Faolan moves to shrug off his jacket and hang it on the back of the chair, taking a seat in it once he is done. He feels something of an overwhelming sense of deja vu in the action, but then again he has only been there once before, and Lancelot had sat him down at the same table in exactly the same way before. Perhaps he enjoys playing host for others? Faolan isn't entirely certain. He doesn't know a lot about the other man himself, truth be told. He hadn't even known that he'd spoken Spanish until he'd accidentally invaded his phone call like he had.

"It's going to be the same thing no matter when you do," he says, with a shrug. "So I suppose it's up to you. If I tell you to do it now..." It might ruin his meal. But if he tells him to do it after, then he might lose his meal, depending. He shakes his head. "Perhaps you should do it now," he concludes. "Though I will simply defend myself by saying that... It's not what I would have chosen for you, if I had had more say in the matter."