Author's Note: I don't own any of the characters, weapons or locations aside from Kiki, Burch, the EvanBlade and Lusaru City. All the rest belong to Squaresoft and are not mine. This fiction is written merely as a fan homage to the FFXII game and is not set during the game's initial storyline. Any problems, contact me. There. Boring part over!

Long before the death of the King of Dalmasca, two Sky Pirates, Balthier and Fran travelled together around Ivalesca looting and pillaging for all they were worth. These are their stories…

DESERT HIPPIES: Adventures of Balthier and Fran Episode #01: Go Wester: CHAPTER 01: "The Bet"

"My girl I don't mean to be antagonising, but if you're ready we have to leave." Fran shot Balthier a mean stare and turned back to her weapons chest. Where is it! She thought to herself. She knew she'd placed her longbow in there. So where was it? She could hear the soft tapping of Balthier's boots on the metal floor of the ship. She hissed and spun around.

"We musn't leave until I am armed." She warned him. "It could be most dangerous setting out on a hunt if I am left to magicks alone." Balthier nodded and was seriously beginning to regret accepting the Mark. It was all because he'd wandered into The Sandsea in Dalmasca, insisting to some wealthy Dalmascan called Burch that he could take on any Mark that was given to him – and he'd bet his own airship on it. Fran had nearly skinned his hide for that one. But a bet was a bet and as much of a scoundrel Balthier could be, not to mention stubborn, he was a man of his word.

There was of course two very important key factors in all of this besides Balthier's being pround: Burch had offered him no less than 10,000 Gil on his return with proof and he really didn't want to lose his ship. Or a bet. A bad name in Sky Pirate circles was hard to replenish. He took the Mark Slip from his pocket and re-read the details; Rogue Werewolf on the Dalmasca Westersands terrorising Caravans travelling toward the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea to supply the few Traders they have stationed out there. A bit of a pointless trip in Baltheir's opinion but these days money was tight and people would do just about anything to get it. Even make ridiculous bets.

"Where it is we are heading to?" Fran asked breathlessley as she rummaged all over the ship looking for her weapon.

"We're to head for the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea, but we can't fly over there without being spotted. We have to go on foot or it'll be the death of the both of us." He lowered his town and stuffed the Mark Slip back into his shirt pocket. "Though I can't say trudging across 10 miles of desert is any safer. Personally I'd rather take my chances."

"You and I both, Balthier." She said, stopping for a second. She looked at him thoughtfully. This is the first time she'd ever seen him actually look worried. But she knew full well why. The Strahl, Balthier's airship was his life. He's like a fish out of water when he's on the ground. He couldn't lose it or he'd be lost himself. "We shall find the mark and defeat it together." Fran said, softly. "I warn you Balthier, pull a stunt such as this again and may Gods have mercy on you." She turned around and went on looking about the ship.

Balthier smiled slightly. No matter how deadpan or harsh Fran's words always seemed, he knew how she felt just by looking at her. He knew she cared, even if she were too stubborn to let him think it.

"Ah!" Fran exclaimed. Balthier looked over to where Fran was rummaging around under her co-pilot seat. The bow. She stared daggers at Balthier who held up his hands.

"I swear I didn't touch it."

She stalked past him to the exit hatch. "We must go!" Balthier thought best than to make a snide comment and followed her silently out of the door, grabbing his pistol and longsword that had been leaning up the wall beside him as he went.

"Quickly now," said Fran, slipping her bow over her shoulder where it fell neatly around her like a sash, "we must hurry if we are to make it to the Ogir-Yensa Seasands before nightfall."

"So," he said, as they stepped foot on the hot Westersand ground, "the hunt begins!"