Faolan glances at the machine as it starts up its grinding, staring at it for a long moment before nodding in response to the other man's direction. "Yeah," he says, "alright." And turns to shuffle over and deposit himself in one of the chairs at the breakfast nook.

He keeps himself upright, which is a point for him, all things considered. But Faolan has never really been completely functional before his first (or sometimes second) coffee, unless he really has to be. And today being a holiday, there's nothing really to force him to jump-start his day in any such way as that. He leans forward, propping himself up on his elbows on the table in front of him, hazily watching Lancelot work his magic across the room.