Faolan looks down into his coffee mug and shrugs slightly. The fact that he's regretting not having taken the blanket with him to the table is hardly helping his image, he's sure. Slumped over on himself at the table as he is, nearly crawling into the coffee mug placed before him and all.

"Maybe I do," he says, because in all honesty, it isn't untrue. He glances up to study what Lancelot's doing, the whole process of cooking an egg like this rather unfamiliar to him, truth be told. "You certainly take better care of me than I do," he muses aloud, sleepily.