Alistair looks up, his expression shifting to mild alarm at Cullen's dripping-wet state.

(Too wound up to even properly appreciate a soaked Cullen. What is the world coming to?)

"If you'd like," he says. "Can I -- no, you've got a handle on it, I'm sure, it's just a towel and...yes. Right. There's bacon for you when you're back. Cold, but it's there. And more tea -- ?"

Apparently, a meal with little to no speaking means it all comes tumbling out later.