Lancelot nods once in understanding, then he's gently herding Faolan a few steps toward the outside seating area of a nearby cafe -- guiding him to sit and crouching to inspect his arm. He frowns, leans back to catch the attention of a girl clearing a table to ask for water and a cloth before shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. Mostly to keep from getting blood on them.

"I'm going to need to push your jacket off and try and roll up your sleeve to get a better look. If it's too stuck or won't roll high enough I may need to cut it."

His voice is low and steady, eyes flicking up from the wound to catch Faolan's own. It may as well have come straight out of a police handbook. 'Speak slowly and clearly to the victim, make sure they understand the situation.' Even if Faolan is lucid enough that he probably knows exactly what is going on. You can never be too careful when someone's been attacked.