A/N - Happy Halloween all!
The Other Bullseye
"It is all in the focus, Balthier," Fran explains as she lines up her next shot.
The two have set up a makeshift archery range some way away from the grounded Strahl, and while Balthier has peppered the target with the bullets of almost-bullseyes, Fran has left a dozen or so arrows in the exact centre.
"Bows. guns, the two surely cannot be judged against one another," says Balthier, pride wounded somewhat.
By way of reply, Fran plucks the gun from his hand and leaves a small, gaping hole in...the bullseye. Balthier throws up his hands, conceding defeat.
"No one is quite like you Fran," he admits. And there isn't. Standing there, a bow in one hand and a gun in the other, she looks like a warrior woman whose measured, ruby gaze could see right into a man's soul. Balthier squirms a little at the thought. However, the side-effects of her proximity are outweighed by her incredible loveliness and the promise of a rare, sweet smile.
"Humes are too easily given to their passions," Fran comments. "Accuracy lies in complete detachment from everything but the arrow and the target."
"Is that so?" Balthier murmurs, mostly to himself.
"It is your turn to shoot," Fran reminds him. Balthier gives a start, then lines up his target with a marksman's precision. "That is right Balthier. Think of nothing but the shot," Fran reminds him.
It misses.
"It was the better shot, however it still did not score a perfect hit," says Fran.
"And this is because I am not emotionally detached enough?" Balthier asks, a smile playing on his lips.
"Yes. Perhaps it is only the viera who are capable of this. As I said, Humes are all too easily distracted by their emotions," Fran replies. She lines up her bow to make her next, perfect shot.
"Fran," Balthier says suddenly.
"Yes?" she responds, lowering the bow at the strange urgency in his tone.
But he doesn't elaborate, or perhaps he does.
One arm firmly around her waist, the other gently supporting her neck, he closes the distance between them and meets her lips. At first, Fran stands still, arms frozen by her sides and thinking only that this only confirms her words from earlier, but he is running his hands all through her hair and her knees are melting and none of that matters anymore. She relaxes, one of her nails catching a loose thread on Balthier's shirt as her hands roam as freely as his.
They break off, breathless. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Balthier looks like he would very much like to kiss her again, and Fran is transfixed by the intensity in his eyes. Then, Balthier seems to collect himself, or give himself a mental shake, and a familiar smirk is crossing his face.
"Hit the bullseye after that and you will truly be as detached as stone," he drawls. Yet behind that throwaway line lies that same intensity from before, as if this is more than a case of win or lose.
She misses the target. Completely.