Lancelot is busying himself spooning a little hollandaise sauce on his, cracking some pepper and a tiny bit of salt when Faolan's voice reaches him. He blinks up at Faolan, lofts an eyebrow as he sets the salt back down.

"Follow my lead?" he echoes, picking up his knife and fork. He cuts into the egg and Faolan was right, the middle is just soft enough that the yolk runs a little. "In what?" he prompts, not quite understanding the difficulty as he cuts himself a piece.