Faolan shoots the other man a look at the comment. He knows damn well that he can practice all he likes but Lancelot can reach out and pick him up by the scruff of his neck and that will be that.

So instead he happily lets the other man direct them away from the banquet table and towards the quiet corner that he's found for them. Settling himself down into as comfortable a seat as he can next to the other man before taking a bite. Might as well not worry about it. Either he stays hungry or he risks it, he thinks to himself, and he's little fun to be around as it is, never mind when he's been starving himself.

"It's not bad," he says. "Especially for something that I might be damning myself with, I suppose."