The more Faolan talks the more confused Lancelot gets. It's a problem if he likes a mug? Feeding him sausage rolls isn't listening? None of it makes sense, and not only that but Faolan's jumbled ramble seems to be increasing in volume.

"All right," Lancelot soothes, "all right. I'm listening. Here, let's -- let's take this somewhere I can listen better, shall we?"

Somewhere where Faolan's dramatics will draw less attention. He's bound to be embarrassed in the light of day, but at least if Lance can drag him where people can't seem him then maybe he can save the worst of it from being in the pubic eye. He waves Faolan to follow him, puts down the plate after a moment's thought so both his hands are free as he steps back toward the hallway -- just in case he needs to catch him.