Kahlil gives the teapot a dubious look before reaching for the handle and pouring a cup, bringing it close to his nose for a sniff with a small wrinkle of his nose. It smells more bitter than any tea he's ever known, the opposite end of the spectrum from the lightly floral scented blends of Basawar.

But his attention turns back to Lucifer with that answer, his brow furrowing.

"That's a concerning amount of time to be asleep. Were you sick?"

He wouldn't have thought a being like him could fall ill.