"With the Police..." Faolan tries not to let the fact that that bothers him show on his face. It isn't difficult, given the fact that Percy is suddenly close and trying to help and making Faolan feel even shorter and even more insignificant than normal. He narrows his eyes slightly, frowning at the easy camaraderie that they all seem to share between one another before forcing himself to turn back to the glass in front of him and the drink he's preparing. One step at a time, just put one foot in front of the other. (And if he mixes the drink stronger than normal, who's to know...)

He raises the glass to take a sip, turning to lean against the counter and watch the big man -- Percy, he supposes -- make his way quietly back out to the sitting room. Watch Arthur haughtily sipping his drink across the room. Watching Gwaine playfully rolling around on the floor with the dog. Glancing to the side at Lancelot, so natural at playing the host to all of them in turn.

The unspoken question, the question that keeps that frown creasing his brows as he stands there, doing his best to stay out of their way, is where he fits into all of this. The fact that he isn't certain he does the most uncomfortable of all.