They're fine. See, it's obvious they're not limping.

Or gesturing. Or much of anything, now that they've handed over the dropped item and confirmed no fatal wounds. They're preoccupied with irrational seething.

Meanwhile, Greenhorn looks up at the glass changing hands and promptly condenses from a full sleeve to something like a chunky bracelet. The Knight's barely-pulled jab of disapproval doesn't help the situation.

Neither of them are up to reading into possible questions right now.