Lance is sitting in the waiting room with his dog, who is currently far too white to be this close to all the grease and oil that comes with a garage. She's sat pressed against his legs, eyes flicking around curiously, and they lift as Daryl steps out -- tail swishing along the floor of the waiting room. Hello, Daryl! Hello! Are you a friend? Because you smell like cat!

"If you have two minutes?" Lancelot answers, and gestures vaguely to the door. Since it isn't exactly garage related business he's here on.