since I gave the Hotel back to Anton. I don't know why. I'm glad Anton's better. I just... I can't seem to keep it together."