Daithi closes his hand into a fist, not particularly offended, and steps away for the man to move. He pauses to right the overturned chair, glancing to his fellow resident as he straightens. He can't offer much in light of refusal, and Daithi isn't one to press most matters, but...

"...at least find someone to drink with," he suggests. Next time, the fall might crack his skull or twist his ankle.

(— although Daithi doesn't seem to mean himself, turning, now, for the stack of barkeeps.)