Jean-Claude rises from his waiting room chair in one fluid movement to follow along behind the other man to the desk he has set himself up at. He is tall, about as tall as Lancelot himself, dressed well although perhaps a little old-fashioned. He certainly shouldn't look as though he belongs in a place like this, but he doesn't seem to be particularly troubled by it.

Not outwardly, at least. Internally, he's rather exasperated with the wait and with the fact that Phillip really should have known better. Or he should have known better than to be surprised by this sort of thing from Phillip, one or the other.

Jean-Claude folds himself into yet another chair and drums his fingers on his leg, perhaps the only sign that not all is as well as it might have been. "I will pay it," he says, simply. Phillip can make it up to him later... And make it up to him he'd better. He realizes belatedly he probably should have asked how much of a fine it is. He really is getting impatient, here.