He winks playfully at Faolan as he shoots him an uncertain look, Gwaine making a dramatic show of dying from heartbreak on the ground. Lily's ears perk forward at the display, tail swishing uncertainly as she tries to work out what she's supposed to do. Is this a game? Should she be doing something? She leans in sniff at him, licks curiously until Gwaine can't tolerate it any more and begins to fight her off.

Arthur rolls his eyes at the display, takes another sip of his drink and refocuses his attention away from the nonsense.

"So Faolan," he prompts, "what is it you do exactly?"

A timer begins to beep and Lance jumps up, begins to rescue the mince pies from the oven and arrange them onto the plate -- swinging back with it a moment later and carefully setting them down on a side table just out of reach of dog noses. Faolan can answer for himself, no need for Lance to speak for him he thinks.