I don't know that anyone has done a Sailor Moon/Final Fantasy XII crossover yet (I sure haven't seen one, but I could have overlooked something). This makes me kind of sad, because FFXII has so many interesting characters to deal with and, despite the overwhelming detail in the game, still leaves a lot of things open ended. It's perfect fan fiction fodder. Also, Sailor Moon is a crossover staple, so, why not? :)

This story takes place after FFXII, so you should probably beat the game. Or at least get really far into it. The end isn't exactly a huge surprise. You beat the bad guy, and things start to rebuild. Yay. Still, there are a few minor things that might be better learned in the game as opposed to in this fic. Also, the game is awesome, so you should play it through anyway.

As for Sailor Moon…alternate universe. Some "cliché" stuff. But as always, I try to stay true to the characters.

I decided to do this story as a sort of culture exploration. The cultures explored in the game are a little more subtle (the culture of sky pirates vs. a princess vs. a couple of street urchins), but I wanted to stretch it a little further and explore the difference in cultures from different countries in the game. I think you'll figure out pretty quickly what I'm aiming for. I hope.

The story is rated T or PG 13 if you prefer. This prologue is a bit bloody, but it's the only real violence in the story. There will be mature language throughout, but, in keeping with the characters, nothing too bad. Sex will be skirted around, definitely not explicit.

Finally, my two cents on reviews. I love them if they are constructive. If you just say "write more!" or "that sucked!" or "malecharacter/femalecharacter" I will cry. And maybe yell at you, if I am in a bad mood. So, try to be constructive. Even if you really liked all of it, say what worked best or something. And if it was super super super terrible, well, let me know what, specifically, was terrible.

Thanks, and now, on with the fic!!!

Landis

Balthier held in a curse as he slammed down the lid on his toolbox. The engine repairs necessary were well beyond his current abilities. It wasn't that he did not have the requisite skills, though. He was a damn good pilot and a damn good mechanic. However, he simply did not have all the equipment he needed. Not even a fleet of fully trained repair moogles could have fixed this without the right equipment.

Of all the bits on the Strahl that could have broken, it had to be one small bit of exhaust piping. A bit of exhaust piping that almost never broke. A bit of exhaust piping that he had replaced just two weeks ago, and for which he had not yet picked up another replacement part. A bit of exhaust piping that had set off alarms and caused him to land, quite roughly, in a mountain forest in the middle of nowhere.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He let the curse slip by, but resisted the urge to kick his toolbox. Picking up the scattered tools afterward would only upset him further. Instead, he left the engine room and went looking for Fran.

He found her gliding along outside the ship, checking for hull damage. He hoped fervently that she had not found any. Spare piping he could find in any number of places, but a big hole ripped in the side of his ship would be a little more difficult to repair.

She turned to him immediately, knowing, as always, that he approached. Whether she heard him or simply sensed his presence, he still could not tell. They had been partners for years, and it would not surprise him to know that she had some extra sensory ability in regards to him.

"The hull looks fine. A little dented up front from the trees, but no holes. The mount for the glossair rings need work, though."

She walked to the back of the ship and he followed wordlessly. Damn, he thought, again.

The rings themselves were not damaged, which did not surprise him. Glossair rings were nearly indestructible. The whole ship would have to blow up for the rings to be seriously hurt. However, the mount that held them was dented beyond fixing. A new one would have to be made before the ship could fly again.

In Archades or Rabanastre or an equally large city, it would be a simple matter of hiring a team of repair moogles and paying for the raw materials. It was, perhaps, a days worth of inconvenience. Out here, far away from any major town, it might never get fixed.

Balthier sighed in frustration. "We'd better pack up and start walking. We'll be lucky if we can find a village with the right supplies and a forge, let alone anyone with the skills to help."

Fran nodded silently and loped into the ship to pick up her bow, the Sagittarius she'd bought at a bazaar months ago, her arrows, and a small bundle of supplies. He followed her lead, grabbing his Fomalhaut and ammunition and a significantly more bulky pack. Fran may not mind the cold, but he wanted cover in case they had to camp outside. It looked like it was going to snow, and he did not trust that they would find a village before nightfall.

Within a quarter of an hour, he realized that the cold was the least of their problems. The frigid temperatures seemed to scare off most predators in the area, but apparently not all of them. Fran heard the snuffling, barking and growling before the danger became imminent, but there was not much to be done in the way of avoiding it.

The first wolf, a thin, mangy creature with a starved look in its eyes, pushed through the underbrush, and Balthier hit it with a bullet to the chest. It stumbled to the ground as three more of its pack appeared beside it. All were growling, and Balthier leveled his gun to fire again. An arrow whizzed past his ear and caught one of the wolves between the eyes.

"Behind!" Fran called sharply, letting another arrow fly. This one embedded in one of the wolves' shoulders, slowing it, but not stopping it.

Balthier turned just in time to fire at a lunging wolf not ten feet away. The animal fell to the ground for a moment, but staggered to its feet. Four more wolves stood beside it, growling. "Shit," he muttered, firing again. The Fomalhaut was a powerful gun, and was generally effective. Just not against large numbers of fast, hungry wolves.

Behind him he heard the rhythmic twang of Fran's bow, faster than he could manage with the gun. But it seemed like the wolves just kept coming. He kept firing, usually accurate enough to incapacitate the target. A lesser marksman would be dead by now, he thought, feeding his vanity to fight off panic. It did not work, and the wolves kept coming.

He thought, for a moment, that perhaps he had thinned their numbers enough that they could escape. The remaining wolves were staring at him and growling, but they stood back for a moment as though scared. Maybe they would decide to retreat rather than lose more of their numbers. He thought wrong.

Before he became aware, before Fran could shout another warning, a lone wolf sprang from nowhere, slamming into his side and knocking him to the ground. Instinctively, he raised his arms to protect his face and neck. With all the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, he hardly felt the teeth sink into his flesh, but the sight added to the panic he'd been unable to quash earlier.

Suddenly, a shaft of wood lodged in the wolf's head, and the creature collapsed. He pushed it off, stumbled to his feet, and leveled his gun at the remaining wolves. He did not have time to let off a shot, though. With a few flashes of silver, the wolves crumpled.

Balthier suddenly became aware of the sound of his blood pounding in his head. Everything else was eerily silent. The snarling and growling had stopped, and Fran's bow was no longer humming. Balthier inhaled, then exhaled deliberately, clearing his mind, pushing the panic to the back of his mind. The wolves were gone, dead or escaped through the trees.

"Are you alright?" The voice was sweet, but he did not recognize it. It was too high and lilting to be Fran.

Then there were hands, gently pushing the ratty ends of his shirtsleeve up over his elbow to reveal the wolf bite. It was bloody and deep, but with good cleaning and a proper bandage, it would heal. He still could not feel the injury. His heart was pumping, adrenaline numbing him. In a few hours, though, he would probably be miserable.

Another pair of hands laid themselves on his arm, cooler, more methodical. A voice to match the hands spoke, affirming what he already knew about the injury.

"It's not too serious. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged, though, or it could become infected. Those wolves are hardly clean or disease free. We should meet the others. They'll be worried. We can take care of the wound once we get back to town."

And then the cool hands were gone. Balthier could here a figure moving off, but the other figure remained. The warm, gentle hands stayed where they were, calming him. He felt his heart slowing, heard the pounding in his head lessen. Something about the hands comforted him. He took a few more deep breaths, and finally he felt as though his body was back to normal.

Once he was sure the panic was gone, he lifted his head and in that moment caught sight of the loveliest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

Just a prologue for now. Future chapters will be quite a bit longer. If you review, remember that I like substance!