'The others.' Faolan's grip tightens subconsciously on his bag and he shakes his head at the offer, his stomach doing an uncomfortable flip for no reason that he could put into words. "I'm fine," he says. "Just let me know where to put it that'll be out of the way." And not, as it turns out, smack down in the middle of whatever gathering he's apparently having.
He takes in the look of the others in turn, using the excuse that he has things to set down and hide away as an excuse to hover in the entry. He hadn't been expecting that there would be others here, and the fact that he doesn't know who any of them are... Well. Logically, Lancelot knows people. He's obviously lived here for a few years, been with the police -- is that who these people are? Is that how he knows then? He casts another wary glance across their faces, not like the look of the first. Has he seen him before, perhaps on the other side of a cell. He does have a record, one that he's done his best to pretend not to in the presence of his squeaky clean friend involved in law enforcement.
Faolan himself is not dressed very festively under his leather jacket, but he's okay with that, especially with so many eyes suddenly turned his way. Had Lancelot said there would be people? Had Lancelot said that there were people? Faolan honestly can't recall any mention at all. He stands frozen and hesitant in the entry, just far enough in for Lancelot to be able to shut the door but otherwise awaiting further instruction, suddenly feeling very lost, very small, and very out of his element.
no subject
He takes in the look of the others in turn, using the excuse that he has things to set down and hide away as an excuse to hover in the entry. He hadn't been expecting that there would be others here, and the fact that he doesn't know who any of them are... Well. Logically, Lancelot knows people. He's obviously lived here for a few years, been with the police -- is that who these people are? Is that how he knows then? He casts another wary glance across their faces, not like the look of the first. Has he seen him before, perhaps on the other side of a cell. He does have a record, one that he's done his best to pretend not to in the presence of his squeaky clean friend involved in law enforcement.
Faolan himself is not dressed very festively under his leather jacket, but he's okay with that, especially with so many eyes suddenly turned his way. Had Lancelot said there would be people? Had Lancelot said that there were people? Faolan honestly can't recall any mention at all. He stands frozen and hesitant in the entry, just far enough in for Lancelot to be able to shut the door but otherwise awaiting further instruction, suddenly feeling very lost, very small, and very out of his element.