Faolan's eyes are widened slightly himself, as though the knowledge of what he has said and done is only just now catching up with him. He shakes his head slightly, glancing first at Lancelot's hand and then up at the man himself. The shock of the impact of falling has sobered him up slightly. Not enough to be completely in control of himself, certainly not enough to feel like he can pick himself up on his own. But he's not sure he wants to be anywhere near Lancelot just now. In fact, he'd much prefer to be able to crawl into a hole and die there.

"I should go," he says, shaking his head again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--... I shouldn't be here, I. It's your birthday party and I--" He can feel himself rambling but he can't seem to make it stop.