The kitchen and living-room flow together into one large open-plan area, fairly plainly decorated -- light wood, white walls, wooden floors with a plain rug in the middle of the living room and a sofa of some indiscernible sort with a throw over it (presumably to protect against doggy paws and fur). There's little in the way of personal items besides a set of hooks with a few coats on (where Lancelot deposits his jacket now) and some shoes, a crate in the corner of the kitchen with a blanket for Lily and some well chewed toys. He begins rummaging absently through cupboards, Lily circling his feet inquisitively while still keeping an eye on Faolan.

The bottles he begins fishing down are not much more inspiring. Some sort of oil, with curly writing along the bottle that clearly isn't english, another bottle of oil that looks like it might have chillies in it -- then Lancelot frowns, squints and hops a little to grab something at the back of the top shelf. It's a square sort of bottle, and Lancelot squints at it a moment before looking up and hesitating.

"Amaretto? I think I bought it to make a tiramisu once. I could chill it, or we could have it in coffee I suppose. Is it too late for coffee?"

For some reason, Lancelot seems terribly uncertain about even that. As if he's been rendered incapable of knowing what to do now that Faolan is standing in his flat, but then again there isn't quite etiquette for what to serve someone who saved you from a supernatural beast. Or if there is, he doesn't know it.