She said something wrong. She knows it as clearly as if Zevran had shouted at her--and the effect on her isn't much different. She instantly ducks her head, subservient, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Zevran. If I said anything--I'll, um. I'll wear the boots and the soap, alright?" She reaches to touch his hand, while she parses what she said, what had been wrong. Was it the subtle joke about blood magic? Maybe that was it.

Idiotic.

She does, however, reach a hand up to pat at her hair. She must look like a mess right now. No one's been caring much about their appearances on this little trip. Self consciously, she runs her fingers through the short waves. "Well, there's that, at least. Maybe I'll start pretending I don't know King's Tongue? I might have to make up bits of Elvhen to sound like that's all I can speak."