A/N - After a whole day spent playing FFXII, this one practically wrote itself. I love holidays...so productive:P

A Toast in the Sky

Long has Fran been curious of the flying metalmachines that the humes encase themselves in, but she has no need of hastening her travels in this way. She is not like them, they who rush from crib to cane. She could spend five years wandering the great westersands and hardly make an impression on the hourglass of her life. She has all the time in the world.

And yet, she is no longer viera. A true follower of the green Word would never have felt the tug of curiosity, drawing her away from the wood and into the world. This is why she chooses to finally enter the Aerodrome, feeling her heels clicking over the metal floor in her wake.

There is some sort of desk in the front room, and from experience Fran knows that this is the point at which humes generally conduct business. She feels in her bag for the gil she knows is rattling around somewhere. Humes trade on cold metal, not the simple bartering of goods upon which the viera depend.

"Yes?" asks a bored clerk, not bothering to look up.

"I wish to purchase transportation on a..skyship," Fran replies. Her accent is exotic enough to cause the clerk to look up, and his mouth hangs open in amazement. Fran simply drums her nails on the desk until he returns to some semblance of normality.

"Ah. Aha. Yes, well then. Where do you want to go?" the clerk finally splutters.

Fran glances at the destination board, picking one at random. "Nalbina."

"Umm. Er. Okay, I have a flight departing in ten minutes. The next one is in two hours," the clerk informs her.

"Yes," she says.

"Yes...w-what?" He is confused by her response.

"The next flight. Though I believe by now it is due for departure in eight minutes," Fran says meaningfully.

The next three minutes is spent waiting for the increasingly flustered clerk to write a bill of sale and find her ticket, which he finally does. He watches her leave, looking as if he has lost something, some vital chance.

Fran cannot help herself. She stands upon the deck and marvels at the feeling of being on top of the world. Even after the rest of the passengers retire below deck, she remains outside. The clouds are so close if she could just reach out...

Of course, that is when she hears that sound.

It is not quite a grunt, more of a nondescript mmph. And it appears to be coming out of a coil of rope on the main deck. Mmph.

Again.

Tearing herself away from her spot, Fran ventures over to the rope and gives it an experimental kick.

"Excuse me, but that is certainly not something one would call polite," the rope says belligerently.

"Who are you hiding from?" is Fran's reply.

"Ah, a lady," says the rope, clearing its throat. A hume male removes himself from the coils, adjusting his cuffs as he does so. He kisses her hand. "Enchanted," he murmurs. He does not seem to be fazed in the least that the hand belongs to a viera. Fran is ill at ease, especially after considering his previous accommodations.

This man, who introduces himself as Balthier, is supposedly a 'sky merchant' on the way to pick up his 'skyship' after it was in need of considerable repairs. Fran listens for awhile before cutting him off.

"You lie as you breathe," she hisses.

This Balthier is silenced. For a moment at least. "Oh?"

Fran stares him down. "I have known enough of your kind to know when lies are spoken."

"And by my kind, evidently, you are not merely speaking of Humes, but rather, Humes of the male variety?" Balther asks. "Shall I venture a guess? Others in the past have spoken of wondrous things in order to capture your interest, when indeed you are the most wondrous thing they had ever hoped to capture?"

Fran refuses to relax. "They wished to bed me, would be the less polite way of it," she says shortly. She feels uncomfortable just saying it, but it is true. Hume males seem to find her appearance attractive, and her disposition of no matter.

"The lady does not mince her words," Balthier muses.

"You are the same sort of man, easily given to lies. For what business does a sky merchant have hiding aboard an airship?" Fran challenges.

Balthier makes an expansive gesture. "Come, will you join me in the saloon? Allow me to explain myself?"

"I will not."

"Do you not feel the cold?" he asks. The deck is quite windy at this point, and the clouds they pass through leave traces of precipitation on their skin.

From the corner of her eye, Fran spots the tiniest crease of concern on Balthier's face. She folds her arms and says nothing. After awhile, she hears a sigh, and then retreating footsteps. She wonders if he has given up already. He did not seem the accepting type.

Oh.

He has left his jacket lying on the deck. Fran tosses her head in annoyance, after all, she is freezing. Curse the man! She will not wear his jacket like a symbol of ownership. However...this does not solve the matter of her discomfort. It really is quite cold.

Fran makes a compromise. She will go into the saloon and meet with this man, but she will not wear the jacket. She will shove it back into his waiting arms, especially if he is expecting a kiss of gratitude.

That settled, she ventures below decks and into the so-called saloon, which she was unaware skyships had. He is waiting for her there, although Fran can see that he has not waited to order himself a drink. A bottle of fine Bhujerban Sky Wine rests on the counter, and two glasses.

"Ah," he says, clearly delighted, "You've come to join me?"

"I will not drink," Fran says firmly, seating herself next to him. "Even though you had enough confidence I would come that you asked for two glasses."

Balthier leans languidly on his chair. "Let us just say that it was perception. If your are a viera curious enough to have left the Wood, then you would be curious enough to hear a good story."

"Mmph."

Balthier pours the wine anyway. "Well, to begin, sky merchant is perhaps not the best label for my profession." He waits for a response.

"It is only what I expected," says Fran, pushing away the proffered glass.

"You see, I relieve others of their goods and transfer them to prospective buyers," he explains.

Fran is not fooled for a moment. "You are a sky pirate, are you not?"

Balthier blanches. "Ah. The lady is perceptive," he comments. "A toast to perception!"

Fran reluctantly picks up the glass and taps it against the pirate's own. "And why is a sky pirate on board a skyship when, by rights, he should have his own vessel?" she asks.

"There is, how shall I put this, a small bounty on my head at present, which forces me to consider all manners of subterfuge in order to remain a free man," Balthier explains. He takes a sip of wine. "Blackberries and pepper," he murmurs.

"Such as disguising oneself within the coils of a rope?" presses Fran, head tilted sideways. She studies him carefully, trying to recognise whether she has seen his face on a wanted poster somewhere. When she thinks about it, he looks ever so slightly familiar.

"There is a certain bounty hunter, B'Gamnan, who is most persistent. I had cause to abandon my ship in Nalbina in order to evade him and his...entourage. My reasons for returning now are, obviously, to collect my airship and continue on my merry way," Balthier continues.

"Your story is quite...unbelievable," says Fran finally. "Although, one of the more interesting ones of late."

Balthier nods, topping up her glass and then his. Fran cannot even remember drinking the wine. She puts down her glass firmly, making a decision.

"I should like to see this airship of yours, sky pirate," she says. Balthier looks delighted.

"And see it you shall, my lady," he replies immediately. "A toast, to new ventures!"

This time, Fran merely takes a small sip, although, she admits grudgingly, the wine tastes delicious.

"There is one thing which troubles me. Your accent, I find it unplaceable," she says, once again curious.

Balthier shrugs. "Archadian."

Fran looks up quickly. Archadian?

Balthier quickly interprets her expression. "I have left my homeland, as you have left yours. We are both wanderers, you and I. Wanderers without a home."

This seems especially poignant to Fran, having essentially cut herself off from the Wood. Strangely, she feels a bond to this man. Perhaps it is the wine to blame, or perhaps not.

"Fran," she says suddenly.

"Your pardon?"

"My name. You cannot continue calling me my lady, for I am certainly not your lady," Fran adds.

Balthier smirks. "Certainly not. However, the leading man and the leading lady always end up together, do they not?"

Fran shakes her head. "That may be so, but I am merely a guest star in this pirate play of yours. I have yet to see the ship."

"And see it you shall!" Balthier promises, brightening. "But first I must plan how to reclaim it from B'Gamnan. He keeps a tight watch over the Strahl."

Fran waits a few moments before responding. "You failed to tell me of this...complication, Balthier," she says calmly.

Balthier grins wolfishly. "Fran, this is all part of the challenge, is it not?"

Fran's ear twitches in agitation. She dislikes being lied to, yet somehow she feels as though she can trust this man. Somehow this partnership feels right.

And somehow, it feels like she is wandering no more.