Faolan glances at the other man, awkwardly shuffling his jacket in his hands as the other man offers -- amaretto? Really? Of course the strongest alcohol he's got is hidden in the back of the cabinet and only there because he'd needed it for cooking. Faolan really shouldn't be surprised, knowing the other man even as little as he does, and yet. Nothing else? Ah, well. Amaretto will have to do then.

"Over ice, if you've got it," he says, stepping forward and deciding that it's better to put his jacket on the table than hanging it up on the hook -- he doesn't want to make it seem like he's too much at home. "If you want to get some sleep at all tonight, it should probably just be over ice." Plus he gets the feeling that Lancelot's wired enough as it is, without needing any caffeine to add to it, for that matter.