Zevran shook his head, but couldn't entirely dislodge the ringing that persisted. Luckily, it was only in his own mind now, and the cause of it all had mercifully left them to suffer in peace. It seemed like that was the most thoughtfulness he could expect from the mystery man. Zevran knew what that edge to his voice meant all too well. He could have said anything in that tone and Zevran would have understood that the man was out for blood, for pride, and worst, maybe even for fun. Was it too much to ask that the messes he got himself into be slightly less complex?

Oliver was still on his feet and talking, which was a bit of silver lining, but it took Zevran several moments to pay attention to the words and their meanings. He would have hated to admit that the episode had unbalanced him, but here he was, less sure with each passing moment. There were only so many more oddities that could be fit into this night before he had his fill. A quick glance at the strangers caught in the hall with them made it clear to Zevran that he and Oliver were not alone in their displeasure. He didn't like the picture it was painting.

"People like our new friend are rarely satisfied with subtlety," he sighed through the aftermath in his brain. "Although I do hope that his complimentary closer is not a habit of his. It will get very old very fast. You're well, though, yes?"