an insurance

"Now, don't you look gorgeous?"

She has to wear a dress – an actual Hume garment for this mission. Balthier can't count how many times and what lengths he went through to persuade her it was worth it.

And the dress he bought her…well, he didn't mention to her that it wasn't a necessary cut of cloth. It was more of the fact that he could still admire her with it on as he could with her armor.

Plus, she was very distracting. They'd have the loot in less than twenty minutes.

"Compliment me when we have the treasure," she says as she walks past him, out to the docking bay. Balthier straightens his suit, missing his gold vest, though he has to admit, they make a rather dashing pair.

"But you are my date, Fran," he says, catching up to her. "I can compliment you as much as I want."

She gives him a look, but it doesn't keep him quiet. He holds his arm out for her to take, and it's a while before she does. He grins at her. She's the best piece of jewelry he's worn, and he tells her as much, much to her displeasure.

When they arrive, Balthier's words ring true. Many of the patrons stare at her – the ones not dancing look over her openly over their wine glasses, the girls looking green in envy, the men's eyes darkening with many a different thing. Balthier's sure he might have to fend a few off, if she doesn't do so herself.

Besides, he explicitly told her not to be so detached– at least, not toward the owner of the estate. He told her to be a little more appeasing to Monsieur Lazarra than she is to him, most days. She had only frowned and raised a brow at him, but he hopes she'll go along with it, regardless.

"First, we lure him out of his hiding place," he whispers to her, leading them to the open floor in the middle of the room. It's a grand entrance, to be sure. The chandelier has several facets, gold and white gold entwining into the lights, amassing a horde of shimmers all across the columns barricading the room. The double staircase leads up to a few hallways, and Balthier can almost imagine the room in which the treasure resides, behind massive oak doors, bundled up in a fragile, glass case.

"And to do that," he says, grinning to her as he places a hand on her hip. "We dance."

Fran stares at him in annoyance, the twitch of her nose the only movement giving her mood away. She reluctantly places her hand in his and one on his shoulder, before Balthier leads them into the newly started waltz.

He's never seen Fran dance before, but she's as smooth as butter as she sways with him. He relishes the feeling, and the fact that she doesn't see it appropriate to look at him.

"You can look at me," he says quietly. "It's only romantic if partners stare into one another's eyes."

Her eyes twitch up to him at his words, and he underestimates their ability to freeze him. Or, rather, his mind. He smiles at her automatically, his feet still moving, though his mind has a hard time focusing.

"Much better," he breathes, wanting to pull an emotion out of her. But her ears twitch up, and she says, instead, "He is fast approaching."

Balthier settles a bit away from her. "Ah, that was quick."

"You said I was distracting," she says, and it almost sounds as if her tone is a little teasing. Her face, however, gives nothing away. He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Not that distracting," he says. He glances up to see the man of the hour swiftly making his way toward them. Balthier wishes they had longer time to dance. He glances back to her, only to see her still glancing to him.

"Make sure you look at him, Fran," he says. "Transfix him. I'll be back shortly."

The man then taps Balthier's shoulder, politely asking to take his place in the dance. Balthier smiles, and let's Fran take her place into another man's embrace. He gives her one last glance, then a wink.

Then he subtly makes his way up the stairs, and to those terribly beautiful, massive, oak doors down the hallway.

When he makes it back to the banister overlooking the room, Patting the treasure close to his chest, he scans the floor for them. It isn't hard to see them – they've made a wide berth among the rest of the couples. It is easy to see why.

Fran is letting the man kiss her. Really kiss her.

Balthier sighs. He told her to transfix him, not to let him play with her – though, she certainly was doing her part in distraction. The whole room seems to be giving them a spotlight from their eyes. He had to give her a kudos for that, at least.

He makes his way down the stairs calmly, excusing himself between couples on the floor.

He stands behind the man, and clears his throat loudly. He doesn't budge. Fran doesn't either, strangely. Balthier sighs again.

"Pardon me," he says, loudly, grabbing the man's shoulder. The man spins around, and his face is dazed.

Against his better judgment, Balthier envies him. He sees some of the lip gloss he told Fran to put on smeared all over his mouth.

"She," Balthier points to Fran, who also has a glazed over look on her face, much to his disconcertment, "is my date."

The man blinks. "Oh…oh, yes! She is, isn't she? I beg your forgiveness, my good sir, but she…"

Balthier's mouth tightens, but he nods knowingly. "She can be quite attractive, yes. Beauty is the only one at fault here."

The man nods back, face clearing of their clouds, seemingly at ease. But he doesn't move. Balthier's eyebrows twitch.

"And…due to this fault, I'm afraid we shall be going," Balthier says pointedly. "Fran?"

Fran walks around the wealthy man, coming to stand at Balthier's side. Her eyes remain on the man.

Balthier persistently hooks their arms. "Thank you for the invitation," he says, a little more stern than he means. "Perhaps next time, you won't take advantage of my partner."

The man turns white. "You misunderstand. She - "

Balthier punches him, punctuating the end of his sentence. He rubs at the delicate cuffs of his shirt as he watches the man stumble in shock.

"Good evening," Balthier says, then he leads both of them out of the estate, several pairs of eyes following them.

"That was unnecessary," Fran says once they're out in the street. She slips her arm away from his. "He will remember you."

Balthier frowns at her. "As well he should. What kind of date would I be if I let him get away with that?"

Fran shakes her head, almost tiredly. "Please, Balthier. It was I who instigated it."

Balthier already knows that. Perhaps that's why his anxiety is so high, suddenly. "All you had to do was look at him."

If he wasn't looking at her so closely, he's certain he would have missed the ghost of a smile that slides across her face.

"What is the fun of that?"

He stops walking, eying the skin of her back underneath the moonlight. It seems he's underestimated her ability to surprise him.

"I think I'm finally rubbing off on you," he says, an easy grin becoming his face.

"Do not flatter yourself," she says, dryly. "Arrogance is unbecoming."

"That will not change."

He catches up to her when she doesn't slow her pace. He can't help placing his hand on the small of her back, hand drenched in her silkiness.

"But you can't tell me he kisses better than I."

He admits the arrogance is something to protect him. She must see right through him, with how she counteracts him all the time.

She stares at him dubiously. "All Humes are different."

"You aren't answering my question."

"It is not befitting to answer."

He places a hand over his heart. "You toy with me."

"Discouragement never works with you, does it?"

"Never."

And then he leans over and kisses her, cleaner and more refined than the man in the ballroom. The main goal is to prove a point, but the second is to make sure she knows that he is better than the rest.