[It is a surprisingly busy kitchen. They probably shouldn't interrupt, but honestly Spike didn't care. Hazel-eyes slid to the other Adopted. Probably an adopted. A once-over, assessing. Then Spike redirected his attention to the kitchen.]

So, I usually either get it myself or the fae in here bring it...

[Addressing the empty air, but he'd done stranger before. Magic was like that sometimes.]

Don't suppose I could get a mug of blood? Preferably warmed?