19. White

"Out of the way, boy!" came a booming voice from behind, causing Balthier to jump about an inch into the air and almost fall onto his backside.

Somebody snickered, and Balthier felt his face grow warm. They are mere commoners, he told himself. It should not be a surprise that they have such little courtesy. Raising his chin, he gathered himself and strode meaningfully down the market as if he knew exactly where he was going.

In truth, he did know where he wanted to be. He had loitered around the area twice in the past week, each time walking circles around the market just to keep an eye on one particular stall. It sold weapons and was manned by a mean-looking bangaa. More importantly, it carried the only model of gun that Balthier had been proficient at using as a student, and he was determined to get his hands on it before somebody else did. It was not at all unlikely that his father would be sending people to look for him and the airship, and when the time came, he had to be able to protect himself the best he could.

The problem was money. He had brought along all his savings when he'd run away from home, although a little budgeting had told him that simply keeping the Strahl fueled and maintained was going to eat into most of it. Trading what little of value that had been on the airship had helped somewhat, but he still did not have enough gil to buy that gun and stave off starvation for long.

Balthier knew that selling off the Strahl would be the easiest way to go about things, but he really didn't want to part with the airship. He had spent far too long dreaming of the skies to be so pragmatic about it now.

Sighing inwardly, he continued his way through the throng until he was close enough to the weapons merchant to have a clear view of his goods. There were no patrons, as usual; most people had no need for such weapons. Balthier glanced at where the gun always sat, not really expecting any change – and then his breath caught sharply in his throat.

It was no longer there. Who in Occuria's name bought my gun?

Too panicked to try to be inconspicuous anymore, Balthier hurriedly pushed through the crowd and nearly shouted into the merchant's face, "Who bought m- that Altair?"

The bangaa looked surprised for only a mere fraction of a second before a scowl fell across his face again. "None o' yer business, kid. Run along."

Balthier gathered himself and tried another approach. "Come now, my friend," he said, breaking into an easy smile. "What harm does it do to you to tell me? Absolutely none at all."

"I dunno 'bout that," said the bangaa. His mouth had begun to curl into an aesthetically unpleasing grin. "Mayhaps the customer wants their privacy."

Rolling his eyes, Balthier tossed him a handful of coins. "You don't give a fig about privacy."

"Heh. Ya got me." The merchant swept the gil into his waistpouch with an expert hand, then pointed down a side street. "A viera bought it. Mythril armor, great ass. I told 'er, 'you have a good eye, ma'am', but she gave me this look that jus' makes a bangaa wanna shrivel up. Ain't a friendly lady, that one."

"Well, it's worth a try," frowned Balthier, hoping that he sounded more confident than he was beginning to feel.

The bangaa smirked. "Don't say I didn't warn ya, kid."

The wind was picking up as Balthier made his way down the alleyway, swirling up dust and leaves around him as if he was the eye of some sort of mini-cyclone. Somebody had meticulously posted several bounty notices to the walls on either side, but even as he watched, several giggling kids drew over the faces with ink and rendered them nigh unrecognizable.

It took him a while to finally spot the viera in question, though there was no way Balthier could mistake that description. She was wearing a piece of pale armor that barely covered enough to pass for public decency, but there was an air about her that made it clear that she was not to be ogled if you didn't want your eyes poked out by those sharp claws.

Still, he couldn't help but stare. He had never seen hair like that before - thick, full and white as snow. I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.

As if in answer, the viera turned around and looked him dead in the eye. Think that again, and it'll be the end of you, said her glare, or so Balthier fancied.

He swallowed nervously, but it was too late to pretend he was anything other than conspicuous. Putting his hand into his pocket over his bag of gil, he approached her with what he hoped was a casual saunter.

"Greetings," said Balthier when he was within earshot.

The viera looked him over suspiciously. "What is it you want?"

His eyes darted around her until he caught sight of the holster at her hip. "Um, I was hoping we could make a deal, ma'am. I rather need that gun that you've just bought, and I would be more than happy to compensate you for your troubles."

"This?" she asked, taking out the Altair and waving it in the air between them.

"Yes, quite," Balthier replied, hoping that he wasn't about to get shot.

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Well, yes," he said.

She looked him over again. "You are but a boy. Why would you need such a weapon?"

Balthier sighed. He had not been referred to so often as a child in the space of a single day since he had been one, and it was starting to grate on him. "It is the only gun I know how to use. There are people after me that I may need to shoot when the occasion arises, and I do not wish to miss."

"You are being followed?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I... borrowed an airship. And I do not plan to return it."

To his surprise, the viera smiled at that. "So you, too, seek freedom," she murmured. "Perhaps we may both benefit from this meeting. I need to leave this city, and you require this gun. I will give it to you if you take me far enough away."

The offer sounded good, but something niggled at the back of Balthier's mind. "May I ask why you need my help?"

Now it was the viera's turn to pause. She watched his face for a good minute before walking over to a nearby wall and ripping off one of the bounty posters. Wordlessly, she handed it to him and waited for his response.

Balthier looked at the piece of paper in his hand and realized that he had seen it before - except back then, some kid had been drawing bloodshot saucer-sized eyes and a fat hare lip onto her likeness. "You're a wanted woman," he said, lifting his eyes.

"I will not murder you, if that is what you fear," she added.

He chuckled. "It seems we are both fugitives. In that case, I see no reason not to help you." Balthier extended a hand. "It's a deal."

The viera's hand was warm and soft, her grip firm. "I am Fran."

"I'm Balthier." He grinned at her. "Glad to have you on board."