Faolan glances up at the big man addressing him. And up some more. He's used to being short, but this is just ridiculous. This...Percy, did Lancelot say his name was? He makes him feel like a child, standing there dwarfing him like that. Not that he hasn't been before, but not as of late.

He finds himself at a loss for words for a moment, before he can gather himself again, glancing down at the counter and the bottle of coke that Lancelot has set out for him. "I. I'll be fine. I'm sorry if I'm spoiling the mood. I am not all that used to company, and someone," he glances aside at Lancelot, pointedly, before back at the counter, "did not warn me to prepare myself for it in advance." He shrugs slightly. "I think because he knew I might not have come if he had."