This is a short little fic inspired by a scene while playing the game the other day. I was in Giruvegan and had just fought Shemhazai, and in the victory scene Balthier is leaning his boot against his sword and shining it with his handkerchief. It made me giggle.
Enjoy.
This was utterly ridiculous. They had tramped about through this confusing, blinding, mell-of-a-hess place for entirely too long, following spirits only Ashe could see and solving the riddles and mazes of the Occuria that Balthier was sure were more for their own perverse pleasure than as a test. And finally, finally, they make it to the end, they get to the final way stone, they are there… and an Esper, a freaking blood Esper. A soul-eating one, no less. Yay. Just when he was starting to get bored of how easy this place was to navigate.
Shemhazai proved difficult enough to take down, but it was what happened afterward that sent Balthier over the edge. His hair was mussed, his cuffs soiled, his shirt torn, and now … now his expensive Wild Saurian leather sandals with the icthion scales on the sides, his one of a kind (well one of a three, he had a couple back-up pairs) were dirty. He sighed. Seriously.
While the others were celebrating their victory over the evil Esper, Balthier stuck the blade of his Icebrand into the watery walkway, propped his sandal on it, pulled out a handkerchief, and began to polish.
He was unaware of how long he spent shining his rare prized shoes, as he lost himself in the soothing rhythmic motions. It was almost like his own personal form of hyper-groomed meditation. Gradually he became aware that the others had stopped celebrating and were watching him; Vaan openmouthed and clueless, Penelo hiding barely suppressed giggles, Ashe incredulous, Basch pretending not to notice, and Fran … his Fran, ever outwardly stoic yet inwardly wonderful, walked over to him, studied his shoe carefully, lifted up her foot-
-and stepped daintily on the top of his sandal with one magnificent spiked heel, leaving a long thin scratch down the length of it. A scratch that would not come out with a simple swipe of his handkerchief. Without a word or even glance she calmly walked towards the way stone and stood waiting, hand on her hip, back to him.
Penelo could no longer suppress her giggles.
Balthier straightened, tucked his handkerchief in his pocket, sheathed his sword, threw back his shoulders, and mustered what was left of his hurt pride.
"Well, right then." He swaggered over to stand next to Fran, ready to go on as though the whole incident had been just another figment of the Occurias' imaginations.
