Lancelot is someone who finds morning relatively harmless, probably helped by the fact that he didn't drink nearly enough to end up in the shape Faolan is. The bathroom's extractor fan grows louder a moment as he opens the door and darts back into his room, the vague scent of damp and ginger body wash escaping into the flat, and a moment later Lancelot pads through quietly -- one hand on Lily to keep her moving so she doesn't bother their half-asleep guest. His hair is still in wet curls, only roughly towel-dried enough for him to get changed, and he's dressed down in a pair of worn grey jogging bottoms and a loose t-shirt that declares him The Dogfather.

Lily circles him until he puts down food for her, and then he vanishes back into his room and re-appears with his MacBook that he sets on the kitchen counter.

"Did you know that the NHS has an official 'hangover cures' page?"

He glances over at Faolan, flicks a faint smile before opening the fridge to dig out things.

"It says drinking more won't help, if there was any doubt. It suggests sports drinks, but I don't have any fancy ones. I do have vitamin water, though..."

Pulling out a bottle he grabs a plastic cup and pours out a little, pads over with it and crouches by the futon.