Balthier, of course, takes in that response and smiles slowly. Someone more of an asshole might have contributed a little obnoxious sing-song You liiiike meee or something equally terrible, but he just raises his undamaged hand in a permissive, lazy implication of a bow. "And indeed I am about to fall over, alas."

... Something he's exhausted enough to admit, and he goes and sits, carefully. "Hopefully by tomorrow morning I'll be sorted enough in my head to heal myself. Magic went utterly awry and using it on the trip back seemed like tempting particularly cranky fate." And he's been too out of it since to be able to bother with it.