"I'm good!" He presses a hand up to steady himself catching a vaguely familiar pec in the process and- he'll think about that after the room stops spinning. "I'm good. I think. No- yeah I'm good."

Tony sets down the hooka and scrubs at his face with a groan, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes to establish some kind of equilibrium or. Something. "Ankles are fine- uh."

Peering between his fingers up at the guy is. Weird. "Uh. I might be more baked than previously anticipated."