Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man's antics. Lancelot certainly has an interesting sense of humor, but Faolan doesn't particularly mind it. In fact, he rather enjoys it, in a quirky sort of way. It's kept his attention elsewhere preoccupied, certainly, and after having spent most of the last few days on a knife's edge that's more than welcome.

He pats the lapel of his jacket, inside of which sits Lancelot's contact information, safely tucked away on that receipt that he'd written it down on. "I'll try not to contact you too soon," he says, quirking a wry smile at the other man, as he sits back in his chair. Unlike Lancelot, he really doesn't have anywhere to be. He'll probably just get another coffee and then wander off to find somewhere else to sit for a while. "Wouldn't want you to think I'm over-eager..."