Faolan shrugs slightly. He'd like the cake, but he'll need some real food besides. He can practically feel himself sloshing at this point. A hangover is near inevitable, but it's true, at least if he tries to soak some of it up he'll be a little better off.

So he pushes himself up to his feet after a moment, swaying slightly in place before he gets his bearings. "I probably should. Is there any of the pasta salad left?" he asks, in a neutral tone. As though he hasn't spent the better part of the last while sitting out on the step fuming as he has. He moves to take a step or two towards the door before he pauses to glance back at Lancelot, turning dark, guarded eyes up at him. The look in them apologetic, wounded, and altogether tumultuous besides before he looks away.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. For Nancy, for Kathryn, for his behavior even before that, for the way he's responded since. "I just..." He trails off shrugging slightly before he abruptly shakes himself off and reaches for the door. "Coming?"