Coffee is, really, a perfect complement to most mornings. Especially mornings after a first day in prison that went as spectacularly terribly as his did. Lelouch spends a moment in seemingly deep contemplation of the menu, rubbing a finger lightly over his jaw.
His clothes are currently about half a size too large for him in places; too broad across the chest, loose in the upper arms and thighs... but paradoxically his pants are also about an inch too short. Borrowed, all in the most neutral colors Suzaku's wardrobe had to offer, which... means only one far too primary color.
Lelouch glances back over his shoulder reflexively at the sound of the door opening, and offers the stranger an ingratiating smile, even sans-caffeine. "Ah, good morning -- or, at least, hopefully a better one soon." With a little sweeping gesture, to indicate that she should feel free to go ahead of him. "Still making up my mind, I'm afraid."