Author's Notes:
As requested by FloatingOnCloudNine, a set of drabbles featuring Vaan's early impressions of Balthier (and Fran).
10. First Impressions
"Quite a performance."
Vaan spun toward the voice, alarmed. The man who'd spoken regarded him, eyes alight with amusement, as three details fell into place in Vaan's mind.
One: His accent was Archadian, with a genteel lilt. An aristocrat, maybe. Someone important, at least.
Two: This man lacked the armor of an imperial soldier.
Three: Despite not being a soldier, he had a polished gun at his hip which was superior in every way to the sword Vaan was wearing.
"Who are you?" Vaan asked, because whoever he was, he didn't belong here.
"I play the leading man. Who else?"
11. Enigma (200 words)
Vaan couldn't help but think he'd encountered the strangest sky pirates in all of Ivalice.
There was Balthier, who evidently had a jewelry fetish, judging by the number of rings he wore. Possibly a gun fetish as well, considering how ridiculously expensive guns were. He'd had no qualms about throwing Vaan off a parapet, but he'd caught him before he could fall to his death, for which Vaan supposed he should be grateful. Or angry. He wasn't sure yet. In the end, Balthier was complicated, but not incomprehensible.
If anything, Fran was the real mystery. Viera weren't all that rare in Rabanastre, but even so, Vaan had only seen glimpses of them. With their sharp hearing, he'd never risked pickpocketing one of them, and until tonight, none had ever approached him. When he did see them, it was always in isolated groups of two or three, and never with humes. Yet Fran conversed casually with Balthier, and Balthier showed only contempt to anyone who slighted her. In battle, they moved in tandem, requiring no words.
It was, Vaan realized, sort of like how he and Penelo got along. On their good days. When she wasn't lecturing him for finding trouble.
12. Permanent
"I was not aware you meant to make Vaan your apprentice," Fran said.
To her quiet amusement, Balthier made an undignified noise as he choked on his ale. Wide eyed, he set his cup down with a thud.
"Apprentice? Whatever gave you that idea?"
Fran stared. "You've not let anyone onto the Strahl save myself since you acquired it. Forgive me for thinking you regarded the boy as a permanent companion."
Balthier stared at her, stupefied. Then, slowly, his expression turned calculating. "I could use an errand-boy . . ."
Poor fool, Fran thought, mouth edging into a faint smile.