He frowns at her words, but Lancelot is not cowed by her coldness or bitterness. Nor does he seem particularly surprised, for Lancelot knows well enough that positions that enforce in anyway attract both people who do it for justice and people who enjoy the power. Sadness does pinch at his expression, though, just for a moment before he gathers himself. He gestures expansively.

"Your choice of where we go. There's near enough every coffee shop under the sun here. Costa, Starbucks, Nero, Pret -- or somewhere else if you know a place."

Lancelot flickers a small smile, his best attempt at reassurance.

"You may as well pick yourself so you're comfortable, or as close as you can be."