She brings him a mug -- bright red, chipped, with its handles long since broken off. "Here," she mutters, "Just what you asked for."
He blinks, eyes shifting down to note the page before setting the book on his knee. He takes the beverage, hesitating, "I asked for tea. This is..."
She nods, her eyes fixed on his, "That's what it is."
He wonders if she's pulling his braid -- or if her taste in tableware had significantly declined since their last meeting -- did this one even belong to him? And what was that, a tea bag?
Eventually, he takes a sip.
"Well?"
"I can't say I approve of your choice in preparation. I thought I taught you how to make proper tea." He pauses, looking up through the thin veil of steam to survey his sister's expression. Superfluously, he adds, "Properly, even."
Her nose scrunches in protest, her arms falling into place on her hips. "It's my favourite, Jin, I thought you might like to try it."
"I didn't say that I didn't like it."