-X-

While they were walking Balthier started talking again, in tones of studied nonchalance.

"You know, my dear, I suffered with airsickness too back when I was a boy," he said conversationally, rounding the corner and onto the main corridor. On their right they could hear the buzz of chatter from the cockpit– it would appear their companions were still busy enough that their prolonged absence had remained unnoticed. Balthier steered them left, away from the din, and before long the voices had faded into silence once more.

"You did?" Penelo asked, surprised. "Then what made you decide to become a sky pirate?"

"I did," he confirmed. "I used to get so ill on board an airship that, more often than not, I'd end up drugged in my cabin for the entire journey. My father thought it easier to keep me asleep and out of the way than have me make a mess of the place while awake."

She waited politely for him to answer her second question, but no such response presented itself. After a few minutes she belatedly realised that he was deliberately ignoring that part of her query, and without hesitation she swiftly changed tack. Penelo of all people could understand a person's reluctance to talk about the past – she herself had things she'd rather not relive, so who was she to pry?

"I guess being on an airship all the time has cured you of your sickness, huh?"

"No, I'm afraid you're quite wrong," he replied, leading her through a closed door into what looked like someone's private quarters.

Penelo stood by the open doorway, instantly wary as she caught sight of the large king-size bed against the far wall in the light from the hall. Balthier flipped on the light switch inside the room, oblivious to her consternation, and she studied the chamber with a cautious eye. It was a fairly sparse cabin, with little to mark it as belonging to anyone in particular. Aside from the large bed, made up with dark, forest green sheets (silk, judging by the lustrous sheen of them), there was a simple chest of drawers and wardrobe lined up in one corner – sandalwood, in all likelihood – and an empty writing desk and chair in another. The room itself was on the larger side, and it's lack of furniture made it seem all the bigger. The bed, which was close to but not flush against the wall, dominated the left half of the room, while the right was more spacious than Penelo's whole room back in Lowtown.

"Balthier?" she breathed anxiously. Had she been wrong to trust him even a little? Had she willingly walked into some kind of trap?

"Hm?"

The man in question looked over his shoulder at her from his wardrobe, where he was rummaging about for who-knew-what. Seeing her rising panic, he clicked his tongue and turned back to his work.

"Relax. Didn't I tell you already? This is an act of charity, sweetheart – I have no lascivious intentions at the moment." His amusement was as obvious as if he'd laughed at her outright – but even so, Penelo didn't miss the deliberately mischievous 'at the moment' tacked on at the end. "On my word as the leading man, I promise you I'll make no attempt to take advantage of you, Penelo."

And somehow, she believed him. He'd never used her name before, not when addressing her, and somehow his sudden, unexpected application of it was reassuring.

She stepped fully into the room just as Balthier withdrew from his wardrobe with a large, box-shaped object in his hands. Stepping past her he placed it on his desk and promptly began to fiddle with the buttons and knobs of the front. Curious, Penelo tried to peer around him – she'd never seen such an object before.

"Close that door, will you?" he called without turning. "I've never tested the theory, but I believe this airsickness cure is a lengthy process; I think it best we're not disturbed."

Obediently, Penelo closed the door, and felt only the tiniest tremor of uncertainty in doing so. It's alright, she told herself stoutly. He gave me his word...

She studiously ignored the fact that he was a pirate, and that by definition his word was as good as the dirt clogging the streets of Rabanastre.

When he finally got the object working, a sweet sound permeated the air – a sound the orphan girl had only heard once before in her whole life. It was a long time ago now, it seemed, though in truth it had only been a few short years.

It was waltz music, similar – though not quite as magnificent – as the tunes that had been played so long ago at princess Ashe's wedding party. Penelo remembered it like it was yesterday. She hadn't been invited of course – she'd been but a commoner, and little more than a child to boot. But from her bed that night, Penelo had heard the music. She recalled humming along, and even getting out of bed at one point to dance around her room and pretend she was there in the castle too. It was a memory of a simpler time, and she kept it with her always.

"Is that..." Penelo murmured, coming over to the desk to see. "... a Music Box?"

"It is. An old one, but even so..."

Penelo stared at the box in wonder. They were exceedingly rare, Music Boxes. Mainly because they were so incredibly expensive. In Dalmasca, no one but the royal family had been able to afford one – even the most well-to-do commoners had only been able to dream of owning such an item. A subtle mixture of engineering and magick, it apparently took a team of supremely experienced craftsmen to make a good one.

"How did you get your hands on a Music Box?" she asked incredulously. She almost immediately wished she hadn't asked – however he'd gotten it, she was all but certain it hadn't been legal.

"I think," Balthier smiled enigmatically. "the less you ask about that, the better, my girl. Now; shall we?"

Penelo eyed the hand he offered in confusion.

"You want me to dance?"

"Precisely."

"Why?" she cried in disbelief. "I can barely walk without feeling nauseous. How can you expect me to dance like this?"

"Well as it happens, I discovered the cure for airsickness during one of my earlier jaunts aboard an airship. My father threw a party on board his private ship for me – a graduation party, you could call it." Penelo did not miss how his tone became abruptly bitter over the word 'graduation', but she wisely decided not to question it. "He was well aware of my affliction, but thought the idea of an airship party a stroke of brilliance – and naturally, he was not willing to give it up for something as trivial as airsickness.

"During the course of the evening I was obligated to dance with numerous young ladies. By the end of the affair I discovered that thanks to the hours I'd spent dancing, I'd completely forgotten my sickness. I have never been sick on an airship since."

Penelo was not convinced. Balthier, seeing this dubiousness, continued with a sly grin.

"Now, now, my dear; you still don't trust me? It actually makes sense if you think about it. After all, if you can dance on a moving airship without throwing up, you can most certainly do anything else."

Well, there was no arguing with that logic she supposed. She took his hand, a small frown still marring her features, and allowed him to guide her to the open space.

When they started dancing – a fast paced, jovial sort of dance, exactly the type she imagined would have featured at Ashe's wedding – Penelo all but forgot her mistrust in Balthier. She'd always loved dancing, even as a child. In an age long past, before the war had torn her innocence to shreds, she'd often dreamed about becoming a professional dancer, like the kind that used to perform at Rabanastre's street festivals; the kind that could captivate hearts with but a few simple steps.

But dreams were for children, and Penelo hadn't been a child for a very long time.

Still, her love of the sport had never dimmed. Though she no longer harboured the fantasies of her younger days, there was no denying she still delighted in the art of dance as fervently as ever.

Of course, her enjoyment was no where near enough to make her forget her nausea, and over a period of what felt like several hours (though she doubted it could have been more than an hour, perhaps two in reality) she made several trips to Balthier's en-suite bathroom to bring up the final dregs of her stomach contents.

After the forth or fifth such trip, she stumbled back to Balthier's waiting form with a groan – she had never felt more hopeless of anything in her life.

"Are you – urp – sure this will cure my sickness?" she asked queasily, slipping back into his arms and continuing the dance with a little less enthusiasm than when she'd started.

"I'm certain of it."

"I don't know, Balthier," Penelo groaned. She gazed deeply into his eyes, focusing with all her might on trying to describe the particular shade of green in them, so as to distract herself from being sick again. "I don't think I can keep this up much longer."

"You can," he said simply, spinning her round the floor as ably as any professional she'd ever seen. "I don't believe you've noticed, but the time in-between your bathroom trips has been getting longer."

"Really?" she asked, unconvinced. "It seems to be getting more frequent to me."

A snort of amusement was his only answer.

-X-