Worth knowing? Lancelot gives a light sort of laugh at that, shakes his head ruefully.

"Surely that is a matter of opinion? Perhaps we could work it out."

He sets down his knife and fork a moment, reaches for his own drink as his brow furrows in exaggerated thought.

"What would you say makes a person worth knowing? That way I will be able to tell you for sure if I am."

Ah! His smile turns wry at that, and he tilts his head -- leans in conspiratorially at that.

"But I was not there," he stage whispers, and widens his eyes in mock surprise before leaning back to take a sip of his own drink. "I suppose I am invited out of courtesy, but I was not there as it happened. I helped secure things afterward, perhaps, but that is all. Does that mean I am not worth knowing?"

He sighs in resignation at this, nods acceptance.

"I suspected as much. Yet can you blame me for accepting the invitation? The food is really very good, even if the conversation can be a little dry -- not counting yourself, of course."

Lancelot flashes her his most charming smile, a touch on the shy side now, and shrugs.

It's true -- he has not. Lancelot lowers his lashes a little at the reprimand and her observation both, sets down his drink as he collects himself.

"You are right, of course. My name is Lancelot, Lancelot Dulac, and I am pleased to have such pleasant and tolerant company as yourself. Forgive me manners and poor humour."

He dips his head slightly in greeting, shy smile still in place.

"It's a pleasure, then. Were you there yourself? At Lambeth, during our great victory."

There's a wry note of humour around the words great victory that suggest Lancelot may not exactly see it as such, but who's counting? It's a victory either way, he supposes.

Lancelot lets out an awkward sort of huff at that, drops his eyes self-consciously.

"I do not not if sympathiser is the right term, exactly. Who would I be sympathising with? Lambeth was contested, it belonged to no one faction. The residents in general, perhaps you mean? Maybe. I would happily defend Daybreak territory when it is attacked. I suppose I am just not fond of attacking other territories in general as if we are conquering warlords. I understand the desire to bring peace, but... well, I am sure they are only doing their bests."

He lets out another huff of vague amusement, clearly a little uncomfortable with the topic but not disagreeing either.

"Mr Norrell is... very firm in his beliefs. Perhaps he will gentle over time, I suppose we will see. At the very least he still has to answer to Sylvia, so... there is only so much influence he has."

Lancelot blinks, and his eyes widen for a second in understanding. Ah. He swallows, drops them again and tries to fight back the colour threatening to creep into his cheeks -- shifts slightly in his chair. However uncomfortable it might make him, he does enjoy her attention. He's been surrounded by so many flirtatious teenagers of late that it's both rewarding and appealing to be flirted with a woman for once. With someone who doesn't look like they might still be in school. He toys with his glass, carefully sets it down although his fingers stay around it -- lips flicking into a shy smile again.

"That depends," he answers finally, voice dropped to a whisper. His eyes lift again to her, a little hesitant -- as if he's not quite confidant in his flirtation and ready to be shot down. "On if you like your men firm or gentle."

He tilts his head, eyes searching Kathryn to see if he's misjudged, but there's something a little hopeful there.

He drops his eyes again at her words, smile flicking up a little further.

"Very true," he manages, flustered by trying to rally. It's difficult, with such a beautiful woman watching him so closely. He feels as if he might make a fool of himself any moment. "I would imagine, however, a woman like yourself would have very discerning taste. Would know what she wants."

And surely it could not be him, not really. Lancelot's eyes lift again, after a second -- a little guarded. For all his easy charm, after all, Lancelot is weak to the right kind of charm himself for one simple reason. Lancelot has no self esteem, no belief in his own self worth. Approached wrong he assumes he is being mocked and the whole thing collapses, but approached the right way... well, Lancelot Dulac is easily putty in someone's hands.

For a moment Lancelot isn't sure what she's going to do, is a little frozen as if he might have made some sort of wrong move and she might be about to leave in offence.

Then she slides the napkin over and Lancelot looks at her in open surprise. As if he had never expected to actually have something come of it.

"I..." he slides his eyes away, awkward, but takes it regardless. His smile flicks up again, hopeful, and he nods. "I'd like that," he says, and there's something terribly earnest about it rather than flirtatious.