Thor doesn't touch the ginger ale even once, not even looking at the glass that sits pushed off to one side. It's petty and childish of him to blame it for not having alcohol, and he knows that, but that does not stop him anyway. He should drink something though, and the coffee's gone cold but he sips at it anyway in between nibbling at the bite-sized pieces he rips from the bread.

He's not eating with enthusiasm, nor much of an appetite, but he is eating. And getting out some destructive impulses harmlessly. Surely she can't blame him for that.

When she breaks the silence, he shrugs. "It's all right." His head isn't pounding quite so vigorously, and he doesn't feel as though the bread he's eaten is going to make a reappearance. Grudgingly, he adds, "I'd rather be drinking something else." She can take that to mean real ale if she wants, or simply a dislike of the ginger ale. Thor's not picky on which one he means. But Amelia seems to want to know his thoughts, and whether either of them like it or not, this is what they are.