"They're police," Lancelot quips lightly, "they've seen worse. Besides which, you're good people too. Just need to lower your hackles a little."

Grinning playfully he nudges the bottle of coke closer to Faolan, lofts an eyebrow questioningly at him.

"You're fine," he adds more softly, "I promise."

Then Percival is beside them, picking up the beer bottles Lance had set out and giving Faolan a small smile that melts into a frown.

"You all right?" he prompts softly.