Faolan glances across at Lancelot at that, realizing he's been sitting there poking at the last bits of his pastry for a fair minute now, and forcing himself to stop and take up his coffee once more.

"I'm sorry to say that I don't think they'll let me in like that no matter how good my legs look in pumps," Faolan says, quirking something of a smile back of him. "But thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."