With a grim smile Tea takes the leaves, heading back into the kitchen, ever eager to serve (harmless and fulfilling as he has always been, lending his nature to one eager to please), and puts a pot on to boil. He stays in there, contemplating age and the nature of family, leaving Belladonna and an ice pack to care for Datura in her madness. He's seen it a thousand times in a half-dozen different nation-specific forms and it never changes; the visions, the sweats, the delirium and madness that wrench his heart like a physical fucking pain that he almost can't stand to see.
When the water boils, he pours it equally into two mugs filled with some leaves of tea, various herbs, a cursory sprinkling of coffee grounds (for his brother is never far from his mind), and some belladonna; a perfect mix to which Bella's datura leaves are added. He makes a beautiful datura tea, all the while mulling over beautiful memories of Victorian gardens and caffeinated trysts littered with raw energy and discarded underthings. Strange, to think that Earl, the god who now cared for lesser and dying beings, was once the woman succumbing to the will of a stronger god. On some level he had vowed, wholly unsuccessfully, not to do so again.
Even as he carried the datura tea out to the living room he knew it was futile; even in the act of preparing this latest brew he was acceding to the needs of others. Weren't his kind, the substance New Gods, supposed to be fundamentally selfish? It was a boat Tea had long-since missed. Now he wished only to see Datura well and happy. Though he was usually a selfish god who had trouble communicating anything of import, even to his beloved Coffee...
When Datura was concerned? He would brave Hell and high water, he would face down the Devil himself if only to see her smile again.
She was his daughter.
He wasn't ashamed to say he loved her. And that? That was entirely unique, of every being he had ever met in the world. He loved her.