[His smile remains, tilted at just the right angle to read as overly confident, eyes unwavering upon the woman. But it is her touch that his mind hyper-fixates on, trying to categorize the pressure of her fingers around his wrist. Does she suspect foul play afoot, or is she merely pining for the company of someone who offers her a few kind words? It is impossible to say in this brief moment, despite the dark countenance living only in her eyes, and Balthier knows jerking his arm away would make him appear leery after his affable apology. No need to fling himself into the shadow of suspicion needlessly — he’ll let others make that call for him.

Balthier’s free hand makes a gesture at her, his own bright rings and bracelets glinting. His other, caught in her touch, has at least managed to slip the dagger between a criss-cross of leather belts, behind him and out of sight. Here’s hoping he needn’t immediately sit down, he muses.]

How kind of you to be so concerned about my balance. It would be rude of me to decline. Perhaps the nighttime air might clear my lungs and provide respite for my head?