"Have a mug of the tea first, Mocha. It will sooth your stomach. Coffee at this point would only sour already curdled waters." The pot steeping away on the table is full of herbs and sweeteners, something that will run clear but taste of mint and ginger. An old, old brew that ever helped any human he has ever know settle their stomachs and ease the ache in their heads.

The sweetness also cuts the grease of the meal he is about to serve. Zevran leaves the stove long enough to rest his hand along the nape of Eugene's neck, dropping a kiss to his hair. "How is your head?"