Faolan has absolutely no idea what to make of her. He has had little dealings with the fae beyond Lancelot, who hardly counts, and Eames, who presents himself in a decidedly less odd manner than Lan does herself. If there's one thing that might settle his nerves, though, it is a drink. Provided he doesn't drink too much, of course, but he's on the job so he figures he'll be able to stop himself before he gets that far. He hopes he will, at any rate.

"A drink," he repeats, nodding gratefully. "Yes, please." He hopes he's not offending her that he's hardly being wordy in return. It's just that she's so...