Lancelot doesn't actually want to look at the head, truth be told, but he's seen plenty of gruesome things in this time and he can stomach it. Give his opinion on it. Tell Faolan if he can pick up anything off it, if he can help with any leads, etc.

Which means that Lancelot is turning up at Hillingdon dressed in his best attempt at plain-clothes and blending in, leather jacket and worn out jeans matches to a plain grey v-neck as he slinks through and hopes nobody recognises him and objects.

Part of him wishes he had some sort of hood to put up, but another part of him points out he isn't a teenager trying to steal something.

He makes it up to where Faolan is and knocks on the door softly before letting himself in, lofting an eyebrow questioningly and closing the door behind himself with a quiet click.

"I don't think anyone recognised me, or if they did they were too polite to say anything."