Lancelot sees Gwaine out, pads back into the kitchen placidly and begins to slowly tidy up the last remnants of the party.

"That just leaves us," he says, "and you certainly aren't going anywhere in that state. I'd ask if you want to talk, but..." he pauses in the middle of filling the dishwasher, tilts his head a little. "You mostly look like you want to throw up. I can make up the futon for you."

Since he isn't sure Faolan has the coordination to do it, and it's probably best he get some sleep sooner rather than later. At least asleep he can't do anything else unexpected.