At least Zack is squeaky clean when he makes it to the kitchen. He's scrubbed himself almost sore, washed out his hair, and attempted to negotiate an electric shaver he 'discovered' (or stole, he's not prepare to say which) which proved too much for him, so he has some small degree of scruff. This is actually good for Zack. If he can't hide behind the facial marks, he can damn well grow a beard. Let's just hope he's not stuck like this for that long.

“Hnh. Morning,” he grunts, and pours a coffee. It's meant to work wonders on the human body, judging from Dean's sudden post-caffeine transformations in the mornings. The young woman who's greeted him, is introduced. Excuse him, but he's fairly surly even when he's in a good mood.

“Taylor.” A gruff nod. “You did food.”

Zack is shite at cooking. The first time they tried a recipe, he just gathered and then ate the raw ingredients. Thinking they'd somehow combine to make lasagne.

The sheets of pasta had been somewhat crunchy.

“That's kind,” he adds, attempting to make their guest feel welcome.