In Which Basch Loses a Bet and Balthier Breaks a Rib

What had begun as a friendly game of poker had turned into a fiercely competitive game of poker--with swords. Of course, the finest Dalmascan mead had been an influence, as well as an unscrupulous unlabled bottle from somewhere deep in the Strahl's hold. The air was thick with mistrust and alcoholic vapor, someone far off in the corner of the bar smoking a malodorous leaf and managing to intoxicate everyone seated at the table even further.

They had holed up in Rabanastre for the night, thinking one moment away from the duties of land and lord a forgivable dalliance. Penelo and Vaan, both too young to access the bar after nightfall, were ushered wordlessly upstairs and into their rooms. Vaan pouted with his arms and legs crossed like a defiant child. Penelo shook her head, tsked slightly, and shut off the light to get as much sleep as possible. Lady Ashe was persuaded by the charismatic Balthier to join Basch and himself downstairs for a pint and a game of cards before retiring. She reluctantly allowed herself to be led to the table. Basch was already waiting, a hefty, frothy mug of fermented hops and alcohol in one hand and a deck of worn cards in the other. Fran sat moodily aside, wrinkling her small nose at the loud drunken humes at the bar.

"Let's be done with this quickly, shall we?" Fran said in a lofty tone as some random young man toppled over drunk near her seat. One man had already fondled her long, furry ears that night. He lay crumpled and unconscious in a discreet corner--no one else had touched her since.

"I agree," Ashe said as Basch stood to pull out a chair for her. She took it politely, scooting close and feigning an interested smile. "I am glad to spend time to ourselves."

"Come now," Balthier said heartily, placing his foot on the seat of his intended chair and leaning heroically on his knee. "The future queen of Dalmasca sitting here among her people--" he paused to stare comically at the man passed out beside Fran's chair, "--why, it's almost pastoral." He flashed a debonair grin in Ashe's direction, causing her to roll her eyes in return. He shrugged, as if that solved all problems, and sat leisurely with his arms behind his head.

Only half a minute later, a young woman and small Moogle arrived at their table. The woman placed a mug before Fran and Ashe, and the Moogle floated gently to place Balthier's mug before him. He tossed a shiny new gil through the air, and the Moogle intercepted it with a small grin of his own. Ashe stared questioningly down at the yellow, frothy liquid. Fran took small, polite sips. Balthier took one long swig, throwing his head back and smacking his lips. Basch, perhaps in a rare show of manly camaraderie, echoed the captain's movements. They clinked mugs, eliciting a short laugh from Balthier and a grin from Basch. Fran raised her eyebrows at the both of them.

"To friendship?" Basch asked, an uncharacteristic smile gracing his hard face. Balthier shrugged, then raised his drink a second time.

"To the spoils of chance and fortune."

The toast was just vague enough to entice Fran and Ashe to join.

After a short lull of small talk (they had very little to say that the others hadn't already heard at that point; Balthier's story of raiding the airship Valence was beginning to get stale) another round of drinks was ordered. At that point, it became obvious that Ashe was a light drinker. After she had swallowed her way through half of the second round, her tongue untied itself and she began to speak freely for the first time in their company. Balthier swears to this day that he will hold those tales over her head for all eternity.

Eventually, the cards made their way out of Basch's abused deck. He dealt first, the game being a simple poker. The night turned at that point, and after the ninth round of drinks, the night exploded. Ashe teetered on her seat, held in place by a flushing and serious Basch fon Ronsenburg. Balthier tried his hardest to look suave with his feet on the table, crossed nonchalantly, but at intermittent intervals he would lose his balance and nearly fall to the stone floor. Fran stared down her nose at all of them, seven empty tankards beside her and little to evidence the fact but a slight sniffle she seemed to have caught sometime around the fifth round. At last, the hands were laid down--Balthier had somehow managed to accumulate five aces and a joker, along with a few pieces of scrap paper with nonsense scribbled on them. Basch's hand looked as any normal poker hand should, and even in his state, he could sense foul play when it was shoved so blatantly in his face.

Therefore, he was perfectly justified in splitting the table in half with his broadsword.

Balthier toppled to the ground, his footing lost, and Ashe would have joined him had Fran not stood and steadied her. The patrons of the bar halted their drunken activities to stare. Balthier tried for his gun, but the damned thing seemed cemented in its holster. Basch hefted his sword, then pointed it waveringly at the sky pirate.

"You think you can do whatever you want," Basch managed to slur, "just because you're so--"

"So what?" Balthier asked, his own voice unsteady and wavering, though he seemed determined to stay sober as possible. "So devilishly handsome? So roguishly clever? So damned good-looking?" Fran rolled her eyes and planted her face in her free hand, as to hide her shame. "I'm telling you, Basch fon Ressenburger, I have my choice of any woman here. Y'know why?" He pointed straight at his face, staring seriously up at the blond man. "Raw sex appeal."

"You could not get a woman to sleep with you just--" Balthier stopped him by raising a finger.

"Oh really?" Balthier asked with a sideways grin. He wobbled to his feet, brushed himself and adjusted his shirt cuffs. Basch lowered his sword. In fact, he had quite forgotten why his sword was out of its sheath. Once it had disappeared, the patrons of the bar quickly forgot the episode and continued with their lives. Balthier made his way to a placid brunette at the bar, sitting alone with a single mug. Basch crossed his arms and stared on in defiance, hiccuping intermittently. "Excuse me," Balthier said to the woman as he leaned on the bar, "but where did you get those earrings?"

The woman touched said earrings lightly. "They were my mother's."

"Ah, because, you see, in my life as a dangerous sky pirate, I come across beautiful earrings like those everywhere. But never have I seen such beauty as what sits here before me."

Fran suddenly stiffened, her ears flattening against her head. She let go of Ashe's shoulder, which Basch quickly caught before the princess crashed to the floor. Before the woman at the bar could get out a word edgewise, Fran was suddenly beside Balthier, her nails digging into his shoulder.

"He was just leaving," she said in an icy voice never to be argued with. The viera dragged him back, protesting, to the split table, crossing her arms and fuming silently.

"That was hardly what I expected," Basch coughed, holding tight to the giggling, giddy, unresponsive princess. Balthier frowned slightly in Fran's direction, then his proverbial ears pricked up in an beautiful idea.

"Fran, what do you think of my sex appeal?"

"What sex appeal?" she retorted quickly, not even turning. Basch gave a sharp, low laugh, and Balthier's cheeks burned in embarrassment. The elder man shook his head.

"Balthier, if you get one woman to kiss you, maybe I'll begin to believe this nonsense."

"And my compensation?"

"I don't know. Winner's choice."

The captain jumped to his feet, holding out his hand. "We have an accord." Basch shook hands with the pirate with incredulous eyes.

"The offer ends tonight."

"I had a feeling it did." He smiled, and already Basch knew the plan formulating in his mind.

"Lady Ashe if off limits."

Balthier tried to act as if the thought had never crossed his mind and failed miserably. After so short a time together, Basch knew him through. Balthier nodded stiffly, then set off into the bar. The blond man shook his head and looked to Fran.

"Does he usually act this way?"

"Oh no," Fran answered, arms still crossed and eyes burning into the back of Balthier's head. "This is tame."

Basch decided the best thing to do was to take Ashe to bed; she would probably remember nothing of that night, and he figured that was for the best. He lifted her into his arms, then turned to Fran. She was to keep an eye on Balthier and make sure he didn't do anything reckless or stupid enough to endanger anyone. She assured him that she would keep him in line. The low drop in her voice left no room for questions. Once he had disappeared up the stairs with Ashe, Fran sat at the bar, crossed her legs and glared holes in the bar. Once, the barman asked if she would like anything, and she growled lowly. He did not return.

When her eyes were not trying to start a fire on the wood of the bar, they were following Balthier's miserable progress. He had already exhausted his options at the bar and had retreated to the dark tables in the back where the only action one could get was 200 gil an hour. Even they passed on his offer--his own supply of money was largely stashed throughout the Strahl in places he thought clever. Fran's lips turned up in a sardonic smile as he was turned down yet again. His shoulders slumped, and though Fran could not hear the words exchanged, she could tell that his ego was taking quite the beating that night.

At last, the defeated hero returned to the bar, fell deflated into the barstool beside Fran and crossed his arms on the bartop before him. His head followed soon after, cushioned by his crossed arms. Fran held herself erect and stared down at the back of his head.

"Have you learned a lesson tonight, Balthier?" she asked. The sound of his response was muffled, but his words were clear.

"A man can only take so much rejection, my dear, before he fades out of existence himself."

"Just admit to Basch that you are not the best at everything."

His sad eyes peeked up at her from their prison in his folded arms. "What do you think, Fran?"

"Basch is right. You are cocky-- too much for your own good. It often gets us into more trouble than we deserve." One edge of her lips twitched up slightly.

"But I am rather good at some things, aren't I?" He raised his head so he was on her level, staring questioningly in her eyes. She shrugged slightly.

"Of course. Everyone can be the best at something, but never the best at everything."

He smiled slightly at her comment, then sighed, defeated. "I am rather useless, aren't I?"

She witnessed the effect of her words, then sighed. "If you do not believe me, I will show you that you are good at some things." She took him by the back of the neck and he was pulled unceremoniously into her face. He didn't have time to be surprised by her sudden action, and he focused as intensely as he could on the kiss she had initiated, enjoying rather more than he believed he should have.

Fran pulled back, staring seriously into her captain's face. "You see--" Her features contorted as she was met with the childish grinning face of Balthier, teeth from ear to ear like a boy just given the best present imaginable.

"Gotcha," he said in a boyish tone. Fran's face fell, brows knitting angrily. "Ha HA!" Balthier shot to his feet, witnessing Basch with his mouth hanging open just five feet away. His finger shot out toward the man. "Ha! Again, Ha! I've won!" He did a short, drunken dance, then pointed again at Basch. "You. Tomorrow. A crowded square. Ashe's skirt." He sighed, arms akimbo in self-delight at a job well-done.

He wondered absently why the ground was approaching so fast.

When she had finished kicking him in the ribs, Fran glared up at Basch, dusting her hands off unceremoniously. The man raised his hands in a show of retreat, heading backward for the stairs. She nodded, then stared down at the prone figure of Balthier sprawled and moaning on the floor.

"I hope you have learned another lesson tonight, Balthier," she said, placing another swift kick to his side. "Never trick a viera."

He didn't dare raise his head until she was gone. But he smiled with his swimming head against the cold stone. It was very much worth it.