Lancelot watches the proceedings bemused, not fully understanding what Faolan is up to then being oddly perplexed about the how and why when he works it out.

"I might," he admits slowly, "I did buy some in May for the party, I can't remember if there are any left. The small far drawer near the wall, where the matches are."

Or, he thinks privately, Faolan could have run down to the supermarket quickly. More hygienic. Still, it's the thought that counts he supposes.