"I can appreciate a woman with that inclination," he remarks - what, the inclination to brutally squash things making her ill? apparently - though his voice sounds a little thin. He's managed not to throw up, though he does look vaguely green. He looks down at the trash can lid, considering if he'd really like to get that close to the damn things, when one of them helpfully begins skittering over to him. He kicks the lid, which slams into the creature and thus sends it flying back to the others.

"Back up." It's called out to her as he takes his own advice, right hand extended, muttering something under his breath. There's a faint glow about him for a moment, and even if Max doesn't move, well, Balthier has surgical aim with this sort of thing. A moment later, false lightning boils in a knot above the tiny monsters and shoots down in rapid, loud succession, frying the lot of them.

Of course, even with the immediate relief of the nausea, the smell of fried crawly-bug-monster is not so pleasant.

"Augh." Balthier brings one hand up over his face. "Gods, that's hardly any better."