Faolan shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at the question, at the nickname, at Gwaine himself and the smile on his face, the easy grace that he carries himself as he drops himself back into his seat again. He's not really sure what he wants to say to the other man, not even sure that he has the grounds to do so even if he knew, so when he finally manages to mutter something back to him it is to say, "I'm pretty sure a move like that would get you disqualified, with anyone else."

He raises his drink to take a sip, and if it's a bit of a generous swallow then that's neither here nor there. He's still awkwardly palming his mince pie, waiting for the excitement to die down before eating. Glancing aside at Lancelot to see if he's alright, if that was okay, if this is normal, trying to get a cue, something from him to right himself in the situation again. Rather uncomfortable with the fact that he knows he hasn't got a clue how to handle himself, amongst all these people. None of them as kind, gentle, understanding as Lancelot himself. Loud, with all their questions they'll want answered eventually, with expectations of him that Lancelot himself seems to have given a free pass on instead. Will he meet them? Can he really do this? He honestly isn't certain of any of it.