Faolan does feel sick, although he can't be certain whether most of it is emotional turmoil or whether it really is the drink that's causing this.
"I'm not going to throw up on you," he says, which he intends at least to be reassuring. One less thing for Lancelot to have to clean up. Or rather, more specifically, one less thing for Lancelot to clean up after him. There's a part of him that really does want to talk as well, but the rest of him recognizes that it's perhaps better left until he's sobered up somewhat at least. Which probably won't be until the next morning at the very least.
He toys with his water glass for a moment, glancing over to the futon and then back at Lancelot. He wishes he could leave. He wishes he'd never made such mistakes. He wishes he were not so drunk so he could be up to be helping him clean up like he'd meant to, at the start of the evening. Sleep, on the other hand, sounds good right about now. That's probably the only thing he's sure that he can't mess up at this point.
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"I'm not going to throw up on you," he says, which he intends at least to be reassuring. One less thing for Lancelot to have to clean up. Or rather, more specifically, one less thing for Lancelot to clean up after him. There's a part of him that really does want to talk as well, but the rest of him recognizes that it's perhaps better left until he's sobered up somewhat at least. Which probably won't be until the next morning at the very least.
He toys with his water glass for a moment, glancing over to the futon and then back at Lancelot. He wishes he could leave. He wishes he'd never made such mistakes. He wishes he were not so drunk so he could be up to be helping him clean up like he'd meant to, at the start of the evening. Sleep, on the other hand, sounds good right about now. That's probably the only thing he's sure that he can't mess up at this point.